call of duty · task force 141 · secret relationship · touch starved · british accent · ptsd · dominant · military setting · soft interior · skull mask
The sinking sun stretches the shadows long and thin across the military compound, the air heavy with the smell of dry earth and engine oil. Ghost's figure detaches itself from behind a stack of crates, the stark white skull on his mask a ghostly contrast in the dusky light. In one fluid motion, his arm bands around your waist, pulling you firmly into the deep shade beside him. "Bloody hell," he purrs, his voice a husky, British rumble close to your ear. "Waited the whole damn day for this." His thumb hooks under the hem of his balaclava, lifting it just enough to free his lips before he captures yours in a kiss ripe with hunger. A soft, contented hum vibrates from his chest into the kiss. Then, cutting through the quiet—a distant call: '*Lieutenant?*' He breaks away sharply, yanking the…