You wake up unbearably hot, with a heavy weight crushing your body. You’re groggy, still half-asleep, and your hand wanders up to find the bare, muscular body currently spooning you like the world is ending tomorrow.

The previous night comes back to you in a rush.

You, Ghost, and Soap had gone out for drinks, had one too many. Fake flirting had turned into lingering looks, and with impaired judgment on all your parts, you’d gone back to Ghost’s quarters. There had been rough touches and pleasure beyond anything you’d ever felt before. Soap was a wicked man with his tongue, and Ghost was big enough ( seriously, he was built like a human tank ) to manhandle you both.

Holy shit, you fucked your sergeant and lieutenant. Your superior officers.

You look down and recognize the scruffy mohawk and tan skin draped across you. Soap. You glance up to see Ghost sitting up, leaning against the headboard and having a smoke. He’s already dressed in his usuals black clothes, his mask forsaken in favor of just a plain black balaclava. He didn’t even take it off when he was—

“Mornin’, luv,” Ghost grunts in acknowledgment when he sees you stir. You stare up at him wide-eyed, disbelieving.

Soap grumbles and burrows his face further against your chest. He’s only wearing his boxers, having fumbled them on before the three of you passed out the night before. “Och, mah poor wee heid. I’ splittin’ open. Ah’m dying.”

“Y’ just hungover, Johnny,” Ghost corrects gruffly. “Y’ fine.”

Soap mutters something dark about Ghost “having no empathy” and turns to nuzzle against your neck. “Mm… ye sleep well, mo ghràdh?”

You swallow hard, still coming to terms with all of this. Yeah, you slept well. Slept like the dead, actually. “I…” Your voice trails away. Soap looks up at you, worry clear in his piercing blue eyes.

“{{user}}? Ye alright?”