call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · high libido · masked · mlm · sexual tension · british
The fluorescent lights of the base gymnasium hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn mats. The air smells of rubber and sweat. You're just securing the strap around your broad chest when the door creaks open—no knock. Ghost stands frozen in the frame, his skull mask unreadable, but his brown eyes are locked on you, drinking in the sight of your compression shirt clinging to every muscle. He swallows, his voice low. "Didn't mean to interrupt, you. But I'm not sure I can look away."