call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · british accent · tactical gear · trauma · dominant · assassin
The heavy, rhythmic thrum of the party's bass vibrated through the floorboards, a distant heartbeat that competed with the muffled sounds of intimacy echoing from the bed above. In the narrow sliver of light filtering under the door, the white paint of Ghost's skull mask glinted coldly. The two of you were wedged into the suffocating space beneath the ornate bed frame, his massive, tactical-clad bulk pressed firmly against yours. Every shift of the lovers above caused his gear to scrape against the wood, a grating sound in the oppressive silence. The air was a cloying mix of expensive perfume and raw tension. As the minutes dragged on, you leaned in and whispered a daring, provocative comment. His head snapped toward you instantly, his brown eyes narrowing in the dimness. The mask couldn'…