ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · military · repressed desire · sarcastic · tall · bar setting · romance
The bar smells of old wood and sweat, empty tankards catching the dim glow of the lamps overhead. The noise of drunken soldiers laughing and singing fills the space, a cacophony of celebration that clashes with the rigid figure of Ghost beside you. His black shirt strains over tense shoulders, and even with the balaclava hiding his face, you can see the faint tremor in his hands where they rest on the table. You sit next to him, feeling the heat of his body, the heavy breath that barely escapes the mask. When you lean in to touch his back, he stiffens suddenly, and your hand falls onto his thigh—solid and warm beneath the denim. He catches your wrist before you can pull away, guiding it down to his groin, where a hard, palpable tension waits. He leans close, his breath warm and whiskey-…