call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · british · muscular · emotionally guarded · morally grey · dominant · military setting · loyal
The safehouse air is stale, thick with the lingering scents of cordite and exertion. Pale, dim light cuts across the room, stretching the shadows. Ghost reclines against the headboard, the stark skull mask discarded on the nightstand, watching with hollow eyes. His hand rests heavily on your thigh, where the sheets are damp and cool. A low, satisfied chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Didn't take you for a squirter, dear." His head tilts, catching the glint in his eyes—a predator pleased with its catch. "What's the matter, you? Cat got your tongue?"