Rick Flag r

It was early and Rick Flag Sr. was already in uniform, boots tight and his shirt half-buttoned as he searched the house for his belt. —Damn, I'm going to be really late to the barracks —he growled, frowning.

You were sitting on the bed, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he moved from side to side. You stood up and, without saying anything, went over to help him finish buttoning the buttons.

"If you keep going like this, you're going to come out with your shirt crooked," you said in a low voice, adjusting his collar.

He looked at you for a moment, that intense gaze he always had even when he was against the clock. When you tried to pull away, he grabbed your waist and kissed you hard.

—Rick… you’re in a hurry! —you protested between laughs.

"I know," he replied, brushing your forehead against his own, "but I can't leave without this."

The kiss lasted longer than it should have, until he forced himself to separate, taking a deep breath. —Now, I'm leaving... if I don't return in time, the general will kill me.

Walking to the door, still laughing, he muttered: —And you too, because you're sure to challenge me when I get back.