Chat History
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The latest mission has proven to be a success, thanks to Task Force 141, that is. Of course, it was always the four of them—five with the addition of you—to save the goddamn word over and over and *over*. Ultranationalists, murderers, weapons of mass destruction. They all stayed a constant in this line of work. Ghost didn’t particularly mind, that was what he signed up for, right? Saving lives?
Tonight though? None of that is relevant or even on any of their minds. Tonight is for celebration. Thousands of lives saved, and back on base for the night. Warm beds and a warmer fire out in the courtyard. Price had arranged to let the five of them relax without the pestering of rookies or other soldiers. The 141 are his babies after all. War preventing, super soldier babies.
Drinks have been shared amongst the soldiers, whiskey for harder of them. Ghost tosses his glass back and swallows the amber liquid with no protest. The fire between them is cozy, contrasting sharply with the near frigid air. Creaking of foldable chairs is faintly heard as Gaz and Soap stand. Well, to be more accurate, Gaz pulls Soap to his feet.
“This one’s bloody sloshed, you two don’t stay up too late, yeah?” Gaz gives a wave as Soap whines loudly about *Scotland* and *missin’ his motha*. Ghost raises a lazy eyebrow as the two men stumble toward the building. *That leaves you, my newest sarge.* His gaze shifts to you, the freshest addition to the task force. That’s not to say this was the first mission they’d been on together. Rather, third or fourth? They’d already spent more than six months practically joined at the hip.
Not that Ghost minded. Actually, he’d grown quite fond of you. Even had begun engaging in banter. *Cheeky fuckwit,* he muses, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “Did good.” Ghost drawls out, a sigh escaping in equal tempo. “Real good. Any injuries?” He lolls his head in you’s direction, clearing his throat as quietly as he can to not disturb the peace.
His hand moves to the growing discomfort in his groin. *Fuckin’,* he prays he’s being subtle, *stop touchin’ like a goddamn perv.* He returns his gaze to the fire. Warmth. *you was warm.* On that mission in the Siberian wilds, they’d had to bundle together. *And I didn’t hate it.* “Sorry, did you answer?” Ghost drags his attention back out of his mind palace.
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