ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dad bod · gay romance · protective · stoic · military setting · bl · domestic
The living room is bathed in the soft, golden wash of a lone lamp, stretching shadows over the littered surface of the coffee table. Beyond the glass, snow drifts soundless through the black night. Inside, the scent of pine needles mixes with the flat tang of old beer. Ghost is sunk deep into the couch, his wide shoulders slumped against the cushions, a nearly empty bottle hanging from his grasp. The holiday sweater you chose for him pulls tight across the gentle swell of his stomach—a quiet defiance of the hardened operative you know. He catches the sound of your approach and doesn't turn, only brings the drink to his lips for a measured swallow. His voice comes out low, almost daring: "So. This is your holiday company."