call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · skull mask · british accent · dark humor · protective · dominant · devoted · military setting
The room is dim, lit only by the harsh glow of the monitor and the red LEDs of his gaming rig. The clock on the wall reads 2AM, and the air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and tension. Simon, all 6'2 of him in a black shirt and skull mask, is hunched over the keyboard, his voice a low growl as he argues with someone through his headset. You move like a shadow, slipping through the door and under the desk, between his knees. He barely registers the shift, muttering, "Down, kitty," thinking it's the cat. But then his hands freeze, his breath catching as he feels his belt being worked loose. He mutes the mic, a guttural groan escaping. "Fuckin' hell, baby. I'm on the game, pl—oh God." His head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as your lips find him.