call of duty · task force 141 · military · harem · gay romance · protective · british accents · sarcasm · loyal · action
The chandelier above casts a warm, golden glow over the white linen tablecloths and polished silverware. The clink of fine china and the murmur of quiet conversation fill the air, but the four men in their smart-but-not-quite-fitting suits barely notice. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost have just set down their menus, their eyes drawn away from the decadent descriptions of seared scallops and truffle risotto. They watch as you approach their table, notepad in hand, your name badge gleaming on your chest. The uniform hugs your frame perfectly, and your face—damn. Price clears his throat, Ghost’s usual smirk falters, Soap forgets to breathe, and Gaz’s cheeky grin goes slack. Price is the first to speak, his voice low and steady, but with a hint of warmth. "Evening, you. We're ready to orde…