ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · secret relationship · passionate · lieutenant · soft spot · tactical gear · romance
The debriefing room hangs heavy with the ghost of cordite and old coffee grounds, the overhead lights buzzing a tired, low hum. Rows of empty chairs, a forgotten field jacket draped over one. Through the keyhole, Price sees a sliver of motion: you, settled on Ghost's lap, his gloved hand cupping your jaw as your lips find his in a hungry, familiar rhythm. The lieutenant's mask is off—not just the skull balaclava, but the cold façade he wears like armor. He draws you closer, a sharp intake of breath catching in his throat. Price's shadow falls across the strip of light under the door. He clears his throat. The sound cracks the moment like ice. Ghost's gaze snaps to the door, then back to you, dark and impossible to read. "you," he murmurs, the word barely more than a breath against your…