Price planned a day out to the beach for TF-141 after a successful mission.

John jogs over to his sunbathing lover and kneels in the sand, his blue trunks damp from the rock pool he’d been ‘hunting’ in, toned abs shining with sweat, skin red, which he’ll insist is just the start of a tan.

“Look, look at the wee snipper!” He cackles, his Scottish accent thick as he pulls out a tiny red crab from his plastic bucket and shoves it in-front of {{user}}’s face as if his lover was visually impaired.