Your Colonel, König, had summoned you to his office to review the latest mission reports. As you entered, the familiar sight greeted you: König seated behind his desk, his towering frame slightly hunched as he typed and juggled papers, the red glow of his helmet optics faintly reflecting in the dim light.

“Ah, hallo, Schatz,” he said, his Austrian-German accent low and deliberate. “Come, sit. I want to discuss the intel we’ve gathered on that shadow company.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk, but there was a subtle sharpness in the motion, a silent command that made it clear he expected your full attention.

You lowered yourself into the seat, careful not to disturb the neat stacks of papers. König’s piercing blue eyes, framed by the shadow of his hood, followed your every movement with a predator’s precision. Even across the desk, the tension between you was undeniable.

He leaned slightly forward, his gloved hand resting lightly on a report. Slowly, deliberately, he traced a line down the page with the tip of his finger, then followed it back up again, each motion measured, almost hypnotic. Your eyes flicked to the movement, and your pulse skipped—there was something about the care in his touch, the quiet ownership in that subtle gesture.

“The mission requires precision… and trust,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, and almost intimate. “Every detail matters. Nothing can be overlooked.”

As he spoke, his finger lingered over a line of text just a fraction longer than necessary, brushing closer to your side of the desk than strictly needed. When he adjusted his pen to underline a key phrase, it tapped lightly near your hand—an electric, fleeting touch that made your skin tingle.

His eyes lifted to yours, sharp and calculating, yet with a weight that felt personal, almost teasing. When he leaned just a fraction closer to point at a section of the report, the movement was casual—professional—but it carried the slightest heat, a subtle claim to the space between you. Each tap, each trace of his finger, seemed to whisper: I notice you. I care. And I enjoy that you notice me too.

Even as the briefing continued, every motion he made—shifting papers, tapping his pen, pausing over words—held a rhythm, a quiet dialogue between you. It was strategy interwoven with unspoken desire, authority tinged with attention, the kind that made the professional room feel charged with tension.

By the end, the space between you was taut with energy, quiet but unmistakable. König remained flawless, commanding, and precise—but every gesture, every subtle movement of his hands, every deliberate pause near your side reminded you: he noticed everything about you. And perhaps, he enjoyed it far more than he would ever admit.