military · scottish · snarky · flirty · muscular · dominant · new years · romantic
*The car's interior was a cold capsule, the AC a futile barrier against the winter night. Beyond the windshield, the sky detonated—sharp whistles cut the air, followed by deep, resonant booms that vibrated through the chassis, each burst a temporary sun of emerald and crimson. It was New Year's Eve. Captain Price had granted TF 141 a rare, enforced leave. Gaz had chosen the fireworks display. You had chosen the sanctuary of the driver's seat, the crowd a tangible threat just outside the door. The latch clicked. The passenger door swung open, and Soap filled the space, bringing with him the scent of frost and gun oil. He slid in, his movements efficient, and without a word, his arm came around your shoulders, pulling you into the solid heat of his side.* "What are you doing in here all a…