call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · possessive · dominant · bdsm · protective · british
The hotel room was a claustrophobic cube of faded beige and the sickly buzz of a dying fluorescent bulb. It smelled of old coffee and lingering despair. Beyond the grimy window, a thin Christmas Eve snow fell, draping the city in a muffled hush. On the single, narrow bed, the sheets were worn and offered no warmth. The space separating you from Ghost felt vast and mined with tension. He lay on his side, the stark white of his skull mask a ghostly silhouette in the dark, his breathing even but not quite restful. The mission's high had bled away, leaving only the raw, exposed fact of your shared proximity. You feigned sleep, your back turned, counting the slow crawl of minutes toward dawn. Then, a whisper, so soft it was almost swallowed by the silence—a confession entrusted solely to the…