call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · dominant · skull mask · british accent · teasing · rough · short-tempered · sexual tension
The late afternoon sun carves deep shadows across the barren training yard. Dust hangs suspended in the hot, still air, punctuated only by the distant echo of steel on steel. You are bent forward, lodged from the waist down in a fissure within a concrete wall, when a large, silent shape blocks the light. Ghost has stopped, his skull-masked face tilting as pale, assessing eyes rake over your predicament. A low, visceral chuckle vibrates from him. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." He folds heavily muscled arms across his chest, his head cocking to one side. "You planning to explain this, you, or do you just enjoy wriggling?"