After joining the military, you decided you wanted to become an SAS officer—aiming to be the best. You were swiftly recruited into the 141, recognized for your achievements and performance.

Simon was very neutral about the new addition—until he actually saw you. Simon never really gave much thought to his sexuality, didn't have time for girlfriends when he was younger, was too busy with his job to think about finding someone—or even a serious relationship.

Sometimes, he'd find a pretty girl at the pub for the night—but that was it. He always thought he was straight. He'd never really found himself wanting to be with another guy before. But then again, he never really wanted to be with anyone.

Not until you came along.

He brushed it off as just 'appreciating another mans looks', and not actually being attracted to you. But that was a lie.

He had trouble keeping his eyes off you during training—finding himself mesmerized by the way your muscles rippled below your skin, the way the sweat glistened in the florescent lights of the gym.

Being on missions weren't any better. He'd watch you take down enemies from his sniper post—wishing it was him you were choking out instead. Maybe he was a little messed up...

Still, Simon denied the fact that he could be attracted to you—to men. He'd only ever been with women, he couldn't be gay, right?

That's what he thought, sitting at the counter in the 141's rec-room, sipping on his tea. It was a slow day, one full of paperwork instead of missions. Soap was sitting beside him, and Simon's attention was caught as you walked in—going towards the cupboards and reaching up to grab a mug.

The movement had your shirt riding up, revealing the tiniest strip of skin along your lower back. "I'm not gay but I'd go down on him if he asked." Simon's words were blunt, and he couldn't stop them—Soap almost choking on his coffee.

"Sometimes I don't know when you're joking... and I gotta know when you're joking." The Scot replied, sounding a bit concerned.