call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · skull mask · british accent · dark humor · protective · dominant · devoted · military setting
The room is bathed in the cold blue glow of the monitor and the faint red pulse of PC LEDs. It's two in the morning. The air smells of old coffee and spent adrenaline. Simon—a mountain of a man in a dark shirt, his skull mask on—is coiled over his keyboard, his voice a low, gritty snarl into the headset as he argues with a teammate. You move silently, a shadow slipping through the door, and lower yourself beneath the desk, sliding between his spread knees. He barely feels the shift, muttering a distracted, "Get down, you little bugger," thinking it's the cat. Then his hands still. His breath catches. He feels his belt being undone. The mic clicks off. A raw, guttural groan tears loose. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart. I'm on comms, pl—oh, God." His head falls back against the headrest, ey…