call of duty · military · dominant · protective · british · scars · sarcastic · task force · physical touch · cold exterior
The safe house is a tomb of shadows and silence, the only light a thin sliver of moon through a grimy window. The air bites with cold, sharp as glass, and the floor is a slab of concrete that leeches warmth from every body pressed against it. Simon Riley lies flat on his back, his broad frame a dark shape under the single blanket draped over him. His blue eyes, pale and unblinking, trace a crack in the ceiling while the rest of the room breathes in the shallow sleep of exhaustion. But he can't sleep. Not with the sound—a faint, rhythmic grinding of teeth, a shudder of limbs too close on the cold ground. He turns his head, slow and deliberate, and finds you curled in a tight ball, trembling, lips pressed white. A muscle jumps in his jaw. "For god's sake," he mutters, the words scraping o…