Call of Duty Oneshots

Field Trip (Requested Menendez)

The party was traditional. Framed with warm colors of lanterns and light, the town square was bustling with the celebration of the new year. Adults traded trinkets and exchanged homemade dishes, while children giggled and ran around with sparklers. The night sky and full moon seemed invisible to the bright gathering.

You wore things to fit in, though you weren't part of their Nicaraguan culture. While you were rather fluent in Spanish, your looks alone separated you from most of the citizens. It was just a visit for a week with your college class- everyone had saved up for the expedition- and so you weren't very worried.

As you danced along to the children making up their own dances, you let out a laugh that others shared. You found your long skirt twirling outwards as you spun away from the circle of kids.

That was when you noticed him.

He was standing a little ways away, hands politely crossed in front of his chest. His eyes were dark, probably brown, and they were studying you in a very curious manner. His hair was black and slicked back. You had to admit it went perfectly with his white shirt, blank pants, and dress shoes...but he didn't look like he belonged here besides his lightly caramelized skin.

Before you knew it, he was heading towards you, his arms uncrossing into a more welcoming form. Your left hand was swept up into both of his, allowing him to plant a quick kiss to the top of your hand. You found his features a little rough around the edges, but still handsome to some extent.

"Hello," his English made you smile.

"Hi."

"What brings such a lovely woman like you out here tonight?"

"Just enjoying the festival," you responded to his soft, purr-like voice.

"I see," he hesitated, looking around. "Would you like to dance with me?"

That was one way to be blunt. You studied the handsome man, the way his white shirt was unbuttoned just enough to make the curious person want to see more- a hook. Your eyes found his face again, which hadn't shifted in emotion; he had to be good at hiding his feelings and intentions.

"One dance wouldn't hurt," you blinked.

The man smiled, igniting your heart, and he stepped to offer his hand. You cautiously let your palm fall against his smooth one. The stranger began for the nearest cluster of dancing Nicaraguans, his form straight and rigid. It was like he knew exactly where he was at all times- like in cardinal directions; he seemed the type to be aware of everything at all times.

"Your face is pale," he spoke plainly as he faced you again.

Yep, he was exactly that type.

"Just the coolness of the evening," you responded, forcing a smile as he gently swept you closer.

The close proximity made you realize how much bigger he was than you. He was maybe a head taller and broader in all areas. His hand enclosing yours was thicker as well.

"I love this song," he murmured as the band began playing.

You swayed along with the stranger, finding yourself smiling at the sweet tune. The man spun you in a traditional dance, careful and reserved in his movements. You felt his power and strength behind the classic spins and holds. The occasional hand to your hip was soft, yet also reminded you of power like everything else.

"What a song," you commented upon the end of it.

"Indeed."