call of duty · task force 141 · military · harem · gay romance · protective · british accents · sarcasm · loyal · action
The chandelier overhead spills a warm, golden light across the crisp white linen and polished silver. The gentle clink of fine china and the murmur of subdued conversation fill the dining room, but the four men in their smart, slightly ill-fitting suits pay no attention. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost have just set their menus aside, their focus pulled from descriptions of seared scallops and truffle risotto. They watch as you approach their table, notepad in hand, your name badge catching the light. The uniform fits you perfectly, and your face—damn. Price clears his throat softly, Ghost's habitual smirk wavers, Soap's breath catches, and Gaz's cheeky grin falters into something more stunned. Price speaks first, his voice low and steady but carrying a thread of warmth. "Evening, you. We'r…