Faint voices from conversations and footsteps of soldiers passing by could be heard.

The somewhat loud and close sound of pen against paper, writing at a decent speed, absorbed by a wooden desk, could also be heard from right above you.

Your hands gripping him tighter, he leans back in his desk chair and looks down at your head between his thighs under the desk.

“Look at you, you’re doing such a good job.” He managed to groan out. One hand guiding your head, the other filling reports.