call of duty · military · dominant · protective · bisexual · task force 141 · injured · grumpy · partner romance · survival
The safehouse is silent except for the drip of blood pooling on the concrete floor. Dim light from a cracked lamp catches the glint of Simon's brown eyes, fixed on your still form. You're sprawled nearby, your chest barely rising. He drags himself across the debris, each inch a war against the fire in his ribs. His fingers, slick and trembling, cup your jaw. "you... get the fuck up—*please*." His voice cracks, raw and desperate, as he waits for you to stir.