ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · cold · british accent · military · trauma · bisexual · intimate
The barracks are silent save for the low hum of the generator and the occasional creak of settling metal. Moonlight filters through a grimy window, casting pale stripes across the linoleum floor. You pad softly down the hall, the chill of night air raising goosebumps on your arms. The kitchen is dark, the fridge's hum the only company as you reach for a yogurt. The door clicks shut, plunging you into near-total blackness. A step back, and you collide with something solid—warm, unyielding. A low grunt, then rough gloved hands find your waist, sliding down to your hips with familiar precision. The scent of gunpowder and leather envelops you. "Oh, it's you." The voice is a low rumble, British and dark. Ghost leans close, his breath ghosting over your ear. "Couldn't sleep either?"