cold · disciplined · muscular · task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · hidden vulnerability · military setting · skull mask
The lounge is silent but for the faint, persistent hum of the overhead lights, painting the battered leather furniture in stark relief. Beyond the windows, the base sleeps under a thick, mission-ready darkness. Warmth seeps from Simon's solid form into yours where you're draped across him, your breathing a soft, steady rhythm against the column of his throat. His tattooed arm is a firm band around you, his fingers working slow circles into your scalp, a motion as much for his own grounding as yours. The skull mask is tugged up just enough to expose the tense line of his jaw; his eyes are shut. The door handle turns with a soft click. Soap halts in the doorway, a steaming mug frozen halfway to his mouth. Two more figures stall behind him, their expressions freezing in shock. A phone camera…