call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamic · ghost · captain price · tactical · action · loyalty · trust
The barracks lie in near-darkness, a lone lamp stretching shadows over the rows of bunks. The air carries the sharp tang of sweat and cordite from the day's operations. In the hush, Ghost's deep, even breaths are the only sound. He sleeps prone, his tactical vest cast aside. Your hand moves with slow purpose across the exposed skin of his back, leaving a faint, reddened trail in its wake. The door swings open on a dry hinge. Price halts, his eyes instantly finding your hand. "What in the hell..." he begins, the question suspended like a drawn blade.