A/N: I'm sorry that I really took my time writing this *_* I wrote it, re-wrote it, frowned at it and then constantly turned away. Honestly, I was so unsatisfied with this chapter…but, for some reason, I feel really good about it after finishing this.
WARNING: This chapter hovers dangerously close to the M-rating. I tried to minimize as much F-bombs and sexual references as much as possible…oh, and this is very long. xD
Hope you'll all enjoy this as much as I did. It wasn't easy but the hard work pays off because I kind of like it. :)
"Booze, baby!" Meat cries out triumphantly, holding up a bottle of whiskey in the air, one of the many alcoholic drinks they have purchased for the party. He put it gingerly in the cardboard box at the back of the truck.
You watch with a small smile as Toad, Roach and Meat arrange the many bottles into the large box they brought along at the back of the pickup truck. The purpose of the said box is to hold all the bottles together on the ten-minute journey back to base. Besides the drinks, there's also quite a lot of food to bring back. Just from the supplies you can tell it will be one hell of a party.
"Thankfully, Meat's 'shove-everything-on-the-shelves-into-the-trolley' concept didn't exceed the budget," Ghost says, counting the bills in his hand. Satisfied, he inserts the money neatly into his wallet and tucks it into the pocket of his pants.
"Thankfully, we didn't get arrested," Roach rolls his eyes.
His remark elicits a small laugh from you and Toad, reminding everyone of what happened earlier. Ghost refused to remove his balaclava, despite being aware they were going into a public area. As a result, he made a few children cry, got questioned by the supermarket's security and even had his picture taken without his consent by fascinated teenagers. It took a whole hour before he agreed to remove the ridiculous thing.
"They're wankers for wanting to arrest me for what I want to wear," Ghost grumbles.
Toad smirks. "You think they'd just let some masked guy walk into the store? It has a skull pattern at that."
"Let's not argue," Roach admonishes, before allowing a grin to form on his face. "If Ghost thinks there's no wrong in wearing that thing, then there's no use trying to change his mind. Besides, he wears it everywhere."
His last sentence especially piques your interest. "Even to bed?" you ask sharply.
Both Roach and Ghost stiffen, but their reactions are saved due to Meat's sudden interruption.
"Who cares about that? We have alcohol!" he beams, fitting the last few bottles into the arrangement. As he proceeds to lift the plastic bags of food into the truck, he pauses when he comes across a small paper bag. Peeking in, he ticks off the items inside. "Chocolate paste, honey, maple syrup," he gives you an inquiring look. "Interesting things, Private. Why'd you buy them?"
"I have my reasons," you answer with a sly smile. "Oh, wait—I'll need to go back inside and get something. I'll be right back."
"To get what?"
"Something from the hygiene section," you reply, turning around to re-enter the supermarket.
"Oh, the place with tampons and soap and toothbrushes?" Roach inquires. After receiving a nod as a reply, he offers, "I'll come with you, Private. I—uh, need to buy something, too."
"Alright, you two go ahead," Ghost nods, removing the vehicle's keys from his pocket as he approaches the driver's seat. "We'll be waiting here."
Roach follows you as you walk through the supermarket doors and head for the hygiene section in search of the lip-balm you mentioned to Roach the day before. Not that you're planning to buy one for him—no, you're just insulting his manhood if you do that—it's just that you want your lips to taste good for the party tomorrow.
For the first time, there's no guilty conscience following the dirty thought. Sure, it's against the rules to be romantic, but—booze, food, awesome party? You're positive something is bound to happen, and just in case you get wasted, you don't want your mouth to taste horrible. Better off buy something like the pineapple flavoured lip balm.
You and Roach separate once you've reached the said section. As he heads off down a different isle, you approach the area where the light make-up is usually sold. It takes only ten seconds for you to realize the desired product isn't sold there.
"Damn, guess I'll have to depend on the honey…" you say softly, disappointed. Oh well, there's no use doing anything now. You walk through the other isles and rows looking for Roach.
After passing a few rows, you spot him looking through small, bottled products in a certain isle. He doesn't see you coming, both because his back is facing you and his concentration is fully directed on the two bottles he's comparing in his hands.
Steathily, you sneak up on the young sergeant. He remains unaware and absolutely vulnerable to the childish scare you plan on giving him. When you're close enough, he replaces one of the small bottles back on the shelf before picking out another one, and because of his action, your eyes unintentionally catch a glimpse of what the product really is.
It takes a while for the item to register in your brain, but when it finally does, your body goes through the stage of surprise. Eyes widen, original objective forgotten, body paralyses with shock, the disbelief sets in…
Still finding it hard to believe what you see, and desperate for confirmation, you manage to choke out a question. "I-Is that lube?"
Roach jumps, surprised by the sudden closeness of voice, and that there's actually a person present behind him at all. He whirls around and takes a step back, path obstructed by the shelf. His green eyes display anxiety, and his hands with the bottles fly behind his back, as his face drains into a light pink colour.
"P-Private?" he stammers, the tone of his voice a mixture of hesitation, astonishment and anxiety.
"Roach—" you stop yourself at that moment to look at one of the bottles on the shelf. They have different colours. Mentally, you read the label on one of the bottles, which you suspect Roach took earlier. 'Blueberry-flavoured? What the fuck?'
You stare at him, mouth agape and mind unable to grasp the situation. Is that sexual lubricant? "Why would you want to buy…"
Your voice trails off as everything snaps into place. You can only imagine the awkwardness and humiliation on Roach's part had you finished the question. There's only one obvious answer, anyway. Oh, why else would he buy that thing?
Roach's face absorbs into a deeper shade. Though the subconscious mind demands you kiss him at that rare moment of opportunity, you conscious side doesn't comply and remains still, thoughts scrambled from the possibilities.
Had you been some other girl unaccustomed to the nature of boys banging on boys, you wouldn't have recovered from the confusion so early, nor would you have taken it so calmly. Fortunately for him, you aren't one of those girls. The perplexity washes away quickly and a mischievous smile finds its way on your face.
"Ghost or MacTavish?"
The question catches Roach off guard. "What?"
You maintain eye contact for a few seconds before a laugh escapes your lips. "You know what? I don't wanna know."
"Wait, what did you ask me?" Roach asks a second time, his lips twitching into an incredulous, surprised, half-smile. "Ghost or MacTavish?"
"I said you don't have to answer that—I might have dreams of it when I sleep," you smirk and wave it off, adding in a fake shudder to go with the sentence. "I won't tell anybody. Go ahead and buy whatever you're going to buy…and I'll see you at the truck."
The rest of the day is pretty uneventful, mainly because you pay little attention to the surroundings as your mind is occupied with dirty thoughts of Roach. Night falls sooner than expected, and you opt to pass the day just washing your face and hair instead of taking a bath, unwilling to risk being walked in on again.
The dream following the deep slumber is certainly unexpected. Roach choosing whether to pick the lieutenant or the captain. And then he ends up picking both…
Let us skip the dream.
The next morning, the whole base is empty as everybody is out training, and the moment is perfect for a refreshing shower. Fortunately, nobody walks in on the rapid, cautious five-minute bath. After a quick breakfast, you return to your quarters to lock yourself up and wait until evening for the party.
It was hard choosing an outfit for the event, particularly because you didn't know what it would be like. You've never watched a show or movie where a party is held on a military base. With a sigh, you throw on a short-sleeved, knee-length silver dress.
The small paper bag filled with the three items you bought from the supermarket yesterday is resting nealy on the end table next to bed. Taking out the small bottle containing honey, you move towards the mirror and squeeze a small amount on your finger. Gingerly, the honey is dabbed over your lips, giving them a glossy, puckered appearance.
Pleased that the honey presented a much better look than expected, you take a few moments to stare at yourself in the mirror. Before long, there's a knock on your door.
"Private? Party's about to start, you joining?"
It's Soap, you can tell by the voice. Flashbacks of what you saw in your dream the previous night appear in your head, forcing a slight blush to tint your cheeks. Shaking the thoughts away, putting the honey back, and folding the paper bag into your hands, you turn and smile at the door. "Of course. I'll be out in a second."
The door swings inwards as you pull it open. Soap doesn't look any different from any other day—not as in he looks boring, he's still an irresistable Mohawk-sporting hunk—it's just his clothes which are the same. Dark T-shirt and cargo pants, but his face remains as fresh as ever. Perfectly styled hair, attractive face and sexy scar trailing along the eye…
His lips curve upwards into a small smirk. "Nice dress, Private," he compliments, taking a step back so you can exit. "Plan on hooking up with somebody tonight?"
You roll your eyes with a smile, not answering his question. The captain leads you to the rec-room, and though you expected it to be brightly-lit with the men crowding the Xbox console, you're completely blown away by the transformation.
It's dark and dimly-lit. The lights were any other colour besides yellow or white. Cyan, magenta, purple, green— it looks as though they replaced the normal bulbs with special ones, but the illumination is not flashing, nor is there a disco ball. The speakers around the room, usually used to ease announcement or warning, are connected to a small station by the side. All kinds of foods, indistinguishable due to the severe lack of light, lined up one side of the room. Another table played host to the many bottles of alcohol purchased yesterday.
The sofa is pushed up against the wall, whereas a few round tables with several chairs occupied the middle of the room. Astonished, a wide smile plays on your face as you walk into the room.
"Whoa," is all you manage to say.
Somebody whistles at you flirtatiously. Worm is sitting next to Ghost, who is focused on the laptop connected to the speakers. Having successfully caught your attention, he throws you a wink. "Looking good, girl!"
"I second that," Archer agrees, the amused smirk on his face enough to take your breath away, especially with how his eyes scan you up and down. He notices the paper bag in your hands. "Have a contribution to the party?"
"Yeah…" you reply with a small smile, moving to the table with foods. You remove the jar of chocolate paste and bottles of honey and maple syrup from the bag and onto the table.
"Oi! When is this party going to start?" Roach wails at the lieutenant from across the room. He's slumped lazily between Royce and Chemo on the couch.
"What do you mean?" Ghost looks up from the screen, his balaclava making him look eerie, both from the magenta lighting and dim glow from the laptop shining against his face. "Everybody's here, am I right? So what's with the delay? Start the party already!"
A small uproar of approval comes from the crowd of men in the room as Ghost manages to add, "And get me a glass of that awful whiskey Roach gave me last time!"
Chemo calls out, "If it's awful, why'd you want to drink it?"
Ghost snorts, "So I can tell you how horrible it is again."
"One bottle of awful American whiskey, coming right up!" Toad allows a stupid grin across his face as he jumps from his spot at the round table and rushes to the table of alcohol. Claiming a large bottle of American whiskey, he pours the contents out into a few glasses. He takes a good swig and shudders. "Woo! As American as it can get!"
Roach laughs at his remark, claiming one of the glasses the said whiskey was poured into, before draining all of its contents in one go. As Toad delivers one glass to Ghost, Roach blinks and takes a few moments to appreciate the taste. "Hell yeah, baby!"
Before long, the number of bottles originally on the table decreases to about half, as the other half is distributed throughout the room. Some of alcohol is poured and shared equally into glasses, whereas other members (Toad and Meat, particularly) declare whole bottles for themselves. Either way, everybody ends up with one glass (or a whole bottle) of alcohol in their hands. Well, everyone, except you.
"What are you doing on that bloody laptop?" Royce asks Ghost, leaning into Worm as he is situated directly next to the lieutenant.
Worm leans away in disgust. "Dude, get off of me! Your breath stinks!"
"Blame the booze, dude!"
"Oh wait, I get it. I know what Ghost is doing," Ozone chimes in from his place in the center of the room. As their attention redirects on him, he takes another swig of tequila. Pointing an accusing finger and stupid smile plastered on his face, he cries out, "He's watching porn!"
Another small uproar erupts as a result of the accusation, and Ghost snaps, annoyed. "Shut it, you bastards! I'm not watching porn. Bloody hell, even if I was, I wouldn't be watching it here of all places."
Scarecrow jerks back, an overly-dramatic and childish gasp escaping his mouth. "Ooh! Ghost just admittedto having brought pornography into the base!"
"Heard that, captain?" Toad asks with a cheeky grin.
"Sure did," Soap replies calmly, a relaxed smile on his face as he drains the last of the beer in his large glass. Pouring some more, he raises it into the air and suggests, "So—are we going to play a game or what?"
At that moment, loud music erupts from the speakers, successfully giving almost everyone a heart attack. Everybody paralyses for a while as the music plays, catchy beats fitting with their situation making its way to their ears and interests.
"Finally!" Ghost cries out triumphantly.
Oh, so he was trying to get the music to play through the speakers that whole time. No wonder it took quite a while.
However, his moment of victory flattens when Worm whines, "What the fuck am I listening to? Gangnam Style is overrated, man! There's got to be some better beats on that thing."
The next song that plays is Bad Romance.
Ozone bursts in laughter. "I didn't know you had such a classy taste for music, Ghost!"
A grim smile plays on Archer's face as he raises his glass of liquor. "Well, it's better than the earlier song, mate," he states, before bringing the glass to his mouth.
You're sitting on a single armchair near the long tables of food, watching as the members get drunker with each passing second. There's no use preventing that wide grin or delighted giggles at every witty remark or silly, childish antic they make. It's as though they've somehow forgotten you're there—and that's quite a priviledge. You get to see the men of the one-four-one wasted and drunk into oblivion.
"Hey, Captain," Rocket calls from the small round table at the center of the room. "Arm wrestle?"
Royce, dizzy from the booze (and still leaning against Worm), laughs, but stops short when a hiccup comes out of nowhere. "Oh dude, are you crazy? Nobody can beat the captain in arm wrestling." – (hiccup)— "And I mean nobody."
"Hey, if the hopeless numpty wants to try, let him try," Soap grins foolishly, heavily slumping into the chair opposite Rocket. Slamming his empty beer glass onto the small circular space, which is already hosting one large, empty bottle and two vacant glasses, he leans forward and clumsily puts an elbow on the table.
As a result from the heave of his arm, the said bottle and glasses crash to the ground, shattering into tiny pieces on the floor. The sound of breaking glass doesn't bother anybody, surprisingly—nobody even flinched—and Rocket slurs incoherently before putting his own arm on the table.
The room watches with interest as Soap easily beats Rocket, marking his failure by a loud slam as he pushes the latter's arm down against the table. As Rocket curses in pain, and as a victorious and drunken grin settles on his face, Soap reaches out to get his glass—and then realizes it's in tiny pieces at his feet.
"Loser goes and gets more beer for the winner," Soap says, not disturbed at all by the glass, smugness evident in his voice.
Rocket groans and heavily lifts himself from the table, boots crunching against the pieces on the floor. He staggers and takes a few minutes, due to both tripping on the member's feet and the disorientation caused by the alcohol. The dimness of the room doesn't help either. He collides with the table of booze, not before catching one bottle which nearly falls off.
Suddenly, another song plays on the speakers. Hip-hop…
"Hell yeah! This is my jam, bros!" Meat suddenly shouts, jumping from the couch and bottle raised up high. He drinks vigorously—probably to finish it off, and shudders violently. With a cheer, he gives the empty bottle to a drunken Toad and wobbles to the middle of the room, heavily knocking into the circular tables on his way.
Since Soap is occupying one of these said tables, he trips from his chair and would have fallen to the floor of sharp glass, had it not been for his quick recovery. Well, not much of a recovery—he manages to delay his fall and ends up falling into Archer and Ozone, who are sitting on the smaller couch next to the three-seater sofa.
The sudden weight of their captain causes both Archer and Ozone to groan, but it takes some effort to push the drunken captain off of them. Soap ends up lying at their feet, grunting, but not moving from the comfortable spot on the floor.
"Will anybody be brazen enough as to challenge me as I prepare to move in harmony with such an enchanting rhythm?" Meat suddenly asks the room in an exagerrated British accent. His hilarious choice of words makes you laugh out loud, too.
Roach (with much difficulty, and some help from Chemo) gets to his feet and stumbles his way to where Meat is standing. He bumps into him, which sends them both a few steps back and knocks over a chair in the process. Clamping a hand on Meat's shoulders, Roach slurs, "I hear you're looking for a competitor?"
"Hey, careful guys," Ghost warns, though his voice hints he's getting a bit drunk, too. Wait, since when did he remove his balaclava? "There's glass on the bloody floor. The last thing we need is one of you idiotic wankers falling and having shards of glass in the cheeks of your arse."
"You'd be more than happy to pull 'em out of Roach's arse, wouldn't you, Riley?" Soap inquires, slightly lifting his head up from the floor. His voice, despite almost incoherent, holds traces of suspicion.
The suggestive question goes unnoticed by the drunken members of the one-four-one, who are completely oblivious to Roach's relationship with his two superiors. Amused by how the members paid no attention to Soap's inquiry, you watch Ghost's reaction. He simply grunts and chugs down the liquid in his glass.
Suddenly, Roach and Meat begin to shuffle. Their sudden dancing startles and pleases the crowd in the room, and before long, the members cheer on as the two move side by side in what happens to be a very impressing dancing cue. Their synchronization with the music contrasts their wasted state, and astonishes you to the point your start laughing and clapping.
As the song ends, Meat and Roach share a friendly hug before stumbling back together to the sofa. You watch as they both try out glasses of tequila, different from the whiskey they've been drinking since the party started.
"Oh man! Nobody's been touching the food?" Worm ejaculates, voice almost offended. You see his vague figure bending over the bowl of cheese cream. Strange, you didn't see him stagger across the room.
"Who wants to eat when we have booze~" Royce croons, obviously wasted.
Without warning, Worm grabs the whole bowl of cheese cream and pours it over the first person he sees. In this case, it's Scarecrow, who was sitting innocently on the floor enjoying his drink until the cheese cream is whipped onto his face.
Worm throws his head back and laughs out loud, stumbling back and knocking over a few plastic plates from the table onto the floor. Cursing, Scarecrow wipes the cream from his eyes and takes a handful of potato chips. When he throws them in Worm's direction, it marks the start of a messy food fight.
In an instant, food is flying across the room in all directions. Even those who can be considered 'innocent' (Soap, for example) gets dragged in anyway. You're completely safe from your little corner, watching as all hell breaks loose and trying hard to hold in the laugh.
"No, no! YOU STAINED MY BALACLAVA WITH SOUR CREAM YOU BLOODY SHITE!"
"Oh shit! Ghost! Wasn't me, sir, I swear! I was aiming for Royce and—"
Royce, watching them like a child who blamed the broken vase on the cat, screams, "Run, bitch! Ruuunnn!"
Rocket's vague figure stumbles to the exit and disappears at the turn, whereas Ghost trips numerous times in the pursuit, the words leaving his mouth unintelligible thanks to his slurring, thick accent. The only words distinguishable are the F-bombs which echo throughout the empty hallways as he follows the other soldier out of the rec-room.
"Oh dude! What the hell did you just pour on me?"
The rush of arenaline in the messy fight somehow sobers a majority of the members in terms of speech.
"Try and guess!"
"Yeah right, for all I know it could be from your dick!"
"Oh dude, two things: I'm not that mean, and you sound used to what semen feels like!" A roar of laughter. "I think that's maple syrup I poured on you, though."
Ah. So somebody has put your contribution to good use.
"It's sticky, man! Going to take forever to get out of my hair! Fuck you, Toad."
"Love you too, Chemo."
Suddenly, Ozone lurches forward, and his hand flies to his mouth. With the urge to throw up slowly overpowering him, he runs to the bin.
The bin isn't very far from you, and since it's made of metal and basically empty, the sounds of him gagging and vomiting aren't so pleasant to your ears, even with the music on. Slightly disgusted, you rise from your seat, dodge the flying foods and approach Archer, who is taking a break from the fight. He's sipping on liquor and you occupy the space beside him, which was owned by Ozone before the food fight broke out.
Archer's face is red and his blue eyes are cloudy. A smirk plays across your face as he squints at you.
"Private? I forgot you were here," he returns the smirk, taking another sip. "Enjoying yourself?"
"You have no idea."
At that moment, Toad hobbles towards you, only to fall on his face as his foot gets caught with the leg of a table. Both you and Archer watch blankly as he remains on the floor for five seconds before struggling to get up. Eventually, he falls forward and on top of you.
Surprised, you raise your hands defensively and automatically, catching the drunk just enough to prevent him crashing into you at full-force. Toad's a pathetic mess in your arms, slurring and mumbling and hands stained with all kinds of foods.
"You smell like gravy," you bluntly remark, frowning. He's, naturally, a heavy person to support, considering he's a guy and you're female. If he doesn't get off of you in the next few seconds, you won't have enough energy to hold him up, and he'll end up falling face-first into...well…your chest. Archer wouldn't like that, would he?
"What is it, Chris?" Archer asks, setting his glass down to pull Toad off of you. Much to your relief.
"No flirting with Private!" Toad reprimands softly, voice hinting jealousy.
The spotter leans into Archer and snuggles his face in the other's neck. You consider it a drunk response, but when Toad begins to kiss him below the jaw, you eyes widen and you begin to gawk.
Archer (who apparently enjoys it), despite slightly wasted, realizes what is happening. His eyes widen and he pushes Toad off.
"What the hell, man," he murmurs lazily. "Not now."
Toad groans in disappointment and remains slumped between you and Archer. Both of them have their eyes closed, but Archer looks more as though he's dealing with a headache. Toad looks as though he's fallen asleep somehow, amid the shouts and yells and music.
Looking away from the duo, you spot Roach directly ahead of you. He's some distance away, kneeling on the floor next to Soap, who is leaning against the wall with his face smudged in something white. The captain's hand is in Roach's hand, and you can see Soap's fingers are covered with a brown substance.
Roach and Soap are talking to each other, safe from the substances flying overhead. The sergeant is gently rubbing circles over Soap's chocolate-smudged knuckles, smiling sweetly and looking down as he talks. After a few moments of observing, you realize they're flirting, not talking.
'Ooh, Roach,' you think to yourself, smirking. 'Seducing a wasted MacTavish, eh? Probably seizing the opportunity since Ghost isn't in the room…'
Roach lifts Soap's hands and suddenly sticks three of the fingers in his mouth.
Jaw dropping, your heart throbs so much it feels as though it would pound its way out of your chest. Soap's face is pleasantly flushed, watching Roach with a glint of desire. Mantaining a heaty moment of eye contact. Roach is probably wiping Soap's fingers clean off with that tongue…
You didn't drink anything, but you're sure your face is as red as a drunk's. Much to your dismay, somebody suddenly stands in front of you and blocks off your view. Excitement and desperation building up inside, you look up, exasperated, at whoever it is obstucting your view.
Before you can identify him, the tall soldier topples over and lands into you, sandwiching you between his body and the sofa. His breath is against your neck. You can feel his heart beating. Your mind is all over the place—
"Roach?" the stranger asks weakly. He's panting, as though he's run for miles. He smells like whiskey. And that accent...
"Ghost?" you say, bewildered. Since when did he return? More importantly, did he just think you're Roach? Man, he must be really wasted.
"Bug…" Ghost murmurs. Even in the dark you can see the murkiness in his usually piercing eyes.
Knowing his vulnerable condition, you attempt to explain calmly. "Look, Ghost…I'm not—"
Before you can finish the sentence, he presses his lips against yours. You can taste the whiskey in his mouth.
And then everything goes black.
A/N: I ain't fangirlin'…who said I was fangirling? *w* I think I got drunk just thinking about kissing Ghost. Da-yum.
Review? :D