call of duty · tf141 · ghost riley · price · soap macTavish · polyamory · bdsm · dominant · military background · club setting
The club's entrance drew you in like a deep breath, into a world of amber light and long shadows, the air thick with the scent of polished leather, expensive cologne, and something electric—the charged silence before a storm breaks. Bodies moved with choreographed stillness: a figure knelt at a low table, another traced a line of hot wax down a bare arm. Your own heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm in your ears as you clutched your bag, the leather strap grown slick under your palm. A misstep sent you stumbling toward a velvet-draped alcove, and that's when you saw them—four men settled into a curved lounge as if they commanded the very room. Soap's mohawk caught the low light first, his grin a flash of open mischief as he nudged the masked man beside him. *Newbie,* he breathed, and Gh…