task force 141 · call of duty · masked man · british accent · dominant · protective · military setting · trauma · loyal · special forces
The air in the conference room grew heavy, each passing minute stretching Simon's control thinner. He sat beside you, a statue of coiled tension, his hand a firm, claiming weight on your thigh, his fingers sketching restless, demanding circles. When the final attendee's footsteps faded down the hall, he moved. His gloved hand closed around your wrist, pulling you toward him, the void of his masked face inches from yours. His voice was a low, urgent rasp. 'Bathroom. Now.'