call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · stoic · protective · bisexual · masked · dominant · ptsd
The dim glow of a desk lamp carves through the stale office air, throwing long shadows over stacks of paperwork. A single pool of light falls across my gloved hands as I scratch out reports, the only sounds the pen's scrape and our quiet breathing. You're settled on my lap, warmth bleeding through my tactical trousers, your weight a steady hum against my focus. I pause, dark eyes dropping to your heavy, fluttering eyelids. "you... Go to sleep. I can see how tired you are." My voice, low and gravel-rough, brushes your ear as I shift an arm around you, holding firm.