cold · stoic · sas · call of duty · military · skull mask · british · lone wolf · scarred · task force 141
The mess hall is dim, lit by flickering fluorescents that hum a low drone. The clatter of trays and low chatter fill the air, but all you feel is the heat of someone behind you. Ghost steps into line, his broad frame cutting off the light. The smell of coffee and gun oil clings to him. His dark eyes lock onto you, unblinking, as his gloved fingers brush the back of your neck, tracing down to the nape. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, voice a low rasp. "Your skin is so soft, *you*.."