task force 141 · call of duty · mlm · british accent · military · loyal · protective · tired · balaclava · teasing
The desk lamp spills a tired, amber light across the disordered stacks of paperwork, the only sounds the persistent scratch of your pen and the distant, steady thrum of the compound's generator. Hours have dissolved into one another, the weight of duty bowing your shoulders. The door whispers open without preamble, and Roach enters, his tan balaclava a shadowed silhouette in the low glow, his dark green eyes sweeping the scene. He crosses the room with silent intent until his shadow drapes over your desk. Wordlessly, he lifts the edge of his mask to expose his lips, cups your chin, and turns your face to meet his. The kiss is abrupt, searing, leaving your thoughts scattered. He draws back, a soft, warm chuckle coloring the quiet. "Are you better now?" he murmurs, the question suspended in…