Work Text:
It's rare that leviathans mate out of the water. Given that they are born to a single parent and brought to shore once they are able to hunt and fend for themselves, to grow social bonds and converse with whoever they meet on land, it is common for them to find a home with any manner of creatures except their own kind by the time they reach sexual maturity. Even their mother, who cradled them within her for months and defended her offspring fiercely in the ocean, is often quick to leave them behind so that she can return to her life and social circle, and allow the child to create their own without her influence, or that of their father.
Some might deem this cruel - Ghost has often been met with horrified and pitying expressions whenever he brings it up - but it's simply the way their species works. Leviathans are too big to sustain their appetites in the ocean; they would hunt the sea to extinction if they gathered in too great a number. Their ability to detect even the most subtle of changes in scent, mannerisms, and intent in another creature ensure that they are rarely taken advantage of, even in their youth.
He has often heard stories of someone's mother giving up her career, her freedom, to raise children. Some who have no other choice - some who choose it willingly but come to regret it. Some still, who are happy with that task, and dote on their children until they're grown and beyond that. Some parents raise their children in a large group of their kind, some send them off to school when they are young, some abandon them entirely when they are too small and helpless to fend for themselves.
It's simply how other species work, from animals to humans to creatures that are neither or a mix of both. He wouldn't judge them any more than he judges the wolf for hunting the rabbit, the birds for building their nests up high, the trees for shaking in the wind, the ocean for growing unsettled and restless when the earth moves beneath her feet.
All of this to say, Ghost has never met another leviathan, in water or otherwise, until he meets John Price. He knows immediately, the scent of the dark ocean curling into his nose and the roof of his mouth like the softest hook, causing the split in his cheeks to widen and show his teeth beneath his mask. Price keeps a strict hold on his human face, his eyes a sharp and icy blue, his beard grown in to hide the inhuman wideness of his own mouth.
They shake hands after their introduction. Price is a calm and overwhelming presence, as most males of his species are. They exude a certainty that is horrendously attractive, raw power coiled in too-tight skin, little twitches of his jaw and neck that show he is always paying attention, always reacting.
"You like the mask?" is the first thing he asks Ghost, head tilted.
Ghost smiles, though Price cannot see it. "Don't want to scare the recruits," is all he says. "Worked with humans a long time."
Price accepts this with a nod, nostrils flaring as he takes in Ghost's scent - sweet, exotic, like all the flavors of a summer holiday cocktail, salt ringed around the rim. Ghost's stomach tenses under the attention, his fingers flexing in Price's hand, which he has yet to drop. His grip is strong, assured.
"We get sent off for long missions, Ghost," he says. "How often do you sleep?"
"Would like a weekend once a quarter," Ghost replies, squaring his shoulders. "But I can go without up to a year."
Price nods, heavy with understanding, his lashes dipping in a slow blink that makes Ghost's shoulders loosen. "I'll get you your weekend," he promises, and finally releases Ghost's hand. "You let me know if you need longer."
"And you, Sir?" Ghost asks. He has never met another leviathan in his life, is filled almost instantly with the desire to please him, to perform well. Leviathans have no real hierarchy since they are so solitary in the water - males do not naturally dominate females, or vice versa. There is no real official courting practices or traditions they must maintain, since they are so largely influenced by their social circles. And yet, Ghost is a soldier, and wants to please his superior officer.
Price smiles, close-lipped, and says, "The same." Ghost nods. It's one of the easiest arrangements - not too often that it poses a problem in their personal and professional lives, but frequent enough that they can achieve the deep REM they need to stay functioning. "Perhaps we'll sync up," Price adds, chuckling.
The woman who could claim the biggest motherly role in Ghost's life had been fae, kept captive by a human man. Ghost is used to being careful with his words, to not promise anything he cannot willingly give up. Still, he dips his head and lets his eyes go wide and black, watches Price's pupil expand briefly before returning to their regular, human shape.
The tide of mutual attraction is like an undercurrent, subtly tugging at their stomachs, rolling down their spines like a pleasant massage. Price wets his lips, raking his gaze over Ghost once, twice, before he nods to himself.
"Let's introduce you to Sergeant Garrick," he says. "He's part of the team already, and I'm looking for a fourth. I'd like your opinion on that, when the time comes."
"Of course, Sir," Ghost replies. This time, when Price smiles, he flashes just the tips of his teeth.
Sergeant Garrick is human, bright and charming and gorgeous, a natural charisma and ease with leviathans already that ingratiates him to Ghost quickly. Ghost was never particularly affectionate with his adopted family, not while his 'father' was alive. His mother remarried after the birth of his brother to a much kinder man, but by then Ghost was away from home more often than not, able to give himself the grace and freedom of longer sleeps, knowing that she was safe. Knowing that he would eat her second husband just as easily as the first should he lay a hand on her.
Garrick's first action upon their introduction is to offer him food, smiling all the while. It's a plain affair, just a cup of tea and pack of biscuits he had squirreled away for such an occasion, but it makes Ghost like him immediately. They eat together, Price watching them like introducing two cats to the same household, but clearly finds nothing amiss.
That evening, Ghost sits with Price in his office, breathing in the scent of cigar smoke and the void of the ocean, eyes heavy-lidded and shoulders lax. There's paperwork to be done, i's to dot and t's to cross.
"Do you have a regular mate, Ghost?" Price asks, his pen hovering over the form.
Ghost shakes his head, notes Price's eyes sparking with something akin to satisfaction. "No, Sir," he adds for good measure, watching Price fill in the spot on the form. "And my family is stable now, perfectly content."
As a female of their species in the most general classification, Ghost does not need a frequent or sole mate. His urge to breed is reactive, not cyclical. He rarely shows interest unless it is shown to him first, and even then, when the occasion presents itself, he has been too busy or unwilling to surrender himself to the ocean for the year it would take to incubate and birth his young. He is still well within his breeding years by their species' standards, and feels no rush to procreate.
Price nods, taking this in, his eyes sharp and steady as a sniper on Ghost's masked face. "Do you?" Ghost asks - part curiosity, part in an effort to bond with his new Captain. Leviathans are not shy about these things - why feel shame for something so natural, and so important with the way much of the world works? It will benefit him to know when his Captain is indisposed, due to his need to sleep or otherwise.
Price chuckles to himself, shaking his head. "No," he says, smiling. "I married into the service a long time ago. Never wanted a mistress beyond that." He goes silent, then, lets the implication hang heavy as he meets Ghost's eyes.
Ghost's tongue flexes, trapped behind his fangs. "Shame," he rumbles. "You'd sire incredible children."
Price dips his head, conceding that with a nod. No shame, just that same assurance. Price is a wonderful specimen to Ghost's eyes - strong and courageous, dedicated and resolute. The kind of man Ghost would gladly walk into Hell behind. Still young enough, as well, to ensure strong eggs and viable offspring.
"Your family raised you well," he says, approval like liquid sunlight in Ghost's veins. He sets his pen down, leans over his desk and rests his elbows on it, cigar held limp, smoke curling between their faces. "Fae, and human, is that correct?"
Ghost nods.
"Which do you think had more of an influence on you?"
"My mother," Ghost tells him. "The fae. She's beautiful, and very kind. I love her very much."
"Will you stay with them during your leave?"
"Yes," Ghost says, "unless I had reason not to."
Price nods. "Such as?"
"If you tell me not to."
Price's beard twitches, his smile for a moment growing too large before he brings it back under control. Ghost's lashes lower, the desire to bare his face in turn rushing up on him like an undertow. To let Price see his own savage smile, his large dark eyes, the bright azure that lines his throat when he's feeling particularly flirtatious.
"Get some rest, Simon," Price rumbles to him, bringing his cigar to his mouth and puffing out a heady cloud of sweet-tobacco smoke. "We're shipping out tomorrow morning. 0600 hours sharp."
Ghost nods, gets to his feet, and leaves his Captain to his own devices.
"Nervous?" Garrick teases, nudging his shoulder against Ghost's as the transport takes wing, the roar of the engines and turbines loud and rattling the innards in which he, Price, and Garrick sit.
"Never," Ghost replies, his fingers drumming idly along his thigh. He sits with his legs spread, his back against the trembling wall, knows Price is watching him as he and Garrick talk. "Do I seem it?"
"Nah, just know being in the air is like, the opposite of natural for you," Garrick replies, grinning.
Ghost blinks at him, smiling back even though his mask hides it. "For you, too, surely," he counters, and Garrick shrugs.
"Used to it at this point. My dad was a pilot for four-seaters, often took me and my sisters up in the air and did all sorts of tricks in it." He leans back, patting his belly. "Stomach of steel, me."
Price snorts. "Except when it comes to dairy."
Ghost chuckles at Garrick's affronted gasp. "Listen, it's not natural for anything to keep drinking milk past their childhood, and I'll die on that hill," he says, pointing an accusing finger Price's way. "Not my fault my body decided to make that permanent."
Price grins at him, his scent and aura pleased at having riled Garrick up so easily.
"I like milk," Ghost says. "It's good for you."
Garrick throws his hands up dramatically. "Christ, now there's two of you. You need to get me a friend, Cap."
Price huffs a laugh, folds his hands across his chest and leans back so that his hat droops down across his vision. "Working on it, Gaz."
Gaz rolls his eyes, putting on an overly dramatic pout, but he settles in his seat and closes his eyes as well, content to doze off and while away the long flight until they get where they need to go. It's a short trip, basically a puddle jump to Spain for some recon and observation. A cakewalk compared to some of the missions Ghost has seen.
Ghost doesn't sleep; he got plenty the night before, touching that deep REM only briefly, but enough to make him alert, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. In the relative silence and solitude, his eyes land helplessly on Price. He takes in the man's thick thighs, his heavy kit making him seem even bulkier than normal, his well-groomed and oiled beard, the scars on his knuckles and cigar stains on his fingertips. He shifts his weight, lowers his gaze to Price's stomach, wonders how thick he'll get when he's gravid with eggs. How his scent will change, saline and brine, thick as molasses in Ghost's mouth.
He licks the back of his fangs, fingers flexing on his thighs. The lights dim to emergency only during their flight, but he can still see well enough. He spreads his legs further, aching somewhere deep and tender in the low part of his hips, and looks away.
John "Soap" MacTavish is the best in his class. He's smart, cocky, a force to be reckoned with in the field and out of it. He's a wolf, an Alpha as designated by his species, and fills the space with heat and dander, the scent of fur and animal wildness that would lay smaller creatures low, make them show their stomachs.
Ghost takes a liking to him, pleased with Price's recommendation and eager to add his own after their first mission together. Soap is a spitfire, loud and fanged, always baring his teeth in his smile. Tactile and friendly and quick to settle into the new pack dynamic without protest.
Almost immediately, Ghost starts smelling Soap all over Gaz, and laughs to himself about it whenever Gaz's cheeks turn pink under his knowing looks. Having a wolf around is good for the team - they are not as delicately attuned to the shifting emotions and currents of feeling that people naturally exude, which leviathans can easily sense, but he makes up for it in a shameless ability to soothe tension, lower hackles, a well-timed joke or smile calling everyone to order around him. Wolves are pack animals to a fault and do not tolerate dissent lightly.
"Lt.!" Soap greets, his arm slung around Gaz's shoulders as they settle in for a movie night, a blanket spread across their laps that does nothing to hide the way Gaz's hand rests high on Soap's thigh. "Join us?"
Ghost's nostrils flare, his dark eyes and delicate senses in his throat able to pick up Gaz's low-grade arousal, his reluctant tension that tells Ghost he would be happy to have company, but would eagerly take advantage of alone time with the other Sergeant.
"What are you watching?" Ghost asks, just to watch Gaz squirm.
"Die Hard," Soap replies, grinning, his fingers idly petting Gaz's pinkened nape. "Gaz has never seen it."
"He never will, feeling him up like that," Ghost says, teasing. Soap's grin merely widens, his ocean-dark eyes sparking with delight. Predatory and friendly in equal measure.
Soap tilts his head, not baring his throat so much as taunting Ghost with it, not naturally submissive but down to toy with the idea just because he likes flaunting his social prowess within the team. "Ah'll make sure he pays attention," he purrs, tongue brushing the edges of his pronounced fangs. "But if yer feelin' left out, get the Captain in here. Make it a party."
Ghost snorts, shaking his head. "That'll do, Johnny," he says, making Soap's smile soften, grow fond. Wolves take immense pleasure in the implied intimacy of nicknames, able to recognize each other's howls and scents and the interplay of bonds between them. Ghost has the unique honor of the nickname, just as Gaz gets the sole pleasure of his cock and knot. They'll be mated by the end of the year, Ghost would bet money on it. "Enjoy your night. Try not to run him too ragged."
Gaz scoffs, even as he presses closer to Soap's side. "Don't ruin my fun," he hisses, making Soap laugh and turn his head to nuzzle beneath his chin. Ghost smiles at them both, then takes his leave. Despite Soap's teasing, he does seek out Price, hungry as always for his Captain's full attention. They have taken to doing their paperwork together most nights, since they have so much of it and it never seems to end. Ghost finds Price's scent calming, alluring, drawing him to focus much more easily than when he's on his own.
He knocks on Price's door and waits for the 'Come in' before he enters, files tucked under his arm in preparation for a long night of work. Price smiles at him, nods to the chair on the opposite side of his desk, his nameplate and stationary cleared away to give Ghost room. Ghost takes his seat and drops his stack with a sigh, already tired.
Price notices, of course he does. "Coming up on your leave," he notes idly, looking up from his own work.
Ghost nods. He's felt it coming on for a few days now, a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of caffeine or distraction can cure. He stifles a yawn, blinking slowly and stealing one of Price's pens, opening the first folder.
"Will you go home?"
Ghost pauses, lifts his eyes. "Do you want me to?"
Price presses his lips together, shakes his head minutely. "I think you ought to stay," he says. Then, "Soap will miss you too much; lad's a right nuisance when he can't have us all in one place."
Ghost smiles. Price isn't wrong - having a wolf in their team comes with certain obligations, the least of which is scent-sharing and tactile bonding to keep Soap's instincts settled and secure. Even though both Ghost and Price need fear no mortal threat, Soap is immensely protective of all of them, and bristles when they're separated. To be fair, Garrick isn't much better.
"Just Soap?" Ghost murmurs.
Price stares at him.
"Sir," Ghost says, setting his pen down and bracing himself on the side of the desk, "you know I'm not going to initiate. Whatever this is, whatever you want this to be, you have to start it."
"Fraternization is a serious offense, Ghost," Price counters. "You brought it up yourself, the day we met."
"With respect, we're too valuable to lose," Ghost says. "And the brass are fuckin' terrified of you. I've seen them shaking in their boots the minute you walk into the room." He can't hide how low and breathy his voice gets, unbearably charmed by the sheer presence of his Captain, the power he wields with nothing but his reputation and nature. "You could snap them up without a thought, leave nothing but a piss stain behind."
Price huffs a laugh, but doesn't deny it. "So could you, lad," he rumbles, his pupils going big and dark for just a moment. Ghost desperately wishes he could see more of that - see Price's eyes go round and abyssal like his do, see the wide stretch of his smile, his many rows of sharp teeth.
His lashes go low, his fingers curling, flexing with want. "Our job is service," he rasps. "My job is to serve you, make sure your will is carried out with efficiency, to ensure success." Price tilts his head. "I'm not ready to breed, I don't want to leave this team for so long quite yet, but if you want my service, it's yours to demand. Your right."
A low snarl escapes before Price can contain it, guttural and deep. Ghost shivers, his thighs spreading in answer, wide enough he knocks into the armrests of the chair. "Have you built yourself a nest, Simon?" Price asks, and another slow roll of pleasure crawls down Ghost's spine, hearing his Captain say his given name, so rough and wanting.
"Yes, Sir," Ghost replies, blinking slowly. "And it's big enough for the both of us."
Price blinks back at him. "During your leave… Yes. I'd like you to stay."
Ghost nods. "I look forward to serving you, Sir," he says.
"Anything I need to be aware of? I don't want to cause you distress."
Ghost considers it, and shakes his head. "Just don't get me pregnant," he replies, grinning. "I'll reject the egg if you try."
Price huffs, lips twitching in a smile of his own. "Noted. You don't need to worry about that - not quite my season yet." He tilts his head again. "The mask?"
"I don't sleep with it on," Ghost tells him. "I hide my face for the humans' sake, not mine."
Price's eyes darken, then, going round and black before he blinks it away.
For leviathans, their longer sleep is like paralysis. They are deep in REM, their bodies soothing aches and their brains getting much-needed rest, but they are very much aware. They have to be, given their inclination to sleep for so long; they must be able to rouse at a moment's notice at the first sign of danger, or feel their bodies' hunger if they sleep so long they risk starving.
Ghost settles into his nest on the floor, pulls the long rolls of blankets over his body, entirely bare beneath so he can feel the gentle, cool cling of cloth and fleece. It quickly grows warm in his nest, his head resting on a pillow that was heavily scented by Soap at his insistence, a pair of Garrick's gloves resting somewhere above his head, Price's empty cigar box open on his desk and filling the air with tobacco leaves and molasses.
He breathes out, relaxing, feeling his body go stiff, inch by inch, limb by limb. Stone-like heaviness creeps up from his feet, his legs, his arms, like he's sinking into concrete. His breathing and heart rate slows, his neck goes lax and his head feels so heavy. It's so restful, falling into a deep sleep like this brings the same kind of relief as sinking sore muscles into a hot bath.
Price doesn't wait long. Ghost is vaguely aware that it's night from the relative chill on his skin, the soundless hallway that echoes Price's heavy footsteps. The swift beep of Ghost's door code, then the click-whoosh of the handle turning and the door opening, letting Price inside.
Ghost's breathing doesn't change, his lungs expanding in rhythm, slowly dragging in Price's scent like sucking the eddies of a drink through a straw. His mouth waters, he's dimly aware of the smell of cigars, gun oil, bourbon. A soft clink as a bottle gets set down, a rustle of clothing.
Ghost sighs when he feels Price's warm, callused hands brush up his arms. His body doesn't move, doesn't twitch, trusting his Captain not to do him harm in such a vulnerable state. "Aren't you gorgeous," Price murmurs, knowing Ghost can hear him, his hand tracing the long edge of Ghost's mouth, his jaw, the barely-there glow of his bio-luminescent markings that only become visible in the ocean or in this deep sleep. Ghost feels his neck flush with blood, tinted azure, signaling his receptiveness - a color that, in his human shape, only Price's eyes are sensitive enough to see.
Price pushes at him gently, making room as he peels back Ghost's blankets and slides into place beneath them, tugs them back into place so that minimal heat is lost. He's naked, his chest covered in soft hair, his torso packed with muscle and fat. Ghost's lips part, seeking, and he moans quietly when Price touches the tips of his fingers to Ghost's tongue.
A wash of pleasure rushes down his spine when he feels Price reach down, coaxing his thick, sturdy cock into a more suitable position. Ghost can't move himself, can't spread his legs or reach down to feel it in his hand, but Price knows that - his lack of response is far from troubling. Sleep curls around Ghost's head like a blanket, soothes the urge to move, whispers at him to trust in the prowess and control of his Captain, the pinnacle of a male of his species.
Price's thick fingers reach down, coaxing Ghost's ribbed covering away from his hole, his thumb brushing the sensitive underside in a way that makes Ghost whine. Inside, Ghost is dry and viscerally tight, his body naturally reluctant to mate outside of the water, but male leviathans' sperm contains enough saline to mimic the ocean well, to make him slick and lax enough for breeding.
He's dimly aware of Price leaking already, coating his belly with come, the hole at the tip wide enough for his eggs oozing his own slick which he gathers on his fingers and eases into Ghost's body. "There's a boy," Price growls in his ear, heavy and hot where he's plastered against Ghost's shoulder, his flank. Suffocating in the best way, like the gravity of the ocean. Ghost can't move, can't turn his head and nuzzle Price's cheek or throat, can only force a tired moan from his lips as Price rubs slick all over his hole and inside him, purposely too shallow to penetrate the rings of muscle inside of Ghost's channel.
He whines, plaintive, his lashes fluttering. Sleep keeps him under, keeps him lax. Price rolls him onto his back, takes his place between Ghost's thighs. Ghost's covering is quick to latch onto the curve of his hairy belly, sealing them together tight enough that Price has to further manipulate his cock, bending it enough that he can line up the tip with Ghost's entrance and shove his way inside.
It doesn't hurt; this is what Ghost is meant for. He's flooded with come immediately, Price's thick cock pushing past each ring of muscle and making sparks go off behind Ghost's eyes. He gasps, head lolling limply to the side. Each spread of muscle is difficult to describe to humans, try as he might he can't liken it to anything they're capable of feeling. Each ring is unbearably sensitive, made only to milk and crush anything inside it. Eggs that are laid are immediately broken to be fertilized by a male's come, a female's only role is to break the shell and keep the baby safe while it grows, until it's too large and uncomfortable to stay inside, and needs to be birthed.
Leviathans have no prostate, no g-spot. Ghost's ribbed covering clings at Price's happy trail, sticky enough to latch, urging Price to fuck deeper into him. And each ring of muscle that is forced to part sends shockwaves through him, a powerful orgasm to entice his internal muscles to constrict and break apart an egg.
Leviathan cocks are sturdy enough to withstand it, naturally. They have to be to ensure an egg can be laid; an inverse of a female's receptive channel. It feels incredible, having his Captain laid over him, bound too tightly by his stomach for him to pull back, forcing him to merely fuck deeper, to rut through Ghost's unbearably tight and sensitive hole, bringing him over the edge again and again.
He can't lift his arms, can't tighten his thighs, can only lie limp and motionless as Price snarls, bares his fangs against Ghost's shoulder, and fucks him with short, brutal thrusts. Price laves his thick tongue along the azure markings on Ghost's throat, his big, rough hands bruise-tight on his hips. Come pools in the spaces between Ghost's muscles, thick and warm, unable to leak out because he's gripping so tightly on the inside.
Leviathan males can come for hours, their testicles internal and always swollen, ready to mate. Ghost's only job is to take it, which he does with reverent delight, unable to do more than let out weak moans as they get fucked from his slow-rising, exhausted chest.
"Fuckin' beautiful," Price snarls against his jaw, licking at the corners of his mouth. Ghost whimpers at the catch of fangs on his lip, wishes he could get his eyes to open so he could see Price in all his glory. He's sure Price is just as gorgeous, just as enthralling. One day, he vows, he'll see it properly.
Price seems to agree; he's talkative like this. "Gonna breed you one day, boy," he promises darkly, laying his hand on Ghost's covering, forcing it to rut against his belly, sending more eddies of pleasure up Ghost's spine. "When you're ready. Gonna take you to the ocean and put a baby in you, mark my words."
Ghost whines, isn't sure if he's nodding, but hopes Price can see his throat darken, his fingers twitching in instinctive acceptance.
"Shouldn't have waited this long," Price mutters. "Take me like a dream, perfect little cumdump, all pretty and quiet just for me." He grunts, another flood of come soaking deep into Ghost's hole, enough to make his already lax body bloated and heavier still. "When it's my turn, wanna hear you scream. Feel you riding my cock and know even in my sleep I can fuck you better than anything else."
Another groan escapes Ghost, his inner muscles bearing down, his brain liquid with pleasure. It makes him sink deeper into his sleep, his heart slowing even further, only dimly aware of the friction of Price inside him, the gentle tugs on his latch keeping the future father of his children locked deep inside.
Price fucks him for hours, long enough that Ghost hears the morning birdsongs, feels the gentle heat of the sun on his face. Finally, Price has no more come for him, and he carefully unlatches Ghost's covering, pulling out with a slick flood. Ghost whines again, possessive of it, only soothed when Price returns his covering to its place, sealing his come inside.
Price lays over him, heavy and warm, and kisses Ghost's cheek. "Gonna come back and give you more later," he promises, petting Ghost's sweat-soaked, golden hair. "Rest now, lad. Did such a good job for me."
Ghost's mouth twitches in a smile. He sighs, feeling Price leave him, dutifully covering Ghost again with all his nesting materials. He rolls Ghost onto his side, as breathing is easier like this when he's so deep in sleep. There's a brief touch; another kiss on his forehead, and Price's fingers wet with water coating his dry tongue.
Ghost sighs again, pleased and exhausted. He hears Price chuckle, redress, and leave the room. The next shot of awareness comes at night, cold and dark, Price laying him out and soaking the nest with his dripping come as he opens Ghost up for him again, and gets right back to it.
The difference in Price is palpable - the aura of a sated predator, much more relaxed after a long, satisfying fuck. Ghost comes to him once he wakes up and bathes, dresses, finds himself some food to shove into his starving, empty stomach.
"Simon," Price greets warmly, smiling when Ghost enters his office. "Alright, lad?"
"Perfect," Ghost sighs, and comes around the desk, leans down to brush their cheeks together. Price's lashes go low, darkly pleased at the gesture, a rumble thrumming into the air from deep in his chest. "And I accept," Ghost adds. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to have your children."
Price's eyes go wide and black, for the first time Ghost can see it. It takes his breath away, makes him shiver and grow warm, wanting between his thighs. He fights the urge to sink to his belly and offer his Captain breeding rights right then and there.
Soap notices, later, with his sensitive nose. He huffs tentatively at Ghost's shoulder, lays a hand on his spine behind his heart. "Alright?" he rasps, tense and unsure. Objectively, he knows Ghost is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, of baring his teeth and fighting off a threat, even one from their Captain. But wolves don't understand the intricacies of leviathan sleep, do not know how aware they are, their ability to consent, the natural respect they show each other when in such a vulnerable position.
To his eyes, it might look like Price took advantage of him. Like Ghost was too deep in sleep or too afraid of upsetting his superior officer to fight him off.
Ghost smiles, blinks slowly up at him, and nods. "Alright," he answers, dragging his fingers in a fond chuck under Soap's chin. "Don't need to worry about me, Johnny. The Captain knows his place."
That seems to ease Soap's tension. He smiles, lets out a happy purr and rubs his cheek against Ghost's temple, pats him on the back. "Good."
It's not the last time Ghost and Price fall into bed together. Now that Ghost knows his Captain is a good mate, a satisfying sexual partner, and respectful of his boundaries even in his sleep, he's eager to initiate sex between them again. Leviathan females tend to be simply reactive, giving their consent and showing their receptiveness in the ocean when it's time to breed, and both genders are very communicative on land as well with their social circles and prospective mates.
All of this to say, Ghost spends many nights in Price's nest, and Price in his. Price's leave comes a month after Ghost's and Ghost lays down next to him as Price drifts off, watches his eyes widen and go round, still visible behind his thin lids. Watches his mouth grow lax, showing the deep cut of them into his cheeks beneath his beard.
He cups Price's face and kisses him, his tongue tangling with Price's lax one, careful of his sharp, impressively large fangs. He manipulates Price's thick cock until it stands proud and ready, works it until it starts to spill for him and then settles himself on it, sighing happily at the burning, orgasmic stretch. He grabs Price's hands and guides them to his hips, helps him cling on as his covering catches on Price's belly, latching them together.
He sits for a while, warming Price's cock as it comes inside him, taking his time to map his Captain's thick, hairy chest, his pink nipples that tighten and harden at his touch, makes his cock flex and twitch inside him. He rolls his hips, tries to take him deeper, looks down to see the bulge of Price's cock distending his stomach from the inside.
"Look at that," he breathes, taking Price's hand so he can feel, too. "Perfect size for an egg, Sir, wouldn't you say?"
Price's mouth twitches, lax enough to show his teeth.
Ghost leans back, his thighs trembling with the effort of forcing his covering loose so he can ride Price properly. The slick, loud sounds of skin meeting skin, Price's come squelching out of Ghost's hole with his movements, fills the air along with his moans. Their species demands to lock together, to ensure there's no chance of an egg slipping loose, unbroken, or any offspring being incubated too shallowly, but Price can't breed him yet, and Ghost is a little bit in love with the feeling of being empty and filled so absolutely.
"Gonna give you such pretty babies," he rasps, watching Price's lashes flutter, his eyes roving without sight beneath his lids. "The strongest, fiercest little things, I swear. Fuck, yeah, thought you'd like the sound of that." He huffs a laugh, feeling Price's cock swell and twitch inside him, dumping another load of come deep in his hole. "Wanna milk you fucking dry, go on, give it to me."
Price's fingers twitch, nails dragging over Ghost's sweaty skin. He snarls lowly - a sound without direction or intent that makes Ghost shake. He whimpers at the feeling, rutting his hips down hard, grinding as he shivers through another orgasm. He toys with his ribbed covering, gasping weakly at the sharper, more focused pleasure.
He rides Price until he feels no more fresh loads, then settles with a trembling sigh, his hips giving the occasional twitch. Price's cock doesn't soften - can't, with how leviathans are built - so Ghost entertains himself with warming him, pleased whenever he manages to tease out another gush of come. He only parts from Price to use the restroom and fetch himself food, returning to his Captain with eager hands and another grip of his tight hole.
When Price wakes, Ghost is still on top of him, riding him through another orgasm. He smiles, wide and toothy, hauls Ghost close to kiss him, their tongues tangling in the open space between them. Ghost grabs at him, hands curling around the nape of his neck, through his dark hair, lets his Captain put him on his back and fuck him until his balls are empty once again.
"How many will you give me?" Price asks, once they are done and sharing the feast Ghost brought for them both. Price's eyes are so dark, still rounded and wide, staring with utmost fondness as he watches Ghost eat.
Ghost smiles at him. "How many do you want?" he teases.
Price reaches out to him, cups his cheek and draws Ghost close to his side, lets Ghost nuzzle under his chin and kiss his collarbone. "As much as I'd like to breed you until we're too old, you're too valuable on land to keep you ocean-bound forever," he concedes. "And…I'd miss you."
Ghost hums. "I'd miss you all, too," he confesses. Males don't stay with the females once they're bred - they'd eat too much and ruin the ecosystem, it would be unsustainable. And they both have lives, duties, on land that neither of them want to give up permanently. But try as he might, he can't put a number on it - he thinks, a little ruefully, that he would stay in the ocean and have Price visit him just to breed him again, as many times as he wanted it, if it meant making his Captain happy.
"We can plan for it," Price concedes, taking his hand and kissing his palm. "Space them apart."
Ghost nods, wetting his lips. He tips his face up and kisses Price again. "My mother always wanted a daughter," he says. Price tilts his head, gazing down at him. "She has my sister-in-law, my brother's mate. They have a son. He deserves a sister."
"We don't control that, lad," Price says, chuckling.
"I know," Ghost replies with a smile. "But we can try for one anyway."
Price's dark eyes gleam, he lets out a happy little rumble, rubbing their cheeks together. "When you're ready," he says, resting a hand on Ghost's bloated stomach. Ghost covers Price's hand with his own, and allows himself to go lax against his Captain's side.
The mission bids them both take to the water. Soap and Gaz are on land, monitoring the tracking devices tied loosely around one of the roots of their fins. It's terribly itchy; Ghost had no idea he could feel off-balance in the water.
Still, he gets the unique pleasure of seeing Price in his true, shifted form, and that more than makes up for it.
His Captain is gargantuan, large enough to bite a ship in half with ease, if not swallow it entirely. His coloration is a deep, void-like black, so dark that there's no distinction between his skin and his eyes except for how they gleam. His tiger-stripe markings glow a muted blue, like a stormy sky. Ghost slithers up beside him, their fins locking like looped arms, his tail coiling in a brief embrace around Price's where it stretches out behind him.
Price rumbles at him, jaws parted, gills flaring and exposing the fleshy pink within. Ghost purrs in answer, rolls so he's belly-up and swims in a teasing caress all down Price's stomach, their vents touching and briefly catching on each other before Ghost pulls away from him.
Leviathans can't speak when they're shifted; they communicate with body language, their guttural noises, the ocean currents and, in times of distress, the coloration of their bio-luminescent markings. Ghost's own flare brightly, bright blue like the swatch of color at his throat marking his gender, in contrast to Price's deeper, blacker color. Ghost locks their fangs together in a brief kiss before he swims low, Price following behind as they head towards their target's coordinates.
"Three klicks ahead," Soap reports from the little transmitter wedged into their ear sockets. Ghost rumbles in acknowledgement, effortlessly manipulating the heavy water as he races ahead, streamlined and powerful in the sea. Price cuts through the ocean just as easily, leviathans able to swim at breakneck speed when they need to despite their size. "Christ, Lt., it's not a race!"
Ghost grins, though Soap can't see him. The fins down his spine flicker and curl, parting the water around him to help him gain yet more speed. He hears Price growl playfully behind him, feels teeth catch just shy of his tail.
"One klick," Gaz reports. "Should be getting a visual on them soon."
Above the water flies a drone, giving the land crew eyes so they can coordinate with Ghost and Price below. Ghost spies the long, dark shape of the ship, stalls himself with a flare of his fins, his tail dropping low so that he's angled up. If someone were to peer down, all they would see is his nightmarish eyes, his huge, gaping maw.
The task is simple: make sure no one survives. It's a total wipeout mission, the kind of thing that will be heavily redacted if it sees the light of day at all.
Beside him, Price is similarly angled, wide mouth parted in readiness. Ghost flares his fins, an alluring display, catches one of Price's wide eyes locked on him appreciatively, his own fins rippling, his vent parting slightly to reveal the tip of his cock.
"Getting close," Soap reports. "Waiting for confirmation of target."
Ghost waits, lingering in the depths, deeper he knows than the ship's radar can reach. It only scans for things on the surface and just below it - he and Price are practically invisible.
Sound carries strangely in the ocean, but their ears are sensitive, evolved to pick up sound from a very long distance away. It is the only way they can find each other, after all, with the ocean so vast and the likelihood of just running into another of their species so low.
"Confirmed sighting," Gaz says, breathless. "Target in sight. He's making the exchange. On your command, Sir."
Price snarls - a low, rippling thing that makes the currents tremble and swirl around Ghost. He growls in answer, catches the current and lets it carry him up. With a great surge of strength he rears up, like a great serpent of old, a dull roar overpowering the panicked shouts and rapid-fire shots from guns that hit his hide and glance off like pebbles on a cliffside.
Ghost crashes into the stern of the ship, tearing through it with his powerful jaws. The ship angles up sharply, tipping backward to a chorus of screams and a great groan of shifting cargo, and then Price shoots up at the prow of the ship, his huge mouth open in a growl so deep it's subharmonic. He bites down at the vessel's tip, tears it completely off.
Ghost gathers his tail, winds it around the ship's center and squeezes, snapping it in two with little effort at all. Humans shriek and dive into the water to be swiftly devoured by Price. Ghost is careful not to swallow any cargo - his stomach is strong, but even still there's a limit to how much metal and weaponry he can safely eat in one go. He tears through the rest of the ship, rending it into shards of metal to sink down into the depths.
"Steamin' fuckin' Jesus," he hears Soap whisper, awed. "Ain't that a sight."
Ghost agrees, but not because of anything he's doing - Price is glorious like this, over fifty meters of pure, deadly muscle, teeth sharp as razors, snarls like the Devil himself shuddering Ghost to his core. The ocean swallows their offering eagerly, and Ghost uses his sensitive fins and eyes to locate and devour each drowning man. Some of them try to swim away, try to latch onto a floating piece of debris to catch their breath, only to be shattered and eaten by Price.
It's over in minutes, the ship sinking below the surface, every living soul on board drowned or eaten or shattered into pulps of wet flesh. Ghost leaves the bleeding ones alone for a gift to the sharks, growls and snaps his teeth to Price when they get confirmation of no survivors. The click of his eyelids and sharp sound of his fangs draws Price's attention, has him coiling down and rubbing his entire flank against Ghost.
Ghost purrs, lashes low, rolls to expose his belly and lets Price nuzzle his throat. At the first press of Price's cock to his vent, he snarls and twists away, markings flashing in warning. Price rumbles at him, contrite, and instead locks the fins at their sides together - a brief, intimate embrace. Ghost forgives him instantly, purrs for him again and lets Price coil around him a second time, this time obediently keeping his cock tucked away.
They swim back to shore, shifting when the ocean gets too shallow and swimming the rest of the way as humans, up onto the beach so they can gather the stash of their clothes. Ghost tears off the tracker around his arm and digs out his earpiece, shaking himself free of clinging water.
Price regards him, similarly free of his gear. He approaches Ghost and cups his cheek, brushes their jaws together. "Not yet?" he asks. Ghost bites his lower lip, eyes falling to Price's thick belly, which is swollen with his eggs.
"Not yet," Ghost confirms. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, love," Price says. Ghost's breath catches at the pet name, his eyes wide. "I should have asked. We agreed to plan for it, I just…lost my senses, for a moment." His gaze sweeps over Ghost, dark and wanting. "You're beautiful."
Ghost smiles, his cheeks turning pink. He nuzzles under Price's chin, reveling in the rub of his wet beard and chest hair against Ghost's smoother skin. "Would you like help laying them?" he offers, gently massaging Price's bloated stomach.
Price huffs, shakes his head. "I can handle it," he promises. "Want to save them up for when it's time."
Ghost arches a brow, at that, tilts his head. "But…" He frowns. "You can make more."
Price just shrugs, cups Ghost's face and kisses them. "My children belong inside my mate," he says roughly, gently palming the back of Ghost's head. "They go inside you. Nowhere else."
Ghost's breath catches again, his mouth suddenly dry. "…Mate?" he repeats, awestruck. He'd hoped, of course he'd hoped, but he's not naïve. Fucking Price and bearing his children doesn't mean they're mated, doesn't mean this is permanent.
Price just smiles at him, fond, a little sad. "You're it for me, I'm afraid," he says. "Hopin' you stick around for a while yet."
"Forever," Ghost whispers immediately, holding onto Price tightly. It's hard to swallow around the knot of emotion, but he forces himself to say, "I want that. I…really want that."
Price kisses him, long and lingering, taking Ghost's breath away. "Come on," he coaxes when they pull apart. "Let's get dressed before the lads show up. Don't want anyone else to see what's mine." Ghost's cheeks darken, but he nods. He doesn't want them to see what's his, either.
It's another two years before Ghost is ready. Soap's laid up in hospital, recovering from his GSW to the head - a miracle he survived, but that's wolf healing for you. Gaz hasn't left his side, Ghost and Price barely have either, only parting from their friends when the need for sleep overcomes them.
It'll be a while before Soap is back on his feet. He's set to be in a medically induced coma for six months, if not longer, and Ghost has thoroughly scented and sealed as much of his belonging as he can for Soap to have when he wakes up. It'll be enough, though his heart aches at not being there when Soap wakes.
They simply won't get another stretch of time like this. Instinctively, he knows it's now or never.
Gaz hugs him tightly when it's time to go, tears in his eyes but a happy smile on his face. "Will you bring the baby back?" he asks. "Just for a little bit? I think Soap would like seeing them before they go."
Ghost nods. He's already promised his mother that she can raise the baby. It's unconventional for a leviathan to remain in their child's life intentionally, but he knows in his heart that it's what he wants. He wants his child to know their father, to have someone as kind and loving as his mother to raise them. To give Joseph a sister, and his friends a little one to dote on since they can't have one of their own.
"Good luck," Gaz says, wiping at his face. "…See you in a year."
Ghost smiles at him, cups Gaz's face and tucks him beneath his chin in a brief embrace. He lets Price say his goodbyes - less sad, since Price will be back soon enough - and then Price takes his hand and leads him out of the hospital, to their vehicle. They drive without the radio on, Price's hand warm on Ghost's thigh whenever he's not shifting gears.
"Nervous?" Price asks.
Ghost shakes his head. "You?"
"You'll make a wonderful mother," Price tells him, as assured and calm as he always is.
They get to the beach and park somewhere out of the way, arrangements made with one of the attendants to keep their vehicle there for however long it takes. She's a warm, spritely girl, says her college professor was a leviathan so she gets it. She winks at them and waves them off, gives them somewhere private to strip and race into the water. They swim out until it's safe to shift, coiling together briefly before heading out into deeper water.
Instinct drives Ghost, focuses him like it's another mission. He flattens his fins to his side, using those along his spine and tail to dive deep, until the water turns black and crushing all around him. Price follows, his belly gravid with his eggs, his jaws wide open and panting.
They dive for many long minutes, until schools of fish grow sparse, and the ocean begins to glow with the natural reefs full of all the things that flourish in the dark. Price's eyes gleam in the light of Ghost's markings, the pink innards of his gills turned lilac from the soft blue glow.
Ghost smiles at him, lets out an alluring purr, and rolls to show his belly. His fins flare wide, receptive, his vent opening and his latch extended. Ocean water rushes into him, cold and slick, making him shiver. Price rumbles at him, curling around Ghost's body like entwining snakes. His powerful muscles flatten Ghost's fins to his side, crush them to his back, Price's jaws parting delicately around the azure swatch at his throat to further immobilize him.
Ghost gasps when Price's cock breaches him, thick and wide, the press of his heavy belly caught on his latch easily. Ghost trembles, thrashing on instinct, wanting to test the strength and tenacity of the father of his children. Price holds him easily, his own fins wrapped around Ghost like arms, his teeth pressing down enough to threaten spilling blood, though they do not pierce Ghost's thick skin.
That familiar pleasure crests in Ghost quickly, turning him limp and submissive in Price's hold. Price licks along his throat, teasing the edges of his gills in a rewarding, appeasing gesture. He forces his cock deep into Ghost, pulsing come into him to fertilize his eggs. Ghost's inner muscles clench down tightly, crushing around his cock, urging him on.
The first egg comes quickly, huge enough to feel like the equivalent of a fist if he were in his human shape. Ghost shudders, his tail twitching, wide eyes staring sightlessly as Price's cock ruts through his rings of muscle, uses them to coax the egg deeper, and then out through the wide slit at the tip of his cock. It settles in one of the gaps between Ghost's muscles, heavy and gooey. Not sturdy enough to crush.
Ghost snaps his jaws together, snarling, wordlessly demanding another. The second one comes, breaching him in a way that leaves him breathless, bloated, butting up against the first egg already laid. It feels incredible, feels like too much, his inner muscles unused to stretching this wide, euphoric in the most overwhelming, painful way.
He thrashes again, snarling, instinctively warding all other marine life away as their coiled bodies drift deeper through the water, Price attentive enough to keep them from hitting solid ground with minor twitches of his tail and fins. Price answers him in kind, laving his tongue across Ghost's throat, into the corner of his parted jaws, butting his massive head against Ghost's cheeks as he ruts another egg into him. Another, another, a dozen in total until Ghost whines and snaps his fangs together, growing restless, sensing internally that one of these eggs is viable.
Price accepts his mate's refusal for more eggs, releases Ghost's fins so he can uncoil and slither out of his grasp. Ghost's vent closes up immediately and the latch turns inward, searching for the best egg to crush and fertilize. He finds one, both deep and sturdy enough to mean that the offspring inside is viable. He bears down on it, feels it splinter and crack around the hard kernel of his future young, leaves the others to dissolve and saturate the baby and provide nutrients while it matures inside him.
Price swims close to him, tucking his head under Ghost's chin. Ghost sighs, smiling, and gives him a nod, shows Price his belly in a wordless acknowledgement of successful breeding. Price brushes his fins along Ghost's belly, licks over his vent, then coils up around Ghost's head to press their muzzles together in a long, chaste kiss.
Ghost blinks at him, pleased, and then instinct demands he dives down, goes hunting to sustain himself for his incubation. Price watches him go, and then he turns away, his dark hide quickly disappearing from sight, and leaves Ghost alone.
Ten months later, Ghost feels the twitch of life inside him. He finishes devouring the squid he hunted and seeks out somewhere safe to swim, not so deep as to risk the comparatively delicate muscles and bones of his offspring, not so deep that he cannot bring them to the surface to introduce them to air.
He finds a cove, rocky and teeming with fish small enough for his child to eat. His inner muscles clench around the writhing baby, his vent opening in preparation to expel them. Ghost swims in lazy circles, coiling and swishing his tail to encourage the child to come out. Gooey expulsions leak from his vent, an off-white color that quickly merges with the sea. It takes barely an hour of uncomfortable cramping and twisting around himself, merely following instinct, before his child slips out of him without ceremony. Ghost turns, clicks and chitters at them so they know his scent and instinctively seek him out.
Big black eyes turn to him, the little eel no larger than a human from snout to tail. Ghost takes in their deep, dark hide - naturally black to protect them from predators - the stringy expanse of their sticky fins as they spread them out, trying to catch currents and shake themselves loose. He coos at the baby, gathering them in his strong coils, licks the muck from their skin and delicate fins. He breathes them in, catches traces of salt and tobacco on them - the scent of their father mixed with his own.
He smiles, and the baby smiles back, chattering animatedly at him, fins flapping like an excited bird. On their throat, tiny until they reach sexual maturity, is a single dot of bright azure.
A daughter.
Ghost opens his mouth and his daughter swims into it, coiling herself around his tongue so he can keep her safe as he brings her to the surface. He breaches it, makes sure there's no one else around, and carefully opens his mouth so that the water drains slowly, allowing her to take in her first tentative breath of air. She chirps excitedly, twitching and writhing on his tongue, then leaps back out into the water, her gills flaring wide as her body acclimates to the difference of the ocean.
Ghost smiles, already enamored by her, and directs her back to the cove. He coasts above her, keeping watch as she begins her first hunt, first snuffling out and devouring a crab, then chasing a bright-colored fish until she eats that too. She finds a starfish, licks at an anemone and then discards it with a grimace, nuzzles into the rocky crags and uses her long tongue to draw out more crabs, clearly favoring the crunch of their hard shell and their gooey insides.
When she's done eating, Ghost allows her to continue exploring, swimming over her like a protective shadow. Her eyes droop soon after and Ghost calls her back, swooping her up in his coils when she yawns and coos at him. He nuzzles her little face, licks her cheek to make her snort, and she climbs back into his mouth to rest along his tongue, quickly curling up and falling asleep.
Leviathans eat a lot during their pregnancy to make sure they can keep their young safe in their mouths until it's time to surface, and Ghost is nothing is not prepared. He dives deep again, wanting her to know and understand the safest parts of the ocean, to feel the weight on her body which will make her strong, harden her skin and thicken her adolescent blubber to keep her warm.
He curls up in the spot he'd spent many months clearing out, content that his daughter is safe and warm, and settles down to sleep.
When two months have passed, his daughter is old enough to come to the shore. He takes her there, shifting his shape and carrying her on his back as he swims to the beach. She clings to his shoulders with her tiny arms, burbling happily, the human equivalent of a toddler so she can learn to walk.
He crawls onto the beach, more tired than he expected, and seeks out the changing area Price will have prepared for him. He finds that same attendant, who gasps in delight and crouches down to fawn over his little girl, admiring her curly blonde hair and big, dark eyes. "Isn't she just a little angel," she sighs.
Ghost places a hand on his daughter's head, smiling, pleased. "May I get dressed?"
"Oh! Of course, I'm sorry," the attendant says, blushing and hurrying to fetch his bag. Ghost changes into soft, comfortable clothes, his throat going tight when he sees that, alongside his clothes, there is an assortment of baby outfits, ranging in sizes and colors, lacking any obvious gender designation. He crouches down, showing the clothes to his daughter one by one, and grins when she flails excitedly at a big black shirt and zebra print leggings. They're a little big for her but she doesn't seem to mind. Ghost dresses her and hauls her into his arms, fishes out the phone that only has one number.
"Simon?" Price answers immediately. He sounds breathless, excited, hopeful. "That you, love?"
"Hi," Ghost murmurs, and presses a kiss to his daughter's hair. "Come pick us up?"
"I'm on my way," Price promises. Ghost hangs up, wanting to give his daughter his full attention. He spends the time waiting, chatting with the attendant as she shows his little girl pretty shells, sea glass, before she has to leave and Ghost contents himself with watching over his daughter, lets her roll around in the sand and measure how it falls between her chubby fingers.
His head snaps up at the sound of an engine approaching, instinctively tense and calling his daughter back to him with a fierce snap of his teeth. She toddles over, crawls into his lap, and he wraps his arms protectively around her.
The engine cuts off, heavy feet crunch into the sand. The scent of tobacco and gun oil and mate hit his nose a moment before Price steps into view, frantically seeking them out. He sees them immediately, his face transforming into a wide-mouthed, joyous smile. He hurries over to them, sinking to his knees a little way away from Ghost, understanding implicitly that a leviathan mother is protective as all Hell and should not be crowded.
"Simon," he whispers, his eyes shining as they fall to their daughter. "Is that…?"
"Got a girl first try," Ghost says, and opens an arm to him. Price crawls forward, planting himself at Ghost's side. Ghost leans down to kiss his daughter's wispy blonde curls, rumbling safety to her so she lifts her head, blinks up at both of them with her big brown eyes.
"Oh, Christ," Price whispers. "Spitting image of you."
"Had to contribute something," Ghost teases, nudging their shoulders together. "Would you like to hold her?"
Price nods, swallowing back his emotion as Ghost hands her over. She balances on his thighs, her little hands wrapped around one of his fingers each. She grins at him, toothy and wide enough to cut into her cheeks, her eyes going round and black as she chirps happily at her father.
"Oh my God, Simon," Price rasps. "Look at her."
"I am looking at her," Ghost replies, grinning, his eyes just as wet, voice just as raw.
"Did you pick out a name?"
Ghost shakes his head. Typically, since leviathans are left to form their social circles with other species, their parents don't pick their names for them. "You?"
Price huffs, but shakes his head too.
Ghost rests his cheek on Price's shoulder, content to bask and rest from his long swim, when a nervous voice catches his attention:
"Sir, I'm really sorry but I think Soap might actually maul me if I don't let him see the baby!"
Ghost straightens, a brow arched in disbelief. He fixes Price with a look, takes in his guilty expression. "Soap and Gaz are here?" he asks.
Price rolls his eyes. "I ordered them to stay, threatened to eat them when that didn't work. You have no idea what those puppy eyes can do, Simon, I was helpless."
Ghost rolls his eyes. "Come on, then," he calls. Immediately, barrelling into sight, comes a shaggy grey wolf, his bright blue eyes and overlong fur shaped like a mohawk letting Ghost recognize him easily. His tongue lolls out as he sprints at them, only a scar at his temple to show that six months ago he was in a bloody coma.
He comes to a stop before them, lowers his chest to the ground, front paws spread and tail wagging wildly enough it threatens to topple him over. Gaz runs up behind him, panting, and swats at Soap's rump. "Calm down, damn it, you'll scare her."
Their daughter has turned to watch the commotion, looking at the big-as-fuck wolf with wide eyes. She stares, and Soap stares back, eventually settling enough to lower himself fully to the ground, his head on his front paws, the picture of innocence. She squeals and practically throws herself off of Price's lap, toddling towards him and giggling when Soap yips excitedly and places slobbering licks all over her face.
Gaz's nose wrinkles. "Can't believe I'm in love with you," he mutters, then smiles tentatively at Ghost and Price. "Alright?"
Ghost nods, unable to completely hide his smile. He gestures to his free side and Gaz comes over, plopping himself on the sand, all of them watching Soap play-wrestle with the little leviathan, hovering his paw over her head so she tries to grab at it, letting her chase his tail and snuffling at her hair.
"He's recovered well," Ghost says warmly, relieved.
Gaz nods. "He stays a wolf most days because he needs crutches as a human, but he's getting better by the day. Still has headaches, but that's to be expected. Wolf healing really is something," he adds, awed.
Ghost hums, and calls, "Johnny," making the wolf's ears perk up, at attention. "Can I have my daughter back, please?"
Soap pouts - those puppy eyes really are dangerous - but gently herds the little leviathan back with his snout, directing her into Ghost's arms. She chirps at him, pawing at his jaw with sand-crusted hands, then prompt yawns wide enough to completely split her face in half, and collapses against his chest, sound asleep.
"She's gorgeous, Si," Soap murmurs, his mental voice coming to all of them crystal clear, his tail wagging behind him slowly as he sits, panting and grinning. "What's her name?"
"Haven't given her one," Ghost says, swallowing and gently tucking his daughter up in his arms in a more comfortable position. "Our kind don't usually… We aren't normally the ones to name our young, since they find other families early."
Soap tilts his head, puppy-like. "But…she's staying with you, right?" he asks, unsure. "With yer mam?"
Ghost nods.
"So ye should name her!"
"Soap," Gaz hisses, "leave it."
"No, he's right," Ghost rasps, brushing his thumb along her cheek. "I should… She deserves a name. She should have a name." But he's at a loss. "I don't know what to name her."
Price wraps an arm around his shoulders, rumbling to soothe his distress, and kisses his temple. Ghost turns to look at him, helpless. "Any ideas?"
Price considers it, staring out to the ocean, his brow creased as he thinks, still absently petting his thumb along the flexing tendon in Ghost's neck. "Something to do with the sea, I should think," he muses. Ghost nods along. "What about Mariana?"
"…Like the trench?" Soap asks, causing Gaz to kick sand at him. "What? That's what it's called!"
Ghost snorts, staring down at the slumbering baby. "I like it," he says. "Lots of nickname potential."
"Aye, little Mari," Soap says, grinning. "Or Ana!" His tail starts wagging again, kicking up more sand, gleeful at the notion.
"We should bring her to my mum," Ghost murmurs, pressing his lips together. "She'll want to meet her." He swallows, looking at Price. "Is there time?"
Price's eyes are soft, adoring. He kisses Ghost's cheek and rests his other hand on their daughter's back. "We have all the time in the world, Simon," he promises. "There's no rush."
Ghost nods, letting out a shaky breath as he leans against his mate, casts his eyes across his daughter, his friends, his little family all nestled together on the beach, with the ocean rushing sweetly in the background. He missed them so much, having them all together like this soothes a deep ache he didn't allow himself to feel in the ocean. Feeling their love for him, their relief and happiness at having him back, the proof that they missed him and already adore his daughter, that he can be there to watch her grow up, give her siblings, watch his family blend together and grow into one thriving ecosystem of love and support.
He closes his eyes, hugging Mariana close, and lets the joy sweep him under.