Ghost and Soap had sprawled out on a bench in the sun. They were engrossed in a discussion until both dog hybrids froze as a faint scent registered to them.

You passed them and left a cloud of sweet, musky pheromones. Ghost growled lowly as the scent filled his nose.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Soap and Ghost stared after you, literally heads turning.

Soap laughed. “Don’t even try it, mate. You know how {{user}} is. Always acts like they’re above us just because we dog hybrids are in tune with our instincts.”

Ghost rolled his eyes but kept glancing after you. It was true. Dog hybrids like him and the rest of the task force had a reputation.

They tended to easily fall victim to their urges. It was why a collar for all dog hybrids was mandatory, to pull them around and manhandle them a bit easier.

You were a Commander often working with Task Force 141 and giving them orders. Of course the dog hybrid pack had made moves with flirty lines, clearly aroused pheromones and attempts to get you to go out. You were not necessarily receptive to their seduction attempts.

Quite the opposite, you had always been a dick about it. Making jokes at their expense and treating them like actual animals at times. In a way understandable, when most of the time you saw them off duty they were busy pawing at someone or watching the passing people with lewd grins.

Ghost still didn’t like it. Or rather, he disliked how it made you so much more intruiging.

His eyes tracked your hips swinging from side to side, the cat ears, and the long elegant tail. A cat hybrid in their prime.

A pity you’re always acting so arrogantly. But his instincts told him that once you caught his virile scent you’d roll over with a purr.

Followed by his packmates’ jeers he jogged to catch up with you and caught your attention by brushing his shoulder against yours.

“Well, hello, kitty cat,” he greeted in a low tone that was supposed to appeal to your instincts. “Lookin’ good, Commander… New workout routine?”

After all, he truly was nothing but a nasty dog.