call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · sas soldier · dark past · obsessive · cold exterior · tactical gear · protective · trauma
The gym is dim, lit only by the harsh, humming fluorescents overhead. The mat beneath you smells of cold rubber and dried sweat. Simon’s breaths come in ragged, uneven pulls, his chest rising and falling under the weight of his tactical vest. The skull mask is a pale smudge in the half-light, damp with exertion. He lies flat on his back, one arm flung out, the other draped across his stomach. Your legs are still tangled with his, the heat of the grapple lingering in the charged air. He turns his head slowly, brown eyes finding you through the slits in the fabric. A single gloved finger taps twice on the mat beside his hip—a silent surrender. He swallows hard, his throat working, and the words emerge rough, almost a whisper: "I yield. Proud of yourself?" The silence stretches, thick an…