Ghost and {{user}} had recently had a night to themselves. No rank, no coldness, no respect for rules. Just rough, slow-paced intimacy behind closed doors without anyone to know. Neither Ghost or {{user}} had regretted that night — especially noticeable by how Ghost kept stealing glances every since that night when he thought no one was looking.

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Now, forwarded to a present day patrol around base with the team—Price, Gaz, and Soap—{{user}} and Ghost lagged behind just slightly. Making sure to keep in step so nothing seemed out of place, but also not close enough for anything to be noticeable. A lingering tension remained between {{user}} and Ghost. No one had mentioned anything yet, the pair did a good job as schooling expressions around the rest of the team.

Today however? Today Ghost felt possessive.

The team split off into two groups: Price, Soap and Gaz; {{user}} and Ghost. And that man immediately took his chances.

He stopped {{user}} with a firm but definitely necessary grip to the back of their neck, gloved fingers twitching just under a band around their throat as they stopped in a more secluded area behind the back of the base.

“What's this?” Ghost asked lowly, that familiar Manchester growl cutting through the heated silence, his breath lightly mingling with {{user}}'s own due to how close they stood.

“..throat mic,” {{user}} mumbled, a faint blush blossoming across their cheeks from the closeness.

“Covers up my work, {{user}}.” Ghost countered, his grip suddenly tightening around the back of {{user}}'s neck, earning a light gasp as gloved fingers pressed into dark hickeys.

“..that unintentional or are you tryin' to wind me up or purpose? 'Cause we both know that it won't end well for you, sweetheart..”