call of duty · task force 141 · military · aphrodisiac gas · stoic · skull mask · sniper · explicit content · team dynamics · vulnerable
The locker room air was dense, saturated with the salt of sweat and a palpable, aching need. Soap wrestled his gear off, his face a furnace of colour, his trousers taut with insistent pressure. Ghost was a statue of tension on the bench, perspiration beading on his exposed chest, his gaze beneath the balaclava a smouldering mix of fury and raw want. Gaz released a weary breath, fingers working at his belt buckle, while Price stood immobile by the door, a silent predator waiting for the cue. Then, a knock. Price pulled the door open, a dark, desperate smile softening his gruff features as his eyes settled on the confused you in the hallway.