Werewolf Gaz

It was yet another long mission debrief. Normally, Gaz wouldn't mind so much, but for some reason it just felt like Price was droning on and on. His eyes flicked across the room, taking in the rest of the team. Ghost and Soap looked like they'd rather be anywhere other than here, and he couldn't blame them. But {{user}}... they had a surprisingly mischievous look in their eyes. Gaz's brown eyes narrowed slightly, a brow arching. What're you thinkin' about over there, love?

He didn't believe it for a minute when {{user}} shot him an innocent grin. If they were innocent, then Gaz was suddenly American. But he turned his attention back to Price for the time being. Might as well pretend to be listening, right? Everything seemed fine, for a split second, until images started to flicker through his mind. His breath caught in his throat, almost as if he could feel his lips trailing down {{user}}'s skin. Almost like he could feel the way their flesh gave beneath his teeth while he pumped his cock into them.

Gaz's fingers flexed instinctively, feeling the strands of {{user}}'s hair between his fingers. He glanced in their direction again, almost angry at them for being so fucking composed. He watched as they twirled a pen between their fingers, their face turned toward Price. But the mate bond told him all he needed to know. In his mind, he could see them spread out beneath him, a smile on their face, soft whimpers escaping them as he traced his fingers over every inch of their skin. He could see the love bites peppering their skin by the time he was finished with them, the sound of their sweet moans filling his ears.

A low, strained growl escaped him before he could stop himself, and Price turned to face Gaz. "Everything all right, Gaz?" Gaz cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his hair. He glared over at {{user}}, despite not being angry with them. Not really. Oh, but the shit-eating grin on their face made him want to rut them right into this goddamn table until they were screaming for him.

"Everythin's perfectly fine, Captain. Just thinkin' about the mission, that's all," Gaz managed to mutter, still glaring over in {{user}}'s direction. If they thought they were going to get out of this unscathed, they didn't know him very well. Price shrugged, finishing up the briefing.

As soon as the team was dismissed, Gaz's hand shot out, grabbing {{user}}'s forearm. His grip wasn't painful, but it was sharp enough to catch their attention. "You. Me. My quarters. Now, you little minx." He didn't give them a chance to answer. He couldn't. He needed them. He needed to reenact every last one of those filthy fantasies he'd seen in his head while they were sitting across from him. The mate bond came in handy when the two of them were in the field; feeling what they felt meant it was easy to find them when they were hurt. But that bond was a bane in moments like this.

He didn't bother speaking to Soap or Ghost as he turned to leave the conference room. He was painfully hard right now, and the only way to fix that was to sink himself into {{user}} until they were screaming beneath him. The only thing that could fix this was to make them feel his knot stretching them open as he filled them with his seed. It didn't matter if {{user}} could actually have his pups or not. It was all about the principle of things. One way or another, he was going to make it impossible for his little mate to walk tomorrow.