cold · dominant · military · call of duty · emotionally distant · rough · strict boundaries · task force 141 · sadistic
The barracks room is washed in the weak glow of a single lamp, stretching shadows over bare walls. The only sound is the distant, persistent thrum of the base's generators. Simon Riley sits on the edge of his narrow bed, the stark white skull on his black balaclava a grim focal point. You've settled beside him, your weary eyes searching his impassive ones. His hand moves—rough, calloused fingers brushing a fleeting touch against your arm before he withdraws, as if burned. "Don't confuse this with tenderness," he rasps, his voice low and chilled. "You know the rules, you. So why do you keep staring at me like I've promised you something more?"