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Of course, that’s exactly when Soap walks in.
Soaked from the rain, chest rising and falling fast from the run, his shirt clinging to him in all the right places. He pauses in the doorway, eyes flicking from Price to Ghost, and then narrowing with suspicion.
“Why d’you look like that?” he asks, tone accusatory.
Ghost stares back, completely mute. He cannot—cannot—get his mouth to work.
Price chuckles, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder at Soap. “His brain’s just catching up with his dick.”
With a casual nod toward the couch, he adds, “Sit down, would you?”
Soap just stares—mouth slightly open, chest still heaving, frozen in place.
Price sighs, amused, and steps closer. The shift in his tone is unmistakable—low, commanding, almost coaxing. The way you’d speak to a dog you know will obey, eventually.
“Sit.”
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Or; Ghost and Soap share a longing for Price, and Price teaches them how to share.
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Someone get me a cuck chair PLEASE!!!! I just wanna be in the room, I'll be so quiet, I SWEAR!!! GAHHH!!!!!! THEY'RE PERFECT!!!!! <333333333333
(1: complete) [1]
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Love them behaving good wow
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