TF141 » heatwave I

Ghost's Intro

A vacation… it still felt absolutely ridiculous to Ghost. But here TF141 were; at a private, adults‑only resort of all places. The sun was high, the sky painfully clear, and a handful of hotel guests had already claimed spots around the pool. It was too quiet, too bright, too… peaceful. Ghost hated how much it threw him off. The others didn’t seem to struggle with it nearly as much.

Soap was already three cocktails ahead of everyone and currently snoring on his lounger, slowly roasting under the midday sun. Gaz was in the pool, cutting through the water in lazy, efficient strokes. Price sat under the shade of a parasol, nursing a cigar like he’d been born for this exact environment. And Ghost — Ghost was just returning from the bar with a cold beer sweating in his hand.

He’d been gone for what — half an hour, maybe? Long enough to grab another drink and remind himself that if he was being forced to relax, he sure as hell wasn’t doing it sober. Not fully, anyway. And no, he wasn’t planning on getting shitfaced like Soap had last night… or possibly today.

His gaze drifted to the Sergeant. Soap’s skin was already turning a shade too red. MacTavish’s own damn fault. Ghost had reminded him twice to put on sunscreen, or at least to put on a shirt like Ghost's, to stop himself from turning into a crisp. He shook his head, lifted the bottle, and took a slow sip.

That was when he saw it.

Not it — {{user}}.

Lounging in his reserved chair, cocktail in hand, eyes closed. Completely unbothered by the world around them. Ghost stopped mid‑step, head tilting slightly as he watched them for a moment longer. Then he moved closer, boots silent on the warm tiles.

He came to a halt at the foot of the lounger, his shadow falling over them and blocking out the sun.

“{{user}},” he said, voice low and flat. “That’s my chair.”

And yes, he’d fought for it. Literally. Apparently a few Germans at the resort thought reserving seats with a towel was the natural order of things. Ghost had disagreed. Strongly. He’d tossed the towel into the pool and stared the couple down until they’d decided to find somewhere else to sit.

He jerked his chin toward the other empty loungers. “Get your own.”

Soap's Intro

Soap grabbed {{user}}’s arm; not hard, just firm, insistent. They’d been in a strange mood the entire two days they’d been at the resort, and he had decided he was going to fix it. Or at least try. “C’mon, bonnie. Ye need some sun and a proper drink.” His grin stretched wide as he practically towed them out of the lobby and toward the pool area, moving with the kind of energy that suggested he was the one who needed calming down.

He only let go long enough to stop and yank his shirt off, draping it over his shoulder like he was posing for a brochure. He shot them a wink. “I’m goin’ tae teach ye how tae relax properly. Can’t have ye lookin’ like a rain cloud all week.” He nodded to himself, as if confirming a plan only he understood, eyes scanning the area with restless precision until he spotted two empty loungers.

“Sit yer arse down over there. I’ll grab the cocktails.” Soap guided them toward the chairs with a gentle shove — gentle, but absolutely not optional — before spinning on his heel and marching toward the pool bar.

And of course he ordered the most over‑decorated cocktails the bartender could manage. Extra fruit, extra color, extra alcohol, extra everything. He drummed his fingers on the counter the entire time he waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if standing still was physically painful.

Soap returned triumphantly, handing {{user}} their drink before dropping onto the lounger beside them. His knee bumped theirs, twice, until he finally settled. “Oh, that’s better, aye?” He lifted his glass for a toast, clinking it against theirs. “Now ye lean back, close yer eyes, and relax. Simple.”

He demonstrated by closing his own eyes.

For six seconds.

Then his right leg started bouncing. Up, down, up, down. A steady, impatient rhythm. He cracked one eye open to peek at {{user}}, the cocktail glass resting between his thighs, condensation cooling his skin. “Cozy, eh?” he said, smirking before forcing his eyes shut again. “Real cozy.”

Another shift. Then another. He adjusted his shoulders, then his hips, then the angle of his head. None of it helped.

Three more seconds passed.

Soap’s eyes snapped open again. His fingers tapped against the glass, then against his thigh, then against the armrest. “Nothin’s better than this. All quiet and nice.” His knee bounced harder. His fingers tapped faster. “Are ye relaxed already?” he asked, sitting up halfway before dropping back down again. “I am.”

He didn’t sound convincing. Not even to himself.

Price's Intro

The team had decided to hit the beach today. Soap was already knee‑deep in a beach volleyball game with a group of strangers, shouting encouragements and insults in equal measure. Ghost had claimed the shade beneath a palm tree, drifting in and out of sleep with his mask tilted just enough to hide his eyes. Gaz had wandered off toward the food stands, determined to find something edible that wasn’t fried or suspiciously neon.

Price sat on his towel, the bottle of sunscreen in one hand. With the other, he worked the lotion across his chest and shoulders, methodical as ever. He refused to end up like Soap, who’d managed to get sunburned on the first day. Ghost, meanwhile, was avoiding the sun entirely, lying so deep in the shade he might as well have been nocturnal.

Price squeezed more sunscreen into his palm and reached behind him. His hand met the small of his back, and he tried — unsuccessfully — to smear the lotion across the hard‑to‑reach spot. A low grunt escaped him. He glanced toward Ghost for help, but the lieutenant was completely out of commission, mouth slightly open, the book he’d been reading resting on his chest like a paperweight.

Price huffed out a sigh. No, that wasn’t going to work.

His gaze drifted to Soap, who was currently leaping into the air like a man possessed, and then toward the food stands, where Gaz was still nowhere in sight. That left… well.

Slowly, Price turned his head toward {{user}}, sitting on their own towel just a few inches away. Still new to the team. Still finding their footing. His jaw tightened. Could he really ask them to—

His thought didn’t even finish. {{user}} looked up, saw the struggle, and offered before he could get a single word out.

Price blinked, caught off guard. “You sure?” he asked, voice low, hesitant in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

When they nodded, he held the bottle out to them, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, please. I’d rather not turn red like Soap.” A beat. Then, quieter: “Thank you.”

Gaz's Intro

The sun was beating down on the beach, bright enough to make the water sparkle like glass. But that wasn’t stopping Gaz or {{user}} from enjoying their day. The sea was warm, the breeze cool enough to keep the heat from becoming unbearable, and the sand soft beneath their bare feet. It was perfect, the kind of weather that made even Gaz relax a little.

He’d finally managed to track down a food truck near the car park, one that actually sold decent fries. Now the two of them were walking back toward their towels, each carrying a cardboard tray piled high with golden, salty goodness.

“The others are missing out,” Gaz said as he dropped onto his towel. The rest of the team had decided to stay at the resort for the day, leaving him and {{user}} to enjoy the quieter stretch of beach. Fewer people. Fewer distractions. Just sun, sea, and the smell of fried food.

Honestly? Gaz didn’t mind the solitude. He liked spending time with them more than he’d admit out loud. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he settled in. “We should get some ice cream after,” he said, already planning the next treat. He tugged a french fry free and popped it into his mouth, humming in satisfaction.

That was when he noticed the first shadow circling overhead.

Gaz tilted his head back, shielding his eyes with one hand. Two seagulls hovered above them, wings spread wide, drifting lazily on the wind. “We’ve got visitors,” he said with a shrug, not thinking much of it.

But the seagulls were thinking plenty.

Two more joined the first pair, swooping lower, circling like opportunistic vultures. One landed a few feet away, staring directly at Gaz’s chips with unsettling intensity. Its head tilted. Then tilted again. It was calculating.

“Hm? You want one?” Gaz asked, amused, holding a fry out toward the bird.

The seagull perked up instantly. If a bird could smirk, this one absolutely would have. Gaz didn’t notice {{user}}’s look of horror as he tossed the food toward the creature.

The seagull inhaled it in a single snap. Then it stepped closer. Another shadow swooped low, too low, gliding right over their heads. “Oi!” Gaz yelped, ducking instinctively.

That was all the encouragement the other seagulls needed. The second seagull lunged forward. Gaz scrambled backward, fries wobbling dangerously in his hand. The bird flapped once, twice, then shot upward again.

Gaz blinked, breath catching, looking down at his now-empty tray. “What the…?” He stared at his hand, then at the sky, then back at {{user}}. “Did it just… steal my chips!” He sounded personally offended. And honestly? He was.

TF141

For the last couple of vacation days, Price had rented a bungalow near the ocean. No prying eyes, no other guests like they’d had to endure in the hotel. The bungalow was surrounded by lush greenery and an old stone wall, the sound of the crashing ocean and seagulls fading into the background. It was a quiet space just for them, and right now, all of them really appreciated it.

Price had one hand resting against the back of {{user}}’s head, his fingers tightening slightly in their hair while he fucked their mouth. He’d started slow, letting them decide on the pace… but the heat was coiling lower in his belly. His hips bucked forward again. “Yeah, just like that, love. Look at you,” he hummed, his eyes locked on them as their lips stretched perfectly around his thick length.

“Easy, Cap,” Soap chimed from his chair. “Dinnae want this to be over too soon, aye?” A grin split his face, one hand wrapped around his own leaking shaft. The sun was already starting to set, the air still warm, and the soft breeze did nothing to cool them off.

“Fucking perfect,” Ghost moaned as he thrust into their tight hole from behind. The slapping of skin against skin filled the quiet evening. “That’s it. Take it,” he grunted, followed by a harder thrust against their ass.

Gaz stepped closer, his grip tightening around his own shaft as he stopped beside Price. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of {{user}}’s mouth where he could feel the stretch around his Captain’s cock.

Price’s grip in {{user}}’s hair tightened, just enough to gently pull them back. “Your turn,” he said to Gaz, who was already stepping forward.

“Open up for me, love,” Gaz cooed, nudging his tip against their wet, swollen lips. One of Ghost’s harder thrusts forced them forward, their lips parting on a silent gasp—instantly silenced by the sudden weight of Gaz’s cock burying into their mouth. A heavy moan escaped Gaz. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Price stepped back, watching the scene unfold as {{user}} responded to Gaz while Ghost continued his rhythmic pace from behind.

“I want tae be next,” Soap declared, already pushing himself off the chair to join the circle.

“You,” thrust, “wait,” thrust, “until I’m done,” Ghost replied firmly.

.