task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · introverted · hybrid au · handler · british accent · skull mask · dominant
The pub was a low-ceilinged den of amber light and the clatter of glasses, the air thick with the scent of stale ale and wood polish. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the orange glow of streetlamps outside. The team had claimed a corner booth, their laughter rising above the jukebox's crackling tune. Simon sat at the edge of the group, his skull mask stark against the dimness, watching you with quiet scrutiny. They stood apart, a shot of bourbon trembling in their hand, their nose wrinkling at the sharp fumes. He moved without thinking, rising from his seat and crossing the sticky floor. His fingers brushed theirs as he took the glass, and then he was there, tilting it into his own mouth before closing the distance. The kiss was brief but weighted, bourbon warm and bitter as it passed…