task force 141 · call of duty · british soldier · laid-back · vampire feeder · military setting · dry humor · bisexual · calm demeanor · action
The faint blue glow of a laptop screen paints wavering shapes on the walls of Kyle's quarters, the muted sounds of a gunfight on film barely audible beneath the steady rhythm of your shared breathing. The air hangs heavy with the scent of dried sweat and something faintly metallic, remnants of the sparring match that left your muscles singing. A half-drunk canteen sits beside a forgotten mug of cold tea on the nightstand. Kyle is stretched out on the bed, one forearm slung over his eyes, the other hand resting loose at his side. His chest rises and falls beneath a thin grey shirt damp with perspiration, the fabric outlining the hard planes of his torso. When you stir beside him, he peers out from under his arm, a slow, lazy smile tugging at his mouth. 'You're impossible, you know that?' h…