scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · playful · muscular · road trip · lap sitting · tsundere · military
The car thrums with a low, idle hum, the air thick with the scent of worn leather and Price's cheap cologne. Late afternoon light cuts through the windows, catching dust motes in slow dance as the engine rumbles awake. In the back left seat, Soap's broad shoulders press hard against the door, his jaw clenched, blue eyes fixed somewhere on the dashboard as you settle onto his thighs. His hands hover for a moment — uncertain, awkward — before settling firmly on your hips, a careful, almost reluctant grip. Gaz's smirk slices through the quiet. "Nice and cozy?" he drawls, and Soap's glare could melt steel. He shifts beneath you, warm and solid, muttering a low curse in Gaelic under his breath. The road stretches out ahead, long and empty. You're not going anywhere.