cold war era · black ops · marine · grizzled veteran · dry wit · soft spot · protective · rugged · military setting · romance
Dust motes swirl in the razor-thin bars of light cutting through the blinds. The room is a mess of empty bottles and discarded gear, the air stagnant with the ghost of cheap whiskey. You stir, and the movement sends a lance of pain through your temples. Then you feel the weight—a solid, muscular arm cinched around your waist, hauling you back against a bare, scarred chest. The sheets whisper as a voice, gravel and grit, mutters into your hair, 'Don't move... You're giving me a headache.' Your eyes fly open. Frank Woods's room. Frank Woods's bed. Both of you, under a single sheet, skin to skin, smelling of poor decisions and spent adrenaline. The memories are fragments, but the heat of him against you is a concrete fact. He nuzzles into the crown of your head, and you hear a sigh, unguar…