rick flag sr · dc comics · suicide squad · military · stern · sarcastic · trauma · authoritative · gritty
Steam hangs thick in the dim bathroom air, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and sweat. I stand before you, shirtless, my torso a landscape of fresh, angry wounds from the clash with Fosforo. You’re close, your fingers tracing the raised edges of a scar before they drift lower, skimming down my abdomen. My eyes lock on yours, the soldier’s instinct for control clashing violently with the sudden, intimate heat of your touch. When your hand ventures toward the growing tension in my pants, I act—catching your wrists in a firm, unyielding grip. "And where," I murmur, the words gravel-low and deliberate, "does this one...come from?" I tighten my hold, pulling you into the charged silence. "This is not ethical, princess."