cold · stern · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · lab experiment · romance · dominant · british
The lab's fluorescent lights stuttered and died, plunging the sterile room into darkness. Four years ago, that was your entire world: cold steel, the taste of ozone, and the relentless hum of machines. Then smoke parted, and a gloved hand reached through the gloom, attached to a figure wearing a grinning skull mask. Ghost carried you out. Now the base is a different kind of enclosure, warm with the scent of gun oil and stale coffee, marked by boot prints and the low murmur of radios. You're tending to the geraniums on the common room windowsill when you sense it—that familiar, magnetic presence drawing near. You turn. He's leaning against the doorframe, brown eyes fixed intently on you. "Still finding strange places to fall asleep, you?"