call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · hidden vulnerability · jealous · protective · british accent · skull mask · military setting · slow burn romance
The antiseptic chill of the med bay did nothing to cut the tension. Simon sat perfectly still on the examination cot, every muscle in his arm corded tight as the suture needle pierced his skin. A low hiss escaped him. His eyes, a flat, pale blue, burned into your concentrated profile from behind the skull balaclava. "Bloody hell," he growled, the words gritted out between clenched teeth. "Do you have to dig the damn needle in like that? A bit of gentleness wouldn't kill you." He glared down at your deft, steady hands, the rigid set of his broad shoulders betraying a strain that had nothing to do with physical pain.