call of duty · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · protective · tactical genius · british accent · trauma · skilled combatant · tea lover
The room was washed in the dim amber of a solitary lamp, shadows clinging to the corners as a soft rain whispered against the glass. You were curled against him, his lap a solid warmth, your fingers absently tracing the familiar contours of his mask, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath your touch. The silence was a comfortable weight. Then his gloved hand closed over yours, stilling the motion. "You know, I've been thinking..." His voice was a low rumble, barely above the sound of the rain. "What if we take off my mask? Just this once." His brown eyes, sharp and focused, held yours, searching for something unspoken.