the good thing about queer eye for the straight guy SPECIFICALLY was the vibe of "we have a proposition for you. you get: new wardrobe, house renovations, cooking lessons, etc etc. we get: torment you for two weeks on camera"
like it's the fairy bargain aspect of it all. if you make it queer eye for ANYONE it loses this charm because it's much less funny for people who aren't straight men to be gently bullied about their lifestyle choices by a team of gay men. and when you try to remove the "gently bullied" part altogether then WHAT is EVEN the POINT
CW: Omegaverse related primal behavior, hunting, offscreen violence, intentional injury, blood mention, discussion of removing teeth (not graphic, no actual removal)
People worry about Ghost. It’s the size of him, the mask that acts as a soft muzzle, the way he stares from the corner of the room, no movement or scent to give him away until he’s ready. Price can’t blame anyone for being wary, uses the terrifying void of Ghost’s presence to his advantage when the time calls for it.
But of his boys, Ghost is the least of anyone’s worries.
Price doesn’t often let Soap and Gaz off their leashes together. Individually, they’re perfectly attentive to their captain or their lieutenant. In charge of their own privates, they’re sharp, precise, locked onto their objective. But when it’s just the two of them, chasing down the last rabbit in his burrow with Price and Ghost holding the perimeter?
They won’t stop until they taste blood.
“Ground floor clear,” Soap burrs into the comms. “Proceeding to basement level.”
Gaz hums. “On your six.”
“Can hear him,” Soap rumbles, after a moment. “Scent’s fresh. Scared.”
“Should be,” Gaz confirms, just enough to carry. “Real dark down here for a beta, and nowhere to run.”
“Gonna run him plenty,” Soap growls. "He wants a chase, I’ll give him one.”
“Want me to hold the door?”
“Gettin’ lazy, Gaz?” Soap chuckles, and there’s a thump and a bang. “There. Won’t be gettin’ out of that.”
Ghost clicks in, “Soap.”
“Temporary barrier, Ghost,” Gaz jumps in. “Just enough to know if the target tries to slip behind us. Won’t let him bury us.”
“Keep it tactical,” Ghost rumbles.
“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” Gaz purrs, over the distinct sound of buckles coming loose, a vest being set aside. He snaps his jaw, then rumbles. “We’re just gonna find the target and have a little chat.”
“You can have a chat,” Soap growls, and something thumps to the ground. “I’m feeling distinctly less than talkative.”
In his own nest, Price’s hair stands on end. But he knew what he was doing when he sent the two sergeants into the building. There’s nothing the mark has that they need or even want. He’s been left in the wind by the only ones who might have protected him, after injuring one of Soap’s favorite subordinates.
The comms go eerily quiet. Price would worry that both sergeants had abandoned their mics, but both of them exhale periodically, just enough to hear. It’s three minutes of silence, and then Soap snarls as something - someone - slams into a piece of furniture, or a door. Frantic footsteps fade into the distance, and Soap snaps his teeth, once, with a little growl. Gaz hums, and Price listens as his clothes rustle, just the slightest bit. Silence again, a half minute, and then quick footsteps get close, closer, pass him by.
Gaz barks, and the target squeals, probably in touching distance, then runs again.
Soap chuckles. “First blood?”
“Third,” Gaz hisses.
Their communication goes non-verbal, growls and hums and clicks that make Price wish he was down in the dark and hunting with them. He knows that Ghost is probably rumbling his own interested noises from his vantage point, even if he’s silenced his mic. He wonders, idly, if Wildfire might let them pursue her more literally, one day.
It’s not long before the target yelps again. There’s a scuffle, something falls the the ground with a crash. The target cries out, then stumbles away.
Gaz chuckles. “Scrape, left hand.”
“Bleedin’ from a scant touch,” Soap scoffs, and Price can hear his smile. “Soft.”
“Still a bit of fight in him. Took a lamp.”
“Och, of course you gave him a weapon.”
“Had to give him a chance. ‘S no fun, otherwise.”
Soap snaps his jaw twice, and the line goes silent. Price strains his ears to hear hitching breaths, then the rattle of a locked door. The target curses, the frenzied clattering gets steadily louder. Than a loud slam, and Soap’s laughter as the target yells, indistinct. Something bangs, not loud enough to be a gunshot, and the target darts away again, audibly wheezing and limping.
“Right calf. Dinne onyane teach him to scrap?” Soap rumbles. “Second blood hardly counts. He did it himself.”
“Aw. You want him, Tav?” Gaz purrs. “Kill is yours, if you let me tag him one more time.”
“You’re a gem,” Soap rumbles.
“Want me to pin him?”
“Nae, I’ve got the little bugger if ye just break something.”
“Done,” Gaz says, and then the target screams.
Soap makes a curious noise. “Did you already have him pinned?”
“He thought I didn’t know he was there,” Gaz chuckles, over moans of pain. “Come get him.”
“I have money,” the target wheezes, breathlessly, a full minute later. “I can pay you, whatever you want, I can-”
“You canne,” Soap says, conversationally, and the target starts wheezing and whining. “Because we dinne want fuckall from you except blood.”
“Maybe a couple teeth,” Gaz disagrees.
“This one’s not worth a trophy,” Soap dismisses. “I do fancy his watch, though.”
“It’s a knock-off.”
“Mary and Joseph. Whole hunt was a waste of bloody time, then.”
A wet sound. Gurgling and weak thrashing. For all he says he’s disappointed, Soap gives a satisfied hum. Price hears him kiss Gaz, the playful growls between them as they no doubt smear the blood around. Then he calls, “Captain?”
at 99 fics on ao3 and obviously the best fic to break 100 with is a good ol challenge at meeting a certain word limit... cracks my knuckles. how short can i go
He is in the kitchen this morning, chattering away to the baby who is seated beside him up on top of the counter.
There is flour everywhere and little Teijo is nearly covered from head to toe; having way too much fun throwing tight fisted handfuls of it at imaginary targets.
Eventually there will be waffles. The big, fluffy kind with fruit and cream cheese in the middle.
