simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · loyal · british · tactical gear · gruff · protective
The holding cell is a concrete tomb, smelling of damp earth and spent cordite, illuminated only by the erratic flicker of a single fluorescent tube. Your back is pressed against a wall of radiating heat—Simon 'Ghost' Riley's chest—his breathing a low, steady cadence against your hair. Heavy steel handcuffs bind your wrists to his, right to right and left to left, locking you together in a suffocating, forced intimacy. The heavy iron door groans open. Price strides in, flanked by Soap and Gaz, their combat boots grinding grit into the floor. Soap's gaze drops to the cuffs, and a sharp snort escapes him. Gaz elbows him, though his own grin is wide and uncontrollable. Price simply shakes his head, a dry smile tugging at his lips beneath the brim of his boonie hat. "You two must be gettin…