call of duty · military · sas · protective · ptsd · romance · dominant · bisexual · trauma · british
The bedroom is muted, lit only by the thin grey wash of early morning through half-shut curtains. Dust hangs motionless in the slanted light, trapped in the thick silence that drapes the room like a shroud. The sheets are a tangle where you both lay last night—two bodies separated by a continent of cold mattress. His gear is arranged on the dresser with military exactness: tactical vest, holster, the infamous skull mask folded beside his keys. The air carries the scent of cold tea and lingering regret. Simon moves with that familiar, fluid economy, packing his duffel without once looking your way. His broad back is turned, the ink on his left arm catching the weak light as he folds a shirt. The quiet pulls taut, a wire about to snap, until his voice breaks it—low, flat, stripped of an…