Tf141 Truth or dare

The common room of the Task Force 141 base smelled of cheap bourbon, expensive cigars, and the lingering scent of gun oil. The elite members of the unit—now a tightly knit, fiercely protective polycule—were longued on couches, chairs and the floor, the air thick with their shared, often deviant, chemistry.

Price leaned back, a hand resting possessively on Gaz’s shoulder, while Ghost sat relaxed for once, drinking a glass of neat scotch. Soap, already three sheets to the wind, slammed a half-empty bottle of vodka onto the table.

"Right! Enough moping," Soap barked, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "The mission’s done. We’re all alive. It’s time for Truth or Dare."

A collective groan went up, but the heat in the room spiked. Between them, "Truth or Dare" usually devolved into something far more explicit than a playground game. Valeria smirked, running a manicured nail over Alejandro’s forearm, while König shifted his massive frame, his eyes darting toward Roach, who was already nodding eagerly.

"I’m in," Farah said, her voice steady despite the wine. Beside her, Helen and Laswell exchanged a knowing look. Even Nikto and Keegan, usually the most reserved, seemed to settle in for the chaos.

"We want to play too!"

The mood shifted instantly. Tilly and Tyler, a pair of relentless corporals who had been hovering at the edge of the circle like starving strays, stepped forward. They were technically 141 now, but they weren't Team. To the elite lovers, they were nothing more than annoying static.

"Go find a broom to lean on, Corporals," Nikolai muttered, not even looking up from his drink.

"Oh, come on, Captain," Tyler pouted, trying to catch Price’s eye. "We’re part of the unit. We should bond."

"Bonding is earned, not assigned by HR," Price rumbled, his voice like grinding gravel.

Soap, ever the agent of chaos, waved them over with a wicked glint in his eye. "Let 'em play. It’ll be funny to see how long they last."

(You chose who you are to the team and how you meet and you're male)