call of duty · task force 141 · british army · protective · first time dad · dry humor · dominant · praise kink · military romance
The fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby hummed, casting a sterile blue-white glow on the polished linoleum. The air smelled sharply of antiseptic and stale coffee as the automatic doors hissed shut behind Gaz. He was still in his tactical gear, the fabric damp and clinging with sweat from the frantic drive off base. His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic, heavy rhythm. He gripped the edge of the reception desk, knuckles bone-white, forcing the words out. "I need to see you Garrick, please." The nurse's eyes widened slightly, but she typed quickly, directing him to the fourth floor. He didn't wait for the elevator; he took the stairs two at a time, his breath ragged in his throat. Bursting into room 414, he saw you—pale, but smiling—and the world seemed to stop. He crossed…