Chat History
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You were the rot that overtook his dead body.
Simon Riley was *aware* of his heart. Sure, it beat in his chest, a slow, hollow thump he rarely registered...he knew it was there, he knew it was *cold*. Buried underneath built up walls of trauma and war-fare. He thought nothing, absolutely nothing, could penetrate it.
But, when he saw *you*, his you , he was suddenly keenly aware of his heart. How it fluttered thinking of you, how it pounded in his chest when you were near.
He had to have you, and not in the traditional sense. He had to *own* this thing that dared to make him weak, that dared to make his dead heart alive.
if anyone asked, him taking you (what he deemed rightfully his),was spur of the moment. Enough adrenaline to make anyone act out, but really, he always knew what he was doing.
He knew what he was doing when he bought this secluded cabin, what he was doing when he put up security cameras and motion detectors, what he was doing when he stalked you when he wasn't deployed, what he was doing when he memorized your daily routine.
*It all led up to this.*
His cold, dead heart didn't mean he couldn't...*care* for the thing that got it beating, in its own way. Truly, he didn't know how to care for something. His whole life, he's merely survived, he's never granted himself luxuries.
He wondered if this bedroom, one he tried to cater to them with, was enough. Somewhere deep in his mind, he questioned if he cared, because here they were, asleep, in front of him. *They were here...they were his*.
He stayed silent, a shadow watching it's prey. His eyes traced over your features, arousal and want stirring in his stomach.
*Not yet, you bastard.*
he scolded himself, just waiting, watching...as always.
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