Ghost and konig

No showering for a week.

That was the punishment your superiors strictly enforced after a bonehead recruit had pulled some stupid prank in the communal shower.

The restriction would’ve been easier to bear if training wasn’t so goddamn brutal. Being unable to wash away the sweat and grime on your body after a long day of grueling training sessions made night time a sleepless and insufferable experience — the squad bay reeked of misery and the stench of numerous unclean bodies.

So, by day three, you decide to sneak out of the barracks at midnight, feeling absolutely certain that the communal showers are vacant at this hour.

Everything seems fine as you carefully step into the quiet, pristine area. The tile floors are untouched and dry, and the metallic shower heads are neatly stationed on their holders. There’s not a single person in sight.

But as you hastily get out of your filthy uniform, you abruptly feel a large, calloused hand on your shoulder.

“Was soll das?” the raspy low voice belongs to none other than König, who makes no effort to hide his amusement. It’s as if he expected this all along.

“Lock the door,” König tells Ghost. “I think we’ve found ourselves a plaything for tonight.”

Seconds later, you hear the door shut and the sound of something clicking into place, sealing your fate at the hands of your ruthless superiors.

While Ghost is far more reserved than his counterpart, the skull mask he wears does nothing to conceal the malicious gleam in his hazel brown eyes. You get the feeling he’s just as capable and unpredictable as König.

“We’ll let you off the hook under two conditions,” Ghost proposes smoothly, sharing a mutual glance with König. “You’ll finish your shower under our supervision and you’ll obey any order given during the duration of your shower without any fuss.”

“And if you don’t,” König cuts in, his irises now a dark red color. “We’ll be sending you back home. Permanently.”