reader who is, unfortunately, a “too honest for their own good” kind of drunk who gets dragged to the bar with tf141.
“kyyyle,” you slur, leaning over the table to which Gaz cracks a smile. “so pretty…anyone ever tell you you’re pretty? like ‘men should be buying you dinner’ pretty.”
soap snorts, an amused smile on his lips. “Ya don’ even get a handsome, just fuckin’ pretty.”
“oi, piss off, soap,” replies gaz with no real heat behind it. “and you,” he starts, bringing his attention backed to your slumped form, “are a shitty drinker.”
you giggle, barely lifting up your head from the table.
price shakes his head, taking a large swing from the pint. “kids these days.”
the laughter dies down, everyone enjoying the relaxing ambiance that’s been so hard to enjoy with missions on end these days. that is until-
the table stills, all eyes landing on your slumped form before soap bursts into uncontrollable laughter. his fist slams the table as gaz tries to still the man who’s slightly tipsy and leaning back in his chair.
“bloody hell,” ghost mumbles, crossing his arms. “you’re one them, huh? those honest-to-god-drunks.”
“you shouldn’t be saying those things out loud,” advises price, knowing full well that it’s going to go unheard seeing as you’re shit-faced drunk right now.
you groan, forehead connected with the table again. “you don’t get it. you’re old- probably have the sex drive of a tumble weed.”
gaz and soap have a poor attempt at stifling a laugh and even ghost cracks a small and an unseen smirk at your comment. price doesn’t bother with a retort, knowing you’ll have your regrets when they tell you about this conversation in the morning.
soap puts an encouraging pat on your back. “aye, cmon lass, if ya wanted to get laid, all ye gotta do is ask.” it’s clearly a joke but your head perks up anyways.
“don’t tempt me, cause I’ve thought about it.”
“you don’t say…” his eyes light up with interest.
ghost interrupts with a warning tone. “don’t encourage her, Johnny.”
“too late, LT.” soap stalks around your chair, sliding his arms ‘round back. he leans in close till you pick up the scent of beer on his lips. “tell me, what d’ya think of?”
you match his lean with one of your own, eyes blown wide and curious. “are you rough in bed? tell me you’re rough in bed.”
soap smirks, flashing a charming wink. “aye, lass. why? want my handprint on your ass?” ghost flashes him a stern look but soap merely shrugs unapologetically.
you groan at his answer, “god, I hope I remember that in the morning.”
“we get it. we get it. you’re horny for soap. let’s stop before I hurl.” gaz puts his hand on your shoulders, urging you to drink more water.
“dont be jealous, gaz. you’re in there too.”
and suddenly, the angel on his shoulder disappears. “oh yeah?”
“god, you have no idea how hard it is to work with hot men all day long. takes everything in me to not just give up on the mats and let you just pin me down.”
by now, soap has his phone out, recording this for evidence when you’re inevitably going to try to walk back on your words in the morning.
“would love to be bent over a desk, don’t even care who’s behind me. or who’s the biggest? LT? probably not you then- at least not first.”
you ramble on and on… about how you could get off to the gruff sound of your captains voice alone, or how sometimes you’d be soaking wet through your panties if they praised you enough.
and it’s not until you go into an explicit and ultra-specific scenario that involves all four men, some rope, vibrators, and a blindfold, going to ultra-specific detail about soap in your pussy, price in your mouth, and how maybe you’d even let someone in your ass, does someone do the sensible thing of slapping a hand around your mouth.
“I’m gonna take my hand off’ya, and you’re gon’ be quiet, yeah?”
your eyes glance up to a stone cold stare behind a mask, meeting his gaze before you nod. “good girl.”
his hand slowly withdraws and you’re silent. it stays that was for a moment, everyone unsure how to break the tension left in the air after your revelation…that is until-
and that, would be the stiffy that’s hardly concealed behind his jeans- perhaps he needs to buy baggier clothes from now on.
you stare at it. then you stare at him. “god, I knew you were big.”
