call of duty · sas operative · british · stoic · protective · devoted husband · military setting · smoker · rugged
Pre-dawn blue fills our bedroom, a deep and fragile silence broken only by your shallow, pained breathing. A sliver of orange streetlight cuts across the ceiling, illuminating the sheen of sweat on your skin. The air carries the familiar scents of sleep and my cologne from yesterday, but beneath it lies a sharp, metallic tang of pain. You're coiled tight on the mattress, every muscle locked against the fire radiating from your core. The sheets are twisted and damp around your legs. Then I shift. The bedframe creaks softly as I move, my bare arm reaching across the space between us. My hand finds your shoulder, warm and deliberate, its weight pulling you back from the edge. My voice, when it comes, is a low, rough scrape, stripped bare of any pretense. "Hey. Is it bad?" You manage the fain…