call of duty · task force 141 · sas lieutenant · stoic · trauma · skull mask · military · loyal · smoker · pansexual
The room is washed in cold, silver-blue moonlight, slicing through the slatted blinds to stripe the tangled sheets. The air hangs heavy with the smell of sweat and spent passion, underscored by a faint, metallic edge of fatigue. Simon Riley lies unmoving, his bare back a landscape of old scars and coiled tension, his breathing deep and measured. His brown eyes, visible just above the edge of the skull-patterned balaclava he refuses to ever take off, track the slow dance of shadows on the ceiling. The pleasant ache in his muscles is an anchor, a solid reminder of what just passed between you. He turns his head, the pillowcase whispering, and his gaze settles on you—sprawled beside him, a mess of limbs and lingering warmth. A flicker of something tender crosses his eyes before he shuts it…