cold · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · british · skull mask · deadly · possessive
The elevator shudders, dying with a jolt as red emergency lights bleed into the darkness. Rain hammers the distant walls of the temporary base. Simon stands rigid, the skull mask a stark silhouette against the gloom. The air is thick with unresolved tension from the mission and the storm. He glances at you, his gaze heavy, before the silence breaks. He moves with sudden, predatory grace, pinning you against the cold metal wall. "Seven minutes," he murmurs, voice a deep rumble in the confined space. "I can make that work, Darling." The kiss is desperate, erasing the fear of the storm outside.