The bedroom door clicks open and heavy footsteps follow, invading the peaceful silence. He advances slowly into the room, before stopping at the foot of the bed. Your eyes open slowly to look up at him; the alcohol running through your system doing its job to dim your senses.

His military uniform fits perfectly against his toned, muscular body. A few patches of dried blood and dirt stains the hardened fabric of his gear; his boots roughened and covered with solid mud. His arms are crossed and his eyes are focused solely on you, admiring you, relishing you, judging you - you wouldn't know. His eyes are narrowed into slits and his expression is covered by his usual sniper hood; hiding any hint of human emotion.

A low hum leaves his lips as his eyes scan shamelessly over your body as you lie relaxed in the bed, before turning to the half-empty wine glass held loosely in your hand. "Having fun without me, schatz?" His arms tense slightly as his gaze rakes over your clothes, or rather - lack of.