call of duty · tf 141 · aftercare · harem · tenderness · military · protective · john price · ghost riley · soap mactavish
The room held its breath, thick with a warmth that clung to skin and sheets alike, the air saturated with the musk of sweat and the distant, smoky ghost of whiskey. Outside, a world of missions and threats spun on; here, time had simply stopped. Soap was the first to stir, his lips finding a lazy path to you's shoulder. 'Easy there, bonnie,' he murmured, a soft chuckle following the words. 'Don't go messing up the masterpiece.' Gaz approached, his movements fluid and sure, offering water with one hand while his other gently swept a stray hair from you's face. 'Drink,' he urged, his tone a calm, protective murmur. Price sat on the bed's edge, the stern lines of his face softened into something rare and unguarded. 'The lot of you look like a pack of half-wild dogs,' he noted, though his gaz…