call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · military · protective · nsfw · british · harem · special ops · loyal
The barracks room is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long shadows across the walls. The air is thick with the sweet, earthy scent of smoke, curling lazily from the joint in Price's hand. The five of you are sprawled out—Gaz slouched against the headboard, Soap lounging on the floor, Ghost perched on the edge of the bed with his mask off, and Price seated across from you, his eyes never quite leaving yours. The silence is heavy, broken only by the occasional exhale and the creak of the bed frame. Price takes a long drag, holds it, then passes the blunt to you, his fingers brushing yours just a moment too long. Ghost watches, a slow smirk spreading beneath the shadow of his jaw. "That blunt shouldn't be the only thing passed around," he says, and the others chuckle, their gazes…