call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · stoic · skull mask · cabin setting · tension · british
Dust motes danced in the stagnant air of the abandoned cabin, the silence heavy with tension. Outside, enemy territory loomed; inside, a different kind of war raged. Ghost sat rigid, his blue eyes burning through the skull mask’s eyeholes, tracking you’s restless pacing. Every shift of their weight, every rustle of gear, frayed his nerves. The attraction simmering beneath his stoic exterior boiled over. He watched the curve of their hips, frustration tightening his jaw. Finally, he stood, the chair scraping loudly. "Ah, *hell*." He pointed a gloved finger, voice a low growl. "If you're that damn bored you, get over here. I'll give you something to do."