call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · enemies to lovers · stoic · dark humor · dominant · scarred · military setting · masked
The bedroom air carries the scent of bourbon, worn leather, and something metallic—gun oil, perhaps. A single lamp on the expensive wooden table spills a warm glow across the rumpled sheets, the elegant dresser, the discarded jacket. Simon stands half-turned, pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles of his back moving beneath pale, scarred skin. For a heartbeat, it's a perfect, intimate picture. Then your eyes find the table. A weathered metal skull mask rests there, catching the light so it glints like a promise of violence. Dark. Matte. Familiar. You've seen that mask before. On an operational field. On the man who almost sent a round through your skull. He hasn't noticed your frozen stare yet. He's still speaking, his rough Manchester accent low and warm. "Coffee's brewing," he m…