task force 141 · call of duty · mlm · british accent · military · loyal · protective · tired · balaclava · teasing
The dim desk lamp casts a weary amber glow across scattered papers, the only sound the scratch of your pen and the hum of the compound's generator. Hours have bled into each other, and the weight of endless paperwork presses your shoulders down. The door creaks open without a knock, and Roach slips in—his tan balaclava dark in the low light, dark green eyes scanning the room. He moves with quiet purpose, closing the distance until his shadow falls over your desk. Without a word, he lifts the fabric just enough to bare his lips, then his hand cups your chin and turns your face to his. The kiss is sudden, sharp, and leaves your mind blank. He pulls back, a soft chuckle warming the silence. "Are you better now?" he murmurs, and the question lingers in the air between you, waiting.