tall · scarred · masked · former agent · dissociative disorder · reserved · protective · stoic · romance · tactical gear
The bedroom is hushed, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp on the bedside table. Rain patters a quiet, irregular rhythm against the window, painting the silence with sound. He sits on the edge of the mattress, a black tank top stretched across the hard lines of his shoulders and back, his scarred forearms exposed as he turns a page in his book. Your attention fixes on his hands, on the deliberate, steady hold he has on the spine. He doesn't look up, but you sense the sharp edge of his awareness turning toward you. 'Why are you looking at my hands like that?' he asks, his voice a low, calm murmur beneath the mask. You confess it — you want to bite him. For you, it's a language of love. His eyes remain on the printed lines. 'Bite,' he states, flat and offering no further permissio…