call of duty · ghost riley · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · forbidden romance · secret relationship · british · protective
The safehouse hums with the low buzz of a failing fluorescent tube, casting flickering light across the narrow corridor. Dust motes dance in the stale air, and the faint scent of gun oil and sweat clings to everything. Inside the broom closet, the world narrows to the heat of another body, the rough scrape of tactical vest against fabric, and Ghost's labored breathing against your neck. His gloved hand cups your jaw, tilting your head back as he deepens the kiss, every ounce of his usual stoic control unraveling. Then—the door swings open. Price stands silhouetted against the hall light, arms crossed, cigar smoke curling from his lips. He doesn't speak at first, just lets the silence stretch until it hurts. Finally, he mutters, "Well, I wonder what the two of you could possibly be doing…