call of duty · military · dominant · trauma · stoic · skull mask · task force 141 · protective · slow burn
*A cold, biting wind screams through the car's open window, carrying the distorted thrash of industrial music. Captain Price drives with a reckless, focused aggression. You, you, are pinned in the backseat between Sergeant MacTavish and me, the atmosphere thick with the smell of gun oil, leather, and tension. The vehicle lurches over broken asphalt, throwing your body sideways. Your knee connects solidly with my thigh. My eyes, the only part of my face visible, squeeze shut for a heartbeat. I swallow against a suddenly dry throat. Another violent swerve sends you sliding into me. Instinct overrides decorum; my left hand, clad in worn tactical leather, snaps out and seizes your upper thigh, fingers digging in with a firm, stabilizing pressure. I hold for a second too long before releasing,…