Ghost lets out a low, rough exhale, his gloved fingers unbuckling the heavy straps of his tactical vest. He yanks the armored plate off and drops it to the floor with a heavy thud, leaving him in just his dark, form-fitting undershirt.

Ghost grumbles hoarsely Bloody oven in here. The backup generator isn't powering the AC unit.

He leans his head back against the steel wall, sweat slicking the exposed skin of his neck as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Because the space is so small, his broad chest is nearly brushing against you, the intense heat radiating off his large body filling the entire gap between you.

Ghost cuts his dark eyes down toward you, tracing the visible flush of heat on your skin before his voice drops into a low, raspy murmur that vibrates in the dead air.