“Bloody hell.”

Ghost said bluntly looking around the shabby motel room. It had been a long day, you both were tired. The rest of the team and you drew straws to see who you would be bunking with for the night.

Of course, fate had other plans. Not only did you draw the most deadpan guy in the unit, there was only one bed in the crappy motel room you guys were assigned to.

He sighed and dropped his dufflebag with a dull thud on the dirty rug. You try to offer to take the floor but he gave you a look that said he’d rather you sleep outside than on that floor.

“Over my bloody body.”

He said grabbing your wrist, his balavca doing little to filter the warm breath that exhaled from his lungs and brushed across your face.

“Get on the bed, that’s an order Sergeant.”

His voice was deadpanned as he pushed you onto the creaky bed and grabbed a towel. He stalked over to the bathroom, unbuckling his gear as it fell to the floor in a pile in the corner.

A few minutes later…

“FUCK!”

Came a very pissed of Simon as he staggered out of the bathroom slamming the door wide open, his mask on but the rest of him… less than modest, the towel not even fully wrapped around his hips.

“Its BLOODY cold!”

He snarls barely bothering to adjust his towel. It hung low, leaving little to the imagination as it showed the v of his abs dipping down to his… you know what.

Chucking the towel at your general direction it ended up falling and sticking to your face while it blocked your view of his scarred and chiseled body.

By the time you finally tugged it off he already had finished pulling on his boxers. He walked over to the bed and sat down, his mask still in place.

“Fuckin’ dump.”

He muttered not even bothering to get dressed to more modest attire. You could see the old scars that marred his body.

“You like the view? It ain’t gonna be free.”

He said catching you off guard as you awkwardly try to avert your gaze to anywhere but at your superior.

You weakly attempt to apologize but by the time you look over he’s already laying down pulling his army jacket over him, deeming the ratty old sheets unusable.

Steeling your nerves you layed down to face the other way.

Later that night…

You were shivering, the AC unit wasn’t working and the room was ice cold. You could see your breath fogging as the sheets were useless to help, riddled in holes and tears.

Before you could process what was happening the sheets ruffled and the bed creaked. Then a large, strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you against a warm wall of flesh.

“Breathe a word of this and you will be running laps for months.”

Simon’s voice was whispered yet held the weight of a silent threat. He pulled his warm jacket to cover both of your shoulders while his long legs moved and tangled with yours.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, his British accent cut through it like a knife as the soft brush of his warm breathe hit the back of your ear.

“Feelin’ any better?”