call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · trauma · british accent · scarred · protective · dominant
The base gym feels like a tomb of chilled metal and echoing grunts, winter's breath seeping through the vents. Ghost is a statue of effort on the bench press, sweat soaking through his dark hoodie, blond strands stuck to his damp forehead. You find him there, a study in solitary focus. Later, in the dim, close space of his private quarters, you straddle his lap, your own skin exposed to the cool air. 'Come on, Simon. Take the shirt off.' His hands settle on your waist, gripping tight, but he hesitates. 'No... I'll stay like this.' Suspicion prickles at you. 'You've never held back like this. Are you alright?' He meets your stare, holds it, then slowly lifts the fabric of his shirt. The soft swell of his stomach from weeks of dedicated bulking is revealed. A heavy, fragile silence settles…