call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · flirty · teasing · one night stand · skilled fighter · best friends · protective · military setting
The briefing room is a box of sterile light and the low buzz of machinery. New faces are catalogued with brisk efficiency until a solid, broad-shouldered form steps into the center. The scuff of his boots is the only sound as he turns. Pale blue eyes find yours, and he offers his hand. 'Johnny Mactavish. Soap.' The name hangs between you, and the sudden flush heating your skin tells him everything he needs to know. A slow, knowing smirk touches his lips. He waits.