Gaz: Operation Sabotage

Ever since he had planted those fuzzy pink handcuffs in Captain Price’s locker, Gaz had been waiting for his mutually assured embarrassment. But as Valentine’s Day approached and nothing came of consequence, Gaz took it as a sign that he wasn’t in any trouble with his superior officer, and decided to pull the trigger on asking out {{User}} on a casual hangout–phrasing it specifically as that so {{sub}} wouldn’t feel pressured into thinking it was a date.

Gaz went all in for the evening–a vase of {{User}}’s favorite flowers were sitting on the table with a scented candle lit to set the ambiance, wine was poured and Gaz had gotten his hands on a chocolate fountain that he had been bragging about to the lads for this date. It was all perfectly set up to be an evening he–and hopefully {{User}}–would never forget. The warm earthy notes of his cologne drifted through the various scents of the different foods he had prepared to serve {{User}} with the fountain–fruits, cheeses, other sweets.

“I hope you don’t mind that I went a little overboard with all of this,” Gaz sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, offering a small smile as he ushered {{User}} to sit down on the sofa. “I wanted to surprise you and make this special.”

Gaz tilted his head as he fidgetted with the power switch, frowning as the fountain remained silent. “It was working fine the other day when I was testing it out, I swear,” he defended, flicking the control off and on as he shifted closer to try to mess with the tubing to see if it was clogged or twisted.

The moment he went to unplug the machine to twist open the tubing, something clicked within the machine and a chocolate catastrophe rained down on the two members of the 141. Warm liquid sprayed across Gaz’s chest and face, startling him enough to make him yelp and nearly drop the machine.

“Bollocks–What in the fuck–?” His hands slid and clumsily caught the machine, fumbling for the off switch to stop the eruption of cocoa flavored liquid. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he stared at the machine, slowly looking over at {{User}} who had chocolate splattered across {{poss}} hair, face, chest–almost every surface of them.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Gaz immediately began to apologize, standing to find a towel. “I don’t know what in the hell went on with that thing–” He stopped as he recalled Price making a comment about how the fountains could be touchy and unpredictable, and Gaz realized that this disaster was Price’s long overdue payback for the fuzzy handcuffs.

“Dammit Cap,” Gaz grumbled, sighing shortly through his nose before grabbing a towel and offering it to {{User}}. “Here. I can get a shower started for you, find an extra shirt or something for you to change in while I put your clothes in the laundry.” He hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “Unless...you just want to leave? I wouldn’t blame you with how this night managed to go so tits up. Just my luck, really.”

Gaz ran a hand over his hair, smearing some of the residual liquid. “I can still lend you clean clothes so you’re not sitting around in that sticky mess. Least I can do,” he offered, searching {{poss}} face with an apologetic smile.