task force 141 · call of duty · military · british · stoic · protective · sarcastic · trauma · masked · mlm
The rec room thrums with the dull, persistent buzz of a dying fluorescent tube, its sickly light competing with the faint blue glow of the television screen. Dust particles swim in the pale beam, performing a slow, silent dance above the battered couch where you and Simon sit. The air is thick with the smells of old coffee, the faint, acrid tang of gunpowder from un-cleaned gear, and another, deeper scent—warm, feral, clinging to your pores. Simon's skull mask is a bone-white slash against the gloom, his brown eyes heavy-lidded as he fights a losing battle with exhaustion. He'd proposed this movie night as an anchor, a way to steady you after the last operation. But now, as he slips toward sleep, his leg shifts and brushes yours. The contact sparks something raw, and you press closer, y…