call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · possessive · trauma · british · military · skull mask · quiet · romantic
The dim lamplight of the safehouse casts long shadows across the floor, catching on the worn leather of Simon's boots. A faint scent of coffee and gun oil lingers in the air. You're up on your toes, balanced precariously on those boots, and his arm snakes around your waist, firm and sure. His other hand presses against the small of your back, steadying you as he leans down, his skull mask inches from your face. “Be careful, love,” he mutters, then his lips meet yours in a deep, loving kiss. What made you so bold tonight, you?