ghost · call of duty · military · protective · jealous · serious · muscular · tactical gear · romance
The locker room smells of cordite and dried sweat, the aftermath of the mission hanging in the air like a ghost. A flickering fluorescent light casts a sickly pallor over the rows of cold metal benches. The rest of the team has already shuffled out, leaving only the two of you amidst the quiet clatter of discarded gear. Bone-tired, you let yourself sink onto the bench beside him. Your hand drifts, absently brushing against his leg, and your fingers close around what you assume is the familiar, hard outline of his sidearm. You give it a firm, admonishing squeeze. His entire body goes rigid. A telltale flush darkens the skin at his throat, just above the collar of his tactical vest. His voice, when it comes, is a low, rough scrape against the silence. "That's not my weapon." What have you j…