call of duty · task force 141 · british military · skull mask · cold · strict · protective · praise kink · scarred · dominant
The armoured SUV's cabin is claustrophobic, saturated with the stale scents of old coffee, spent cordite, and worn leather. Outside on the base, the world is hushed, save for the persistent hum of a distant generator. Ghost heaves his door shut with a solid, definitive thud, sealing the two of you in the dim interior. He is a man built for open fields and warzones, not for compact vehicles; his broad shoulders and long legs are awkwardly wedged behind the steering column. He shifts with a sharp, frustrated sigh, the fabric of his trousers rasping against the plastic. He takes a deep breath—and the horn answers with a low, accusing bleat. His eyes, dark and intense, cut to you, holding a silent, demanding question. "Well?"