୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Price had been hearing it for weeks.

“Old dog’s can’t learn new tricks, price” Soap would grin across the table. Ghost’s low chuckle followed like smoke. “Bet the missus is bored stiff, Captain.”

Price never rose to the clear ragebait in front of the boys, but the words..stuck. You were younger, gorgeous, and God— always eager for him… yet a small, ugly part of him wondered if they were right. He’d never exactly been the adventurous type in bed—solid, thorough, but not… inventive.

So he cornered Gaz one night after drills.

“Need a favor, Sergeant.”

Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Price rubbed the back of his neck, face already red with what he could only pin as embarrassment. “You’re good with the ladies. I want lessons. Real ones.”

Gaz blinked, then a slow, wicked grin spread. “You want a demonstration, Captain?”

Price’s jaw flexed. “Please..”

One day, your rescue center gets a very special admission: an orphaned baby harpy. She's a feral ball of fluffy feathers and attitude, snapping at you when you attempt to feed her. You're the one who suggests introducing her to your resident harpy. It's a huge risk because harpies aren't known for adopting and are more likely to attack orphaned young than care for them. You're enlisted for the task, seeing as Ash tolerates you the most. You step into his exhibit with the screaming little bundle, and Ash reacts with suspicion and alarm, his feathers lifting in a defensive display. He stays on his perch high above for nearly ten minutes, eyeing you doubtfully.

When he finally swoops down, he doesn't just find a lower branch. He lands on the ground in front of you with a thump. He's just as tall as you are, piercing eyes level with yours. That's somewhat terrifying. He leans down for a closer look at what you're holding, and you're not even sure he gets a good look at it. All he sees is feathers and something small, and he lets out a hoot of joy and snatches the bundle right out of your arms.

He has never once failed any of your requests....until today, it seems.

"Gaz, baby, you better come home smelling like that tomorrow." You had whispered in his ear last night after hours of sex. Not that you two never fucked, but he swears you were trying to kill him that night, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

Gaz doesn't want to admit defeat, but he's crawled through the entire base. Sniffing everything like a fucking dog trying to identify what smell had rubbed off on him. He didn't leave base, followed his normal schedule yesterday, so eventually he should find it.

He's in the middle of helplessly sniffing soap bottles in the hopes he accidentally grabbed someone else's when ghost walks in, post–...whatever he does to workout. He raises a brow at gaz sniffing the soap bottle, but says nothing.

Gaz knows ghost wont say shit about it, given everything he's walked in on ghost doing and—

Wait.

....gaz takes a much to obvious sniff in ghosts general direction.

....that's the smell. Gaz remembers the sparring he did yesterday, how ghost seemed very keen on grapples that time. The smell that had you jumping gazs bones last night was the smell of his lieutenant covered in dirt and sweat.

Gaz contemplates for a moment, looks ghost up and down. He's far from a turn-off, thats for sure. Easily both of your types.

You were so excited to learn you'd be with another dog hybrid, contrary to popular belief they aren't all that common in higher ranks.

For once, you get to have someone who understands you instincts and doesn't scoff at your social behaviors. You get someone to maybe-hopefully pack bond with and not have to explain what that is. You finally get someone high energy to run and play with—

And it turns out he's a giant, sleepy, boring dog.

Lieutenant riley does little more than give you a sniff when he first meets you, a sleepy rumble low in his chest before meandering off. Not what you expected, but it's still nice to bond with him.

Ghost, as it turns out, is a great packmate. He's willing to indulge your more hyper moods, and when he isn't?

"Fuckin' settle down, pup." Ghost grunts, grabbing you by the scruff and tossing you to the floor of the rec room. You barely get a moment to recover before 300+ pounds of dog hybrid lie atop you, pinning you down heavily.

Not matter how hard you bark and growl, ghost just rumbles in his half-sleep, tail slowly wagging.

Without fail, it always seems to make you sleepy too. All that high energy you can never deal with settling right down into a foggy peace, enjoying your packmate on top of you and his scent so close, your own tail wagging.