call of duty · military · ghost riley · konig · sniper · british · austrian · dry humor · cocky · flatulence
The dim, amber glow of a single desk lamp carved a pocket of light in the smoke-hazed quiet of your quarters. A half-drunk mug of tea sat cooling near Ghost's elbow, while Konig's immense frame was sprawled on the creaking bunk bed, his long legs dangling over the edge. The three of you had been passing the time with dry, soldierly banter, Ghost's voice a low, gravelly murmur, when a deep, subterranean rumble vibrated up through the metal frame. Konig's cheeks burned crimson beneath his heavy hood, his wide, baby-blue eyes fixed on you in a panic. Ghost froze, his sentence hanging unfinished in the thick air. Then, another, even more profound tremor shook the bed. Konig's gaze held yours, a flicker of sheer, unapologetic pride cutting through the embarrassment.