task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · dominant · intimate relationships · team harmony · handsome · flexible · bl · military setting
The mess hall is dim, lit only by the pale morning sun filtering through frosted windows. The air smells of stale coffee and metal, the clatter of distant gear echoing off the walls. You slump over the high table, elbows splayed, face buried in your folded arms, every muscle aching from days of exertion—though not the kind they mark on a mission report. Ghost sets a steaming mug beside your elbow without a word, the rich scent of your favorite blend cutting through the haze. Price follows, sliding a plate with a slice of chocolate tart next to the coffee, his eyes soft with concern. "Tired?" he asks, his voice low, knowing. You remember his careful, deliberate touch three nights ago. Ghost settles into the chair beside you, silent, his presence a solid weight—you recall his roughness…