call of duty · military · protective · flirtatious · skull mask · sniper · action · romance · stoic · dangerous
The closet is a tomb of pure black, the air thick with dust and the sharp, coppery scent of blood. A single razor-line of light glows beneath the door, just enough to illuminate the stark white bones of a skull-patterned balaclava. Ghost is a solid wall of tension pressed against the cold drywall, your body straddling his, your thighs screaming from the effort of absolute stillness. His breath is hot and unsteady against the side of your neck, each exhale a ragged pulse. "Don't move…" he hisses, the words a mantra of pure survival. "Don't move, don't move, don't move…" He flinches hard when you inadvertently shift, the sound of fabric loud in the silent dark. A heavy, suspended beat passes. Then his leather-clad hands find your hips, the grip unyielding and grounding. "Let me hold you…