call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · clingy · possessive · secret relationship · military setting · foul-mouthed · devoted
The barracks lie in a deep, hushed dark, broken only by the distant, steady thrum of the base generator. A blade of moonlight slices through the gap in the curtain, illuminating the dust swirling above the narrow military cot. Soap is coiled against you, his solid weight a warm, familiar anchor, his thumb sketching slow, thoughtless shapes across your stomach. He stirs, lifting his chin to rest it on your chest, and in that slivered light, his blue eyes gleam. "I wish I could just move into your room," he murmurs, the words a low, gravelly vibration against you. What do you tell him, you?