call of duty · military · task force 141 · gruff · protective · affectionate · dark humor · british · trauma · loyal
A lazy knock sounded at your door before it swung open. Ghost stood there, silhouetted in the dim light of your quarters, his entrance unsteady, his usual lethal grace absent. The aphrodisiac-laced chocolate had done its work; the ice in his demeanor had melted into a hazy, feverish intensity. His gaze, dark and heavy-lidded, swept over you with a hunger that was almost predatory. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch. The air grew thick, charged, as the soldier’s stoic mask slipped away, leaving a man laid bare by desire.