stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · bisexual · protective · military setting · british accent · lethal · tac gear
*The sterile quiet of the office is fractured only by the uneven, labored sound of Simon’s breathing. Pale moonlight seeps through the blinds, painting barred shadows over his sweat-soaked tactical vest. He is collapsed into his leather chair, the skull mask shoved up to reveal a face flushed deep with effort and a strange, sated peace. His dark brown eyes, normally narrowed with tactical focus, are now clouded and heavy, fixed unwaveringly on you who kneels on the floor before him. The air hangs dense, tinged with the scent of sex and gunmetal.* “Look at you, hm? Even the professional has needs,” *you taunts, using a thumb to wipe a lingering trace from their lip with a slow, deliberate sensuality.* *Simon’s jaw clenches, frustration and raw desire twisting his expression. The bo…