[Follow up part 2 of this Drabble]
Price, Soap, and Gaz end up trailing after you mostly because Ghost does.
You take off down the pavement, still shouting, “GHOST! BABY, IT’S OKAY, COME HERE!” and the lieutenant just… goes with you.
Not to protect you from anyone else that might take you hostage in a crime if opportunity. Not silent, stalking wraith of death.
Just this six-foot-four-something slab of muscle in a skull mask, looming at your shoulder, moving wherever you move.
Price falls into step behind him with a frown. “Lieutenant.”
Ghost’s eyes are locked on you, that black smudge of his gaze tracking every frantic turn of your head, every time you cup your hands and yell for your dog. There’s this weird, dazed, soft look in his posture, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s subconsciously trying to make himself smaller around you.
“LT,” Soap tries, a little louder, jogging up beside him. “You good, big man?”
Nothing. Not even a grunt.
“Christ,” Gaz mutters under his breath, staring at the back of Ghost’s head like it’s grown a second mask. “Did he break?”
You keep calling out, voice a little hoarse now. “Ghost! C’mon, sweetheart! It’s safe, baby, promise! Momma’s okay!”
Ghost stumbles for half a step like the word momma hit him center mass.
Price notices and his eyes narrow. “…What the fuck.”
They round a corner into a quieter stretch of street, cars parked haphazardly along the curb, a narrow strip of grass and a few scraggly trees. You slow, listening hard, chest heaving.
“Ghost?” you call again, the name softer now. “Baby, where are you? It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re my brave boy, remember?”
There’s a tiny scrape of claws against asphalt from under a nearby truck.
You drop into a crouch, peering underneath. “There you are,” you breathe, voice going syrup thick with relief.
A pair of terrified eyes stare back at you: your dog is cemented to the ground, body low, tail tucked, whole frame trembling. The second your fingers wiggle toward him, he flattens even more, rolling slightly to show his belly in that panicked, submissive way he has when he thinks he’s in trouble.
“Oh, baby,” you coo, immediately dropping to your knees on the cold pavement, uncaring of the blood on your clothes, the dirt, the ache. “No, no, you did so good, sweetheart. Such a brave boy, hiding like that. You are so clever, you know that?”
You shuffle further under the bumper, hand extended, palm open. Your voice turns into full on baby talk. “C’mere, my big strong boy. That’s it, there’s my handsome man. Mommy’s here, yeah? Mommy’s gonna keep you safe, promise. You did so good, Ghost.”
Behind you, Ghost-the-human almost drops.
His knees actually buckle for a second before he locks them, thighs going rigid. There’s a rush of heat down his spine so intense it’s almost nauseating. The praise. The tone. The way you say his name like that.
Soap watches the way the lieutenant’s fingers flex at his sides, the way his breath catches.
“…Oh, fuck,” Soap whispers, a grin tugging at his mouth. “He’s gone.”
Gaz’s eyes are huge. “Is he-?”
“Down horrendous,” Soap confirms cheerfully. “Like, subterranean levels.”
Price is silent, taking in the sight of his second-in-command, normally the most controlled, lethal bastard he knows, standing there like someone hit him in the head. Ghost’s head is tilted, shoulders loose, that dangerous tension in him melted into something floaty, hazy.
You finally coax your dog toward you, coaxing, praising, voice soft and delighted.
“There he is! There’s my big brave boy. Look at you,” you croon, running your hands over his trembling sides as he crawls into your lap and buries his face against your chest. “Oh, you’re such a good boy. So strong. So clever. You protected mommy so good, baby, I’m so proud of you.”
Ghost feels it like claws dragging down his spine in the best possible way. Good boy. Strong. Clever. Proud of you.
His vision goes a little fuzzy at the edges. He wants..: God, he wants to just tip forward, stretch out on the pavement behind you, belly up, throat bared, let you pet your nails through his hair and call him a good boy too. The way his cock is straining against his zipper is actually bordering on painful now, every sweet little murmur from you sending another hot spike down his spine.
He shifts his weight, trying to adjust himself as subtly as possible. It’s not subtle.
Soap chokes on a laugh. “He’s actually gonna pass out.”
“Shut it,” Price growls, but it’s half hearted. Even he can see it: the way Ghost is vibrating on some weird frequency only your voice is tuned to. The lieutenant’s gloved hands twitch every time you say “boy,” every time you say “brave,” every time you make those soft little soothing noises.
Your dog rolls a bit more in your lap, exposing his belly fully, tail swishing weakly. You immediately start rubbing his chest and neck, praising him with every stroke.
“That’s it, lie down for me, yeah? You’re okay now. You did everything right. You’re such a good boy, my Ghost. My best boy. So strong for mommy.”
Behind you, Ghost bites back an actual whimper.
