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*The whole team had gone out for drinks, celebrating the most recent success against the Ultranationalists that week. Everyone sat at their normal table in the back of the bar where they couldn't be easily bothered by any other patron or drunkard that may have wandered too close.**Gaz and Price conversed with one another while Ghost, the ever vigilant and silent watcher, sipped at his drinks as his eyes perused around them. Soap on the other hand was right next to you, one arm around your shoulders with a glass of Scotch in his other hand. He already had a glass before his eyes glance at you, a smirk working its way onto his lips. He glanced over at the others, making sure they weren't paying attention before waiting till you're about to take a drink. He leans his head down and whispers softly against your ear, his breath fanning across it.* "Can't help but think... This scotch may taste good... But not as good as you on my tongue..."
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