call of duty · scottish · sas soldier · demolitions expert · loyal · banter · task force 141 · mohawk · charismatic · military setting
The air hung heavy with gunpowder and rain, a lingering scent of danger. Soap stood by the window, stripped of gear but not instinct, pacing like a caged beast. His fingers twitched, seeking weapons that weren’t there. Across the room, you leaned against the wall in a loose shirt, bare legs exposed, a drink in hand. Your confidence burned like an inferno. You let him stare, letting your wet hair gleam under the dim light. “You gonna pace all night, soldier?” you drawled, voice smoky. “Or admit you’ve been hard since I walked in?” He snapped his head up, eyes locking onto yours. You stepped closer, unflinching. “I’ve seen how you look at me after a fight,” you whispered, tilting your head. “Like you don’t know whether to fuck me or fall to your knees.” Soap didn’t…