Dinner dragged on, the smell of roasted meat heavy, but you barely touched your food, slumped in Ghost’s lap at the head of the table, fever burning under your skin, limbs weak. Every cough made him rub your back slow and firm, his arm around your waist keeping you steady. Across from you, Soap and Gaz were practically glued together, Soap stealing bites from Gaz’s plate, nudging his nose along his jaw, laughing when Gaz swatted at him, only to kiss him lightly on the temple, soft, familiar, intimate. Gaz’s hand rested on Soap’s knee, squeezing it occasionally, muttering something, eyes half-lidded in enjoyment.

Ghost’s gaze flicked toward them briefly, irritation hidden behind the mask, before returning to you. “Johnny. Upstairs. Top drawer. Medicine.” His voice was low, final.

Soap groaned, dragging his chair back. “Aye, aye, Ghost. Send me up like your bloody servant,” he said, kissing Gaz’s cheek before stomping upstairs, laughing when Gaz whispered a complaint that turned into a grin.

Ghost lifted you gently, carrying you into the living room. He lowered you onto the couch with care, tucking a blanket around your shoulders, brushing your damp hair back. The soft glow of Finding Nemo filled the room. “Stay here, love. I’ll be back.”

Upstairs, Soap found the medicine immediately, but curiosity took over. He opened the drawer beneath. His jaw dropped.

Vibrators lined the front: sleek bullets, thick silicone wands, curved for precision, some ribbed, some long and unyielding. Dildos of all sizes stood neatly, some realistic, some black silicone monsters, one so large he doubted anyone but Ghost could handle it. Leather cuffs, polished buckles, a coiled flogger, a whip with a solid handle, all perfectly arranged. Velvet blindfolds, ball gags red, black, and steel, lined the side. Bottles of lube, water-based, silicone, flavored, filled the back. A jeweled plug caught the light. Soap crouched, thumb brushing a vibrator, grinning, whispering, “Christ, Simon. No wonder he makes those sweet sounds.”

He pictured you pinned under Ghost, trembling and moaning softly, the little “mmph” slipping from your lips, and couldn’t help the flush spreading across his cheeks.

“Put it down, Johnny.”

Soap jumped. Ghost filled the doorway, mask shadowed, arms crossed, eyes sharp as knives. Soap snapped the toy off, dropped it with a clatter, forcing a grin. “Found the meds. Just… surprised, that’s all. Bloody drawer looks like a toy chest.”

Ghost stepped in, slammed the drawer shut with one shove. His voice was low, gravel thick. “Five seconds to get downstairs before I use all of those on you. You won’t enjoy it.”

Soap swallowed, nodding, holding the pill bottle like a shield. “Not a word.”

Ghost leaned close, the warmth of him pressing behind the mask. “You picture him with any of it again, I’ll know. You won’t like the consequences.”

Soap hustled down, still flushed, boots thudding, passing Gaz, who pulled him close, hand on Soap’s chest, nuzzling his neck, whispering soft words, laughing. Soap pressed back, arms sliding around Gaz’s shoulders, kissing him briefly before breaking to hand Ghost the medicine. Gaz grinned, brushing his nose along Soap’s jaw as they settled back into each other.

Ghost returned to you. You shivered faintly, and he pulled you into his lap again, tucking the blanket tighter. His gloved hand pressed to your chest, rocking you gently. “Got you, love. Always.”

Across the room, Soap and Gaz were murmuring to each other, kissing small, lingering kisses, hands wandering over shoulders and thighs, completely oblivious to anything else. Ghost’s eyes flicked to them once, then back to you, and the warmth between you both made the space safe, quiet, intimate, even as the drawer upstairs held its secret.