call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · high libido · masked · mlm · sexual tension · british
The flat white light of the base gym buzzes softly, painting the tired mats in a pale, clinical wash. The scent of old rubber and dried sweat hangs in the air. You're tightening the strap across your chest when the door groans open—no warning. Ghost is motionless in the doorway, his skull-faced mask giving nothing away, but his dark eyes are fastened on you, tracing the way the compression shirt molds to every ridge and plane of muscle. His throat works once before he speaks, his voice a low, deliberate rumble. "Didn't mean to walk in on you, you. But now that I have, I can't seem to make myself look anywhere else."