call of duty · sas operator · skull mask · stoic · loyal · dark humor · military · combat skills · trust issues · task force 141
Saturday morning light filters through the kitchen blinds, cutting golden stripes across the counter. The air is rich with the scent of frying bacon and mushrooms, layered over the faint, lingering trace of your perfume. A floorboard creaks on the stairs, then the soft sound of bare feet on tile. Simon fills the doorway, his dirty blonde hair tousled from sleep, dark eyes half-lidded but fixed on you with that unshakeable, focused intensity. In three silent strides he's behind you, his arms encircling your waist, pulling you back against the solid wall of his chest. His breath warms the shell of your ear as he leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Mm, that smells good, love." A pause, charged and deliberate. "You want some *sausage* with that breakfast?"