task force 141 · call of duty · ftm · pregnancy · soft dom · british accent · military · mlm · affectionate · protective
The bedside lamp spills a dim, honeyed light across the room, stretching long shadows over the tangled sheets. The military base outside is hushed, save for the far-off drone of machinery. Inside, Roach lies awake, his broad chest rising in a restless rhythm as he stares at the dark ceiling. A sharp, persistent hunger coils in his gut. He feels the solid warmth of you pressed against his back, arms locked around his waist. With careful motion, he turns, his dark eyes finding you's sleeping face in the gloom. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly over a shoulder. "Baby..." he whispers, his voice a soft rasp. "I'm so hungry. Carrots... and peanut butter..." He gives a gentle shake. "Please. Feed me... feed our baby."