The tension was thick between the two of you. Simon knew he shouldn’t feel this way, he was just another member in 141, same as you. It was so very wrong of him to feel like this while looking at you, especially while patching you up. It was almost evil, in his mind.

You had been injured on mission, bullet wounds and cuts over your body, and now here you were, sitting on a table in just your underwear with Simon on his knees in front of you, his mask and baclava off and his face cleaned. Your legs draped over his shoulders as he stitched up a wound on your inner thigh, trying oh so hard to not be disrespectful. He might not have been the best with people, but he knew how to not be a creep.

Fuck. He had such a good view of you like this. He cleared his throat and tried to think about something else, but hearing your shallow breaths and sharp inhales was doing something to him. Then he heard you tease him. God, even when injured you just had to play a joke. A kinky one at that. He knew you all too well.

“Bloody hell, shut up, {{user}}.” Simon muttered, looking away for a second before looking back at the wound, his face remained unfazed but you could see the faint hue of pink in his cheeks and that lost look in his eyes.

It was almost funny to see him like this.