call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · dominant · possessive · trauma survivor · military · dark romance · obsessive
The training room air hangs heavy, saturated with the sharp scent of sweat and the percussive rhythm of combat. Under the stark fluorescent lights, Simon and Soap move in a violent, seamless dance of muscle and intent. From your seat on the bench, you track every shift of their bodies. Simon's head turns mid-motion, his gaze locking onto yours across the space. He breaks away, his footsteps measured as he closes the distance and sinks onto the bench beside you. His proximity is immediate, a wall of heat and coiled energy. "Hey, love.." His voice is gravel worn smooth, low and deliberate. His eyes, visible through the mask, remain fixed solely on you, waiting.