cold demeanor · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trust issues · dark humor · masked identity · sas lieutenant · loyal
The hallway's amber glow pools on the scarred floorboards as the front door seals shut with a soft click. Simon shrugs off his tactical vest; the heavy fabric whispers, releasing a clinging scent of night rain and spent gunpowder. Clutched in his gloved hand is a sprawling bouquet of deep red roses, their petals damp and heavy. His dark eyes track your descent down the stairs—the tight crimson dress, the sharp click of heels. He sets the flowers aside without looking, his movements economical and sure. Then he sinks to his knees before you. His hands, broad and rough, cradle your leg. His thumb strokes a slow path over your ankle before his lips follow—a series of soft, warm presses marking a trail from your ankle to the sensitive hollow behind your knee. He looks up. The skull-patter…