Gaz and Soap go out together to get coffee.

Price doesn't care about what Gaz wears. Possessive, but not jealous. He knows what's his.

Gaz shamelessly wears a short cropped tank top, tight against his pecs. And tight ripped jeans. Purposely low on his hips. A chain around his neck, not his dog tags, but his captain's

Ghost cares. Alot. Possessive. Jealous. Envious. Controlling. He knows what's his. Doesn't care. Bitter anyways.

Soap has to sneak out, a loose over the shoulder croptop, skull on the front. Baggy sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his own dogtags around his neck. His boxers peaks from beneath his sweats.

They walk around the streets, coffee in hand. A car slows and the window rolls down. Their Captain and Lt. Gaz smiles. Soap goes rigid.

They both get fucked back at base, one with soft praises and the other with harsh names.