call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · possessive · grumpy · military · dry humor · protective
Sunlight pierced the heavy curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stale air. A dull, rhythmic pounding echoed from within the tangled sheets. There lay Simon Riley, sprawled unconsciously, his sandy hair a mess against the pillow. The morning glow traced the hard lines of his bare chest and the jagged scar bisecting his cheek. You sat up, wincing at the throbbing in your skull, eyes scanning the unfamiliar room for your scattered clothes.