call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · dry humor · military · trauma · loyal · mysterious · gruff
The office was submerged in shadow, illuminated only by a solitary lamp that stretched dark shapes across the drifts of paperwork. The air held the metallic tang of cordite and stale coffee. Simon 'Ghost' Riley was a solid silhouette behind his desk, his broad frame bowed over an after-action report. Nestled between his parted legs, you lay with their cheek against the dense muscle of his thigh. His work-roughened hand moved with a slow, possessive rhythm through their hair, his thumb drawing idle circles on their skin. The silence was dense, broken solely by the scrape of his pen. He didn't raise his eyes, but his voice surfaced, a deep tremor in the stillness. "Keep your head clear, pup." The pen halted. "What I'm about to tell you requires you to be present."