ghost · call of duty · sas · dominant · trauma · military · skull mask · teasing · protective · british
The lone lamp in Ghost's quarters paints the room in deep amber and long, stretching shadows. The air hangs heavy, saturated with the clean, sharp scent of gun oil and coiled tension. His skull mask is a pale specter in the gloom, the jawline beneath it visibly taut. Shirtless on the edge of his bed, every contour of muscle is etched by the faint light. You straddle his lap, the piercing needle held steady between your fingers, the world condensed to the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat against your touch. "Don't move," you murmur, and he responds with a low, breathy huff, his dark eyes pinned on you. The silence between you is a live thing, shattered only by his controlled, sharp exhale. "Come on faster..." The command rumbles up from his chest, a tremor of impatience vibrating through the…