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Soap’s fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the table. In the back of his mind, he heard his sister’s voice again, half amused and half serious: “We oughta check you for ADHD.” Maybe she was right. But right now, it had more to do with how tightly wound he felt. He was hovering on the edge of finding out where he’d be stationed next, and all he could think was that he needed an outlet. A very particular kind of outlet, and his own hand wasn’t cutting it.
He’d thrown together a half-arsed profile, careful to leave his full face out of frame. He’d added a vague reference to working ‘freelance’ and sprinkled in a few pretentious terms like digital nomad, just for fun. It turned out to be more entertaining than he’d expected. The messages rolled in, unsurprisingly. Not to sound full of himself, though he absolutely was, he didn’t need a face pic to turn heads. A few well-angled shots did the trick: enough to show a smirk and a sharp jawline, letting the rest speak for itself.
Most of the men who reached out weren’t really his type. Too delicate, or the kind who lived at the gym but didn’t seem to know what to do with the strength they had. Soap was after something different. He wanted someone who could take control. Someone rough around the edges. The kind of build earned through grit, not protein shakes. The sort of body he was used to seeing in the barracks: solid, capable, not just for show.
When he came across Kay, who worked in security and had exactly the kind of powerful build that made Soap’s brain short-circuit, he didn’t hesitate. Even the detail about him being a bloody Londoner wasn’t enough to put him off.
Like Soap, Kay hadn’t used a photo showing his face but that was no bother. What caught Soap’s eye was the way his arms looked: veins standing out like a roadmap of effort, muscle carved from real, sustained work rather than posing in front of a mirror. His shoulders were broad, his torso thick through the middle in a way that suggested stability rather than flash.
In one photo, taken in a full length mirror, he was crouched slightly, the man’s thighs stretched the fabric of his trousers, tension visible even in stillness. It wasn’t just that he was really fucking fit, it was that every part of him looked used, functional, like he was built for control.
It turned out the guy was a total gobshite too, giving Soap grief for being Scottish, messaging him dross like: "Be honest, did you lot get electricity before or after the Spice Girls split up?" Soap had rolled his eyes so hard it nearly counted as a head injury, but he was already grinning as he typed back something about how it must’ve been tough growin’ up in a Waitrose postcode.
Suffice to say, if it turned out Kay’s face wasn’t particularly strong, well… Soap was pretty sure he could live with that.
So when the pub door swung open and a tall man wearing an outfit that fit the description that Kay had given him walked through. His jaw may have slackened a little. He was really fucking bonnie. Sharp-featured, with cheekbones that could cut glass and a jawline so clean it looked deliberate. His skin was a deep, warm brown that caught the pub’s low light in a way that made the angles of his face even more striking. There was a quiet intensity to his face, controlled, unreadable at first glance, but with enough softness around the mouth to suggest he could be coaxed into a grin. A thin scar sat beneath one cheekbone, like a subtle reminder that whatever he did for work, it wasn’t gentle.
But that wasn’t all. As Kay scanned the room, pausing to clock each doorway and every exit, just as Soap himself had done, before he started making his way across the bar, Soap knew one thing for certain.
“Security, my arse,” he muttered under his breath because this man was, without a shadow of a doubt, 100% military.
Soap was halfway to legging it, thumb hovering over his phone, already drafting in his mind some shite about being ill and needing to head off. But then Kay’s eyes found his.
And Soap watched it happen, watched him do the maths. Watched the tension shift into something brighter, sharper. Then came the smile. Not just any smile, a cocky, megawatt grin that lit up his whole face and hit Soap like a punch to the ribs. It was stupidly attractive, and in that moment, Soap knew one thing with absolute certainty: he wasn’t going anywhere now.
Kay didn’t come straight over. He paused at the bar, leaned in to order something, all calm confidence like he wasn’t currently being stared down by the man he’d been messaging half the week. He moved like he had all the time in the world, said something that made the bartender laugh, and Soap hated how much that casual ease made his stomach flip.
Christ, the man hadn’t even spoken a word to Soap yet. Part of him almost hoped that when he finally did, he’d have some daft squeaky voice, so Soap could shake off whatever fucking witchcraft the man had already worked on him.
Pint now in hand, Kay finally sauntered over, he gave Soap another smirk and dropped in the seat opposite.
“Didn’t think you’d actually be fit and show up. Overachieving already.”
No such luck on the bad voice then. Fuck.
“Aye, well—about that,” Soap began, a bit wary now, but still trying to keep it light.
Kay arched a brow. “Uh-oh, this can’t be good. You secretly married? Run a cult? Flat-earther?”
Soap huffed a laugh. “Worse. I’m military.”
There was a pause as Kay’s whole posture shifted. Not in a panicked way, but like someone who’d clocked a threat they should’ve seen coming. He sat up straighter, gave Soap a once-over that was a little too sharp to be flirtatious, and groaned under his breath.
“I should’ve fucking known.”
“Me too. I mean ‘security’? Fuck off.” Soap let his head fall back with a sigh.
Kay blinked at him, deadpan. “Coming from Mr Digital Nomad ?”
Soap couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “That was sarcasm, obviously.”
Kay narrowed his eyes accusingly. “You used the phrase ‘untethered lifestyle.’ Twice.”
Soap winced. “Aye, alright. That was maybe a step too far.”
“Step? Mate, that was a fuckin’ leap. Thought you were gonna try and sell me crypto.”
Soap laughed into his pint, shaking his head. “And yet, you still showed up. Who’s the real dafty then?”
Kay raised a brow, deadpan. “Well, I did have a tenner on you bein’ a catfish or a Tory. Glad to be wrong on both counts.”
“That you know of.”
Kay pointed at him. “Don’t. Even. Joke.”
Soap grinned. “Relax. I’ve got a working-class mum, a military pension and a deep hatred of landlords. I’m practically a socialist pin-up.”
Kay let out a low whistle, impressed. “Strong pitch. Bit bold comin’ from a man who said he was ‘between contracts.’”
“Which was technically true,” Soap argued. “Just… not civilian contracts.”
“Jesus Christ.” Kay sat back, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “I should’ve brought a bloody NDA.”
“Aye, well. I didn’t exactly plan to fancy someone who lists ‘risk assessment’ as a personality trait.”
Kay smirked. “You say that now, but wait till you see my spreadsheet system.”
Soap groaned. “You’re gonna make me fill out a debrief form after this pint, aren’t you?”
“Only if it goes well.”
They paused, both letting that hang for a moment. Soap met his eyes over the rim of his glass, and the smirk softened into something slower, less defensive. Something that made Soap’s chest tighten slightly, though he’d never admit it. That bleedin’ smile.
They’d been chatting for a while now, which was impressive considering neither of them could talk directly about what they actually did. Turned out Kay was stationed elsewhere, in town for a ‘work thing’, and would be gone soon. Soap, choosing his words just as carefully, mentioned he’d be moving on shortly too.
It changed the air between them. Not in a dramatic way, but they both felt it. The edges of their friendly back-and-forth were softening, taking a different shape. The alcohol didn’t hurt either.
Kay had started out across the table, but when he brought back the next round, he slid into the seat beside him without a word. Now they sat pressed together, thigh to thigh, both facing the room, shoulders brushing lightly with every small shift. The music had crept up just loud enough to justify leaning in closer, heads bowed, glasses in hand, conversation traded in the small space between their mouths.
Which was how they’d got to this point: Soap grinning lazily, head tipped toward Kay as he spoke low, his mouth practically at Soap’s ear.
“So what I’m hearing is… I’ll be gone from here soon. You will be likewise.” Kay’s voice was soft but threaded with intent, each word careful. He hummed, like weighing the implications. “And I’m going to take a wild guess that neither of us used our real names.”
Soap gave a soft huff of amusement. “Bold of you to assume I’ve got anythin’ to hide.”
Kay tilted his head, close enough that Soap could feel the smirk before he saw it. “You’ve got everythin’ to hide. You’re practically a classified document in jeans.”
Soap laughed under his breath. “Aye, well. Makes it more fun, doesn’t it? All this cloak an’ dagger.” He turned to face him a bit more fully, their knees knocking lightly. “So go on, then. If you didn’t only want some good old-fashioned anonymous flattery… what were you hopin’ for?”
He expected a dodge. A quip. Maybe something evasive wrapped in charm. What he got was far worse, in the best way.
“A man under me,” Kay said plainly, tilting his head like the answer should’ve been obvious. “One night. Someone who knows what they want and won’t waste my time pretending otherwise. Someone I can put my hands on, pin down if it goes that way, and not worry they’ll fold the second I get serious.”
Soap blinked. That shut him right up. The heat that shot straight down his spine was fast and unrelenting, leaving him struggling for a retort. His lips parted like a reply was coming, but nothing made it past his throat.
Kay didn't push. Just watched him with that same steady expression.
"Jesus," Soap muttered finally, the word half-laughed, half-exhaled. "You always come in that hot, or am I lucky?"
Kay gave a slow shrug, barely more than a twitch of one shoulder. “Just honest. You want pretty lies, you’re barking up the wrong bastard.”
Soap took a long sip of his pint, mostly to cover the way his hand had started to tremble. Not from nerves, well, not the bad kind. More like the burn of anticipation winding tight in his gut. He leaned in a fraction, emboldened now, letting the alcohol and Kay’s steady focus push him past his usual bravado.
"And if I told you I didn’t fold easy?" he asked, voice low, almost playful. “That I like it serious?”
Kay’s gaze flicked down, brief and deliberate, before dragging back up to meet his eyes again. “Then we’ve stopped wasting time.”
Heat crept up his neck, but he held Kay’s gaze.
“So that’s it, then?” he said, cocking a brow. “Bit of chat, a few drinks, and then what? Straight to mine?”
Kay’s smile tilted toward dangerous.
“Unless you'd rather do the paperwork first.”
Soap barked a short laugh, and fuck, he felt high on the tension, like standing on a ledge with no wind, nothing but gravity and decision.
“I’m no’ sayin’ no,” he said slowly, “but you realise I’ll make you work for it, aye? Just ‘cause you’ve got arms like a bloody Greek statue doesn’t mean I’m goin’ to roll over and beg.”
“Oh, I don’t want you to. Not right away.” Kay murmured, tone dark. He leaned in, head tipped enough that Soap could feel the ghost of breath at the curve of his jaw. “But trust me when I say… you will be beggin’ at some point. And you sure as shit will roll over for me.”
Soap bit his cheek, pulse hammering. He didn’t dare show how much he liked that.
He downed the rest of his pint in one go and stood, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He looked down at Kay, pupils wide.
"Well? You comin’ or what?”
Kay didn’t need to be asked twice.
They barely made it through the front door before Soap was pressed hard against it, Kay's mouth hot on his like he’d been starved for it. Keys clattered to the floor. Hands were already everywhere, yanking at belts, pulling jackets off shoulders.
“Christ,” Kay muttered. “You look even better than those fuckin’ photos. Knew you were gonna be fit, but this—” His hands ran rough down Soap’s chest. “This is just greedy.”
Soap shoved him backwards, not hard, enough to steer them toward the bedroom. “You were the one leavin’ comments like a lad with a porn addiction,” he said, voice already gone hoarse. “Thought I’d have to block you at one point.”
Kay grinned. “You loved it. That one of you on your stomach, briefs riding up, legs open just enough, you knew what you were doing.”
Soap laughed, breathless. “Aye, I knew. Took that one on purpose. Wanted someone like you to see it and lose their fuckin’ mind.”
Kay growled low in his throat, hands peeling Soap’s shirt off with something akin to reverence. “You’ve got a bloody ridiculous body. Solid everywhere, like you were carved out of fuckin’ granite, then you go and ruin it by havin’ a face like that. Pretty as hell.”
Soap’s brows shot up. “You callin’ me pretty? Careful. Might start thinkin’ you’re gettin’ sentimental.”
“I’m dead serious,” Kay said, eyes raked over him. “Didn’t expect you to have lashes like that. Or those fuckin’ eyes. Jesus. When I finally saw that face, thought I was dreamin’.”
“Oh aye?” Soap drawled, smirking. “Bet I know exactly what kind of dream too.”
Kay’s smile was filthy. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Mouth trailing along Soap’s jaw, fingers sliding down to undo his trousers, movements quick but not rushed, confident. Soap let himself be handled, hips lifting to help, but his hands didn’t stay idle. He pulled Kay’s zip down too, shoving at the waistband.
“Off,” Soap growled, low and direct. “Come on. Wanna see you.”
Kay moved back far enough to strip properly, shirt already gone, trousers and boxers following in one smooth motion. Soap’s eyes swept over him greedily, those thighs, fuck, even better up close. Solid and corded with muscle, he’d stared at them in that photo for far too long, imagining them wrapped around him, pinning him down.
But all that thought dissolved the moment he saw Kay’s cock: thick, already leaking, the kind of cock that made his mouth water and his whole body tighten in anticipation. He swallowed hard, mind full of the idea of having him inside: deep, full, unforgettable.
Kay was looking down at him now, bare except for those black briefs that had apparently starred in so many of the man’s recent fantasies. And well, fair’s fair, right? Soap hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down slow, deliberately, not breaking eye contact. His cock sprang free and Kay actually groaned at the sight.
“Fuckin’ hell, mate…”
Soap raised a brow. “What? Surprised I’m proportional?”
Kay shook his head, eyes fixed. “No. Surprised I’m not droolin’.”
Soap stumbled backward, dragging Kay with him until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He sat down hard, then shifted further back as Kay followed, already crowding into his space.
Then, without warning, Kay shoved him down onto the mattress and grabbed behind his knees, manhandling him into position: legs lifted, folded nearly in half, ankles soon resting over Kay’s shoulders.
Kay looked down at him, eyes dark and hungry. “Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said, “and I’m gonna make a proper mess of you.”
Soap grinned, breath rough. “Then get on wi’ it, you cocky bastard.”
Kay didn’t need another word.
He ducked in, tongue flat and hot as it licked a stripe from the base of Soap’s cock to the tip, then took him in deep with one smooth, ruthless motion. Soap arched, a strangled sound breaking from him.
“F-fuck—”
Kay hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight through Soap’s core. His mouth was hot, greedy, skilled. Deep and steady, sucking hard on the downstroke, twisting his head just slightly like he knew exactly what would break a man open.
Soap’s thighs trembled, muscles drawn tight. He gripped Kay’s shoulders, not to stop him, to keep him there.
“Christ—feels obscene,” Soap gasped. “You, bleedin’ Christ, where’d you learn to do this? ”
Kay pulled off long enough to smirk against the base of his cock. “Told you. I like control. Like makin’ pretty men fall apart.”
And then he went back down, taking Soap deep until his nose brushed against skin, throat working like he wanted to swallow every last inch. His hands kept Soap held firm, knees pressed to his chest, nowhere to run, nothing to do but feel.
Soap could barely breathe, let alone think. His head tipped back, mouth slack as he tried to ride it out, but Kay was relentless. Every time Soap started to unravel, that wicked mouth eased off just enough to let the edge pass, dragging a helpless noise from deep in his throat.
Then Kay pulled back again, letting Soap’s cock fall against his stomach with a wet sound, his mouth slick, his tone maddeningly casual.
“You better have lube and a condom, pretty boy,” he murmured, running a hand up the inside of Soap’s trembling thigh. “Don’t think I can hold off much longer.”
Still breathless and folded in half, Soap groped sideways toward the nightstand, fingers fumbling for the drawer. He yanked it open, grabbed the lube and a condom, and shoved both into Kay’s waiting hand like they were emergency gear.
Kay smiled, slow and sharp. “Good lad.”
He slicked his fingers without preamble and slid one down between Soap’s cheeks, the angle easy with his legs still folded high. The first press inside made Soap jolt, a soft hiss catching behind his teeth.
“Relax,” Kay said, voice low and steady, his free hand stroking along Soap’s thigh, grounding him. “There’s no rush here, mate.”
Soap bit his lip, nodded. “Just don’t—don’t fuckin’ stop.”
“Not plannin’ to.”
The first finger worked in deep, curling just so. Then another joined, the stretch making Soap moan. Kay kept at it, patient and thorough, scissoring them slowly while his mouth dipped back down to take the head of Soap’s cock between his lips again.
It was utterly indecent. Fingers inside him, mouth sucking him off like he was starved, and all Soap could do was clutch the sheets and try not to come too fast.
“Fuck! I’m gonna—”
Kay pulled off just in time, mouth wet and smug. “Not yet.”
Soap groaned. Kay just pushed his fingers deeper, rubbed right where Soap was sensitive, and leaned in to mouth along his inner thigh, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
Every time Soap’s hips started to twitch, Kay backed off again, letting him cool down just enough before pushing him right back to the edge.
“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well,” he muttered, biting another mark into Soap’s hip.
He twisted his fingers just so, pressing again, and Soap actually whined. His legs were shaking now, hands flailing for something to grip that wasn’t Kay, because that was already too much.
“Please—please, fuckin’ hell—”
Kay rolled the condom on slow, deliberate, like he knew Soap was watching every move, and fuck, he was. Still bent in half, thighs shaking, Soap couldn’t take his eyes off him, off the way Kay’s cock looked now, slick and absolutely fucking ready.
But just as Kay lined himself up, Soap braced a hand against his chest, stopping him.
“Wait,” he rasped, voice gone rough, something feral coiled beneath the words. “Let me.”
Kay froze, blinking down at him. “You…?”
“I said I’d make you work for it,” Soap muttered, already shifting beneath him. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright, limbs trembling, but intent razor-sharp. “Didn’t say I’d lie there like a fuckin’ pillow princess.”
Kay’s grin broke wide, all teeth and surprise. “That right?”
“Shut up and lie back.”
Kay eased back until his shoulders hit the pillows, arms folding behind his head. His gaze tracked Soap’s every move, hungry and unblinking. When Soap swung a leg over his lap, straddling him, Kay’s teeth caught his lower lip, not quite a smile, not quite restraint
Soap reached to the side, found the bottle where it had fallen, and slicked Kay’s cock up again, thorough, no rush. Then he shifted his weight, lined himself up, and pressed the head against his rim. He breathed through it, steady, grounded, in control.
“You sure?” Kay asked, voice suddenly quiet, steady but not teasing.
Soap met his eyes. “Aye. Want it like this.”
And then he sank down: slow, deep, unflinching.
The stretch burned in the best way, every inch making his breath catch, but he didn’t stop. He wanted to feel every bit of it. Wanted Kay to feel him take it.
“Jesus—fuck,” Kay hissed, head tipping back against the wall. “You look, shit, you look unreal.”
Soap could only grunt, jaw clenched tight, hands braced on Kay’s chest. His thighs trembled slightly as he adjusted, then started to move, up, down, slow at first, grinding deep. He was in charge now, controlling the angle, the rhythm, chasing his own high.
Kay’s hands found his hips but didn’t guide, just held, fingers digging in like he needed to anchor himself somehow.
“You ridin’ me like that, all flushed and tight, and you expect me not to come in five fuckin’ seconds?”
Soap snorted, breathless, lips twitching. “You better not. I’m just gettin’ started.”
He adjusted fast, muscle memory kicking in, legs steady as he lifted himself almost off the tip and then sank back down, the motion smoother, filthier, and more confident each time.
Kay looked as if he was barely holding it together.
His jaw had gone slack, eyes glazed and fixed on where Soap was riding him like he’d been built for it.
Soap leaned back just a bit, bracing one hand on Kay’s thigh, the other on the headboard, and started to roll his hips with real intent. The new angle made Kay whine low in his throat, body shuddering.
“Fuck—fuck—”
Soap smirked, flushed and wrecked but still in control. “You still with me, big man? Goin’ a bit quiet down there.”
Kay groaned, fingers flexing hard at Soap’s waist. “How the fuck are you movin’ like that?”
Soap shifted forward without answering, then started to ride harder. The sound of skin on skin echoed sharp in the room, each bounce landing deeper, heavier.
Kay’s breath hitched. “Jesus Christ—”
“Thought you said you liked control,” Soap panted, eyes dark with challenge. “You lettin’ me do all the fuckin’ work?”
That did it. Kay’s hands suddenly tightened at his hips, and the next thrust he met from below, hard and precise, driving up into him so perfect Soap gasped, loud.
“Ah, there he is,” Soap groaned. “Knew you had it in you.”
Kay’s grin faltered slightly, though he still bared his teeth like he had something to prove. “Don’t poke the bear if you can’t take the claws.”
“Oh, I want the claws, mate,” Soap growled, voice rough with heat. “Now show me what you fuckin’ got.”
Kay adjusted his angle, planting his feet better on the mattress, and started thrusting up with purpose. Every single movement aimed to devastate, angled just right, and when he hit Soap’s prostate dead-on, Soap jerked like he’d been hit with a live wire.
“Fuck—there,” Soap gasped, hand gripping Kay’s chest so hard his nails left marks. “Do that again.”
Kay did. And again. Each thrust brutal, focused, overwhelming. Soap’s head tipped back, sweat dripping down his chest, every breath a moan.
He couldn’t ride anymore, not properly, not with Kay fucking up into him like he was trying to brand the memory of it onto his spine.
“You close?” Kay asked, voice wrecked, hands still locked tight on Soap’s waist.
Soap nodded, near frantic. “Too fuckin’ close, keep goin’, don’t—don’t stop—”
Kay didn’t. He shifted again, adjusting Soap just enough to fold him further forward, driving up deep, again and again, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust until Soap was practically shaking in his lap, mouth slack with pleasure.
Then Kay leaned up, caught Soap by the back of the neck, and muttered into his ear, rough and low, “Come for me, pretty boy.”
And Soap did, unravelled completely, back arched, eyes rolling back as he came hard across both their stomachs, whole body locked in the shudder of it.
He was still twitching when Kay groaned and followed, gripping tight as he buried himself to the hilt and came, spilling into the condom with a low, broken sound.
They didn’t move for a long moment. Just breathed.
Soap slumped forward, catching himself with one trembling arm, the other resting across Kay’s shoulder. His thighs were shaking, and he was still half-hard, the aftershocks twitching through him in waves.
“…Told you I didn’t fold easy,” he muttered against Kay’s skin.
Kay huffed a laugh, breathless. “You didn’t fold, you rode me into the fuckin’ mattress.
He shifted, just enough to wrap one arm around Soap’s back, the other hand drifting slow and thoughtless over bare skin. For a long moment they didn’t move, just lay there, tangled and sweat-damp, sharing breath. Then Kay tilted his head up, caught Soap’s mouth with his own, deep and lingering.
When he pulled back, eyes half-lidded and voice low, he murmured, “Wish I could keep you.”
Soap barked a soft laugh against his cheek, but it didn’t quite carry the usual edge. “Christ, mate… You tryin’ to ruin me?”
Kay didn’t answer. Just kissed him again.
The corridor outside the briefing room was like so many others Soap had passed through, standard issue MOD: utilitarian and sterile. All the personality of lino flooring. But this one sat heavier on his shoulders. His boots echoed faintly as he approached the door, heart a little high in his chest. A new posting always brought a pulse of uncertainty. And this one was probably the biggest fucking deal of his entire career.
The moment he stepped inside, he felt it, that flicker. The snap of recognition.
Three men stood around the table. One he knew from dossier photos and grainy footage: Captain John Price, with that unlit cigar and unreadable stare. The second, masked and massive, had to be Ghost. The third—
Soap halted a half-step too long.
The third man was Kay.
Same cut of jaw, same mouth with that subtle, infuriating smirk. Their eyes locked. And for one raw, split-second, the whole room went silent.
Then Kay spoke first, cool and easy. “Think we’ve crossed paths before. Bastion, maybe?”
Soap’s brain caught up. “Aye. Might’ve been Camp Bastion,” he said, voice measured. “Could’ve been the canteen there.”
Price didn’t blink. “Good. Saves us the intros. Sergeant Kyle Garrick, you’ll know him as Gaz. Garrick, this is Sergeant John MacTavish, call sign Soap.”
Soap’s spine prickled. Gaz. The name landed hard. The Gaz. The bastard who’d beaten his own record by four months, becoming the youngest to pass SAS selection. Soap had nursed that fact with equal parts respect and irritation.
He offered his hand. Gaz took it, firm grip and steady eye contact. No smirk this time. Just that quiet, mutual understanding.
Price moved on without pause, motioning to the centre console. “Right. Let’s run through it.”
The briefing rolled on, dense with protocol and mission structure, intel flows and chain of command. Soap absorbed every detail with sharp focus, the kind that came naturally when adrenaline was already riding high in his bloodstream. He nodded in the right places, asked questions when needed, and gave nothing away. Not to Price or to Ghost. And certainly not to the man sitting a short distance away who had once bent him in half and called him pretty.
Finally, briefing complete, the two senior officers stood, chairs pushed back in a practiced rhythm.
“Good work. We’ll be on the range first thing tomorrow. Drills after that,” Price said over his shoulder. “Gaz will show you around base, help you get settled in.”
The door clicked shut behind Price and Ghost, their boots fading into the hallway. The silence that followed wasn't exactly awkward, but it was something.
Soap stayed still in his chair, spine straight, fingers laced loosely on the table. He could feel Gaz watching him without needing to look. The bastard had that same weighty stare as before.
“So,” Gaz said finally, voice a little lower now that they were alone, “How’s that 'untethered lifestyle ' workin’ out for you, then?”
Soap turned slowly to meet his gaze. “Oh, you’re gonna start with that, aye?”
Gaz leaned back in his seat like he had all the time in the world, legs stretched out, ankle over knee. “Mate, start ? I’ve got a backlog. I’ve been savin’ material.”
Soap scoffed, arms crossed. “Right, and what kind of alias is ‘Kay’, anyway? All you could think of was the first letter of your name?”
“You liked it. You were moaning it.”
“Was moanin’ despite it, thank you very much.”
Gaz’s smirk widened, and he tilted his head, eyes dragging down Soap’s frame like he had every right to look. “Still got the same arse, I see. That’s a relief.”
Soap flushed despite himself and shot him a sharp look. “Keep talkin’ like that, I’ll bend you over the tactical table.”
“Oh, big threats,” Gaz said, hands up in mock surrender. “Didn’t realise you also put ‘top’ on your dating profile.”
Soap leaned in, voice low and sly. “Didn’t realise you needed one.”
Gaz's eyes flickered with something hotter, then settled back into a grin, more crooked this time. “You missed me.”
“Missed the peace and quiet, more like.”
Gaz stood slowly, taking his time, and came to stand beside Soap’s chair, just close enough to invade the edge of his space. “You sure about that?”
Soap looked up, expression unreadable, and for a long second they just stared.
“…Fuck’s sake,” Soap muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Of all the bases in all the bloody world—”
Gaz leaned down slightly, lips near Soap’s ear. “You walk into mine.”
Soap blinked hard and looked at him, incredulous. “Did you just Casablanca me?”
Gaz grinned again, looking genuinely delighted. “ Of course you like classic films. I suppose it adds to the whole soft-hearted-under-the-muscle thing you’ve got goin’ on.”
Soap stood, close now, nose almost brushing Gaz’s. “You want to find out what’s under the muscle, you’ll have to buy me another pint first.”
Gaz didn’t flinch. “Mate, I’ve seen under the muscle. Felt it too. Remember? Legs over my shoulders. Little pink flush on your cheeks. Sounded like heaven.”
Soap elbowed him lightly in the ribs, jaw tight against a smile. “That was supposed to be a one time thing.”
“Yet here we are. Fate’s a filthy bastard, eh?”
They stood in that charged space, the air thick with everything unsaid and everything blatantly remembered.
Soap shook his head, finally letting the grin break through. “You’re impossible.”
Gaz gave a single shrug. “I have a feeling you like impossible.”
And fuck him if he wasn’t exactly right too.
“So, what’s it gonna be, MacTavish? You let me buy you that pint… or we keep doing the repressed thing? Stealing glances in briefings, pretending we’re not thinking about that night every bloody time we’re in the same room?”
Soap raised a brow. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got the field experience to justify it.”
Soap gave him a slow once-over, eyes glinting. “Aye, well. Always happy to put you in your place. Again.”
Gaz’s grin sharpened. “Good. I like a challenge.”
Soap chuckled, already turning for the door, tossing the last line over his shoulder. “Hope you’ve been trainin’, then.”
Gaz followed, voice smooth and warm and just smug enough.
“Oh, I’ve been conditioning. ”