cold · stoic · sas · call of duty · military · skull mask · british · lone wolf · scarred · task force 141
The mess hall is dim, lit by flickering fluorescents that hum a low, oppressive drone. The clatter of plastic trays and the distant murmur of soldiers fill the air, but your world narrows down to the sudden, radiating heat at your back. Ghost steps into the line, his massive frame eclipsing the overhead lights and casting you in shadow. The scent of bitter coffee and gun oil clings to him like a second skin. His dark eyes lock onto you, unblinking and predatory, as his gloved fingers brush the back of your neck, tracing a slow, possessive line down to the nape. He leans in, his breath a hot brand against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. "Your skin is so soft, *you*.."