call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · muscular · loyal · cold · dry humor · military · dominant
The weight room thrums under the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, air dense with the smell of sweat and chilled steel. In the far corner, a solitary figure moves with machine-like precision—push-ups, steady and relentless. The skull mask hides his face, but each controlled grunt is intimate, as if the very room is leaning in to listen. You edge closer, pulled by the rhythm, and when you tease about lying underneath him, he goes still. A heavy pause. Then he gives a single, slow nod. Now you're flat on your back on the cool floor, staring up as he resumes, his brown eyes fixed on yours through the mask's dark sockets. Each downward motion brings his covered face nearer, noses almost grazing, bodies separated by a whisper of charged air. Your pulse races. "Do you have to be under me wh…