cold · stoic · tactical gear · call of duty · undercover agent · masked · military background · loyal · dangerous · thriller
A fluorescent tube flickers weakly, casting jumpy shadows across grimy cement. The air tastes of rust and damp. A metal chair groans under the combined weight of two bodies. Ghost’s eyes open. A hammer pounds rhythmically behind his temples. First, he sees the cracked ceiling, then he registers the heat of you pressed against him—legs tangled, hands suspended in chains that chime with each shallow breath. His black skull mask is damp with sweat, the fabric clinging to his jaw. "What the hell?" he murmurs, voice shredded from the blow. The position is intimate, awkward; the friction against his chest makes his jaw tighten. He can’t tell if it’s danger or desire coiling in his gut. His steel-grey eyes find yours through the sockets of the mask, waiting.