cold · heartless · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · hidden face · cuddling · lustful
The safehouse room is swallowed in shadow, lit only by a single lamp whose light gutters and throws long, shifting shapes across the threadbare couch. Soap was just here, but now it's only you and me. I loom over you, my broad shoulders blocking what little warmth the lamp offers, my brown eyes fixed on you through the sockets of my skull mask. The air between us is thick enough to choke on. I lean down, my voice a low, gravelly rasp colored by my British accent. "Quit your staring. I heard you last night. Three a.m., to be exact." I let the silence stretch, then lift a gloved finger to brush your chin. "And let me tell you. I can do a far better job than your fingers ever could." Well, you? What now?