Chapter Text
Gaz knows the second he sees Soap drag several bags into the puppy room that they’re going to engage in shenanigans today. If he’s honest, he’s excited for it. It’s been a hot fucking minute since they’ve made Price chew through his cigar stash out of sheer frustration; far too long since they’ve taken a day to just be silly, stupid, bratty. So he’s already excited; already up and off the couch to grab a bag and haul it back to his seat to dump a balled-up pile of clothes across the cushions with a high, curious noise.
“What’s all this, then?”
“Today’s wardrobes,” the Shifter replies with a wide grin that speaks of nothing but mischief. Blue eyes twinkling, he looks up toward the ceiling and chirps, “Spazz, there’s some for yeh too! Come down an’ see.”
After the sparring match between their smallest packmate and their Dire Shifter, Simon had taken it upon himself to build an entire catwalk area up in the rafters of the room. Thick wooden beams that criss-crossed like branches across the space, with a platform at either end and one in the middle; areas just big enough for a single small person to curl up comfortably, with pillows and blankets and raised sides so the boy wouldn’t roll off in his sleep and fall to his death. They still have no idea how Spazz gets up there; none of them have ever seen him do it, he just appears randomly. It’s made it so that he’ll actually spend time in the puppy room now, and even if it’s not down on the floor with them, it’s progress and they’ll happily take it.
The distressing thing about Spazz is that he seems to prefer to stretch out along the beams themselves to sleep, like a jungle cat on a branch. How he doesn’t fall is a mystery and a miracle all in one; Gaz is about to beg Simon to put railings all over the catwalks just to ensure the worst doesn’t happen.
The boy in question leans over the side of a beam and blinks sleepily down at them; rubs at an eye and yawns widely, tongue curling with a little whine. “Wha’s tha’?” he mumbles, and Gaz wants to cuddle him so badly he can already feel the phantom warmth and weight against his arms and chest. He doesn’t know what happened that night after the match — all they know is Simon carried the boy in from the woods a few hours after their celebration had wound down. That Spazz had been asleep, had very clearly been crying, but the Dire Wolf wouldn’t tell them why.
Not my place, he’d rumbled. Had even snapped his teeth in warning at Soap when he got too insistent. You keep your secrets; let him have his.
Whatever had taken place, there’s been a change since then. A small one, but still noticeable. Spazz has stopped pulling away from them; has let them touch him more, even Gaz, though Spazz won’t stay put for him as long as he will for Roach . Even so, any progress after weeks of staying stagnant is better than nothing. He’ll come around when he’s ready, and until then, Gaz is content to go at his pace.
“Got some new clothes for all o’ us ta wear today,” Soap explains as he upturns his bags beside Gaz’s pile. Gaz can already see where this is going — they are going to get in so much trouble. He can’t wait. The first thing he picks up is a halter crop top that’s made entirely of mesh, with a black panel across the chest for modesty. The collar of it is literally a collar; inch-wide pleather with studs and a wide silver buckle in the back.
“Who’s this one for, then?” he asks, shaking it like he doesn’t already know.
Sure enough, Soap’s grin goes from mischief to criminal. “Tha’ one’s mine. It’ll match mah skirt perfectly.”
“There’s enough clothes here for at least six people,” Gaz says, fingering the lettuce-trim hemming of a dark brown asymmetrical skirt. It looks like something a pixie would wear. No doubt Soap is going to try to coax Spazz into it; it looks too small for anyone else to fit in. “Who else are you roping into this?”
“Roach an’ König, o’course.” Soap knocks their shoulders together and beams. “Here, lemme show ya yers.”
He doesn’t want to ask how Soap managed to get all of this without asking any of them their sizes. The outfit his packmate has picked out for him is… cute. Pretty. A fluttering patchwork green skirt that’ll fall to just above his ankles, will flare out nicely while he walks, spins, twirls. The top is another cropped piece — he’s already figured out the theme, of course Soap would go for this — a caramel-colored ribbed knit with long sleeves and a window that’ll go across his chest rather than a vertical slit down. It’s soft beneath his fingers, breathable; he won’t overheat in it, which is what matters most to him.
“Oh, those look nice.”
Gaz nearly jumps out of his skin; when did Spazz climb down? The boy is leaning in on his other side, reaching out to touch the brown skirt with a curious frown before he looks at Soap.
“We’re wearing these today?”
“Yep!” Soap pops the p, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yeh dinnae have ta if yeh don’ want. I know skirts aren’ fer everyone. Yeh might like th’ top though.”
“It’s just fabric, isn’t it?” Spazz picks up the skirt, shakes it back and forth and watches the way the ends flutter. “It looks loose.”
“Aye, not made ta cling like jeans or sweats,” the Shifter agrees. Spazz looks intrigued by that.
“And there’s a top that goes with it?”
Beaming, Soap digs out a hooded crop top sweatshirt with mesh sleeves and no shoulders. It looks like someone cut them out, leaving just the collar for the hood. The mesh will sit just off the shoulder, and Gaz can already hear the comments. He almost wants to say no, to choose for Spazz for his best interest, but the puppy looks so curious. Is already reaching out to feel the material with a little murmur in the back of his throat, and the look Soap is giving him says don’t ruin this.
If Spazz is willing, who is Gaz to take that from him?
The door opens right as Spazz takes off his shirt; the boy looks over and blinks and Roach and König before going back to pulling the sweater over his head. Soap is there to help him get it situated, and yep, it’s just as bad as Gaz was expecting. It’s huge on Spazz, even for a crop top. It definitely wasn’t designed for someone as small as him, but Soap just hums happily and produces a pair of scissors from who knows where so he can cut the hem. And Spazz lets him; stands calmly while Soap alters the fit until at least six inches of his belly is visible. At least the sleeves have cuffs so they stop at his wrists.
“This doesn’t seem practical,” is all the boy says, and Soap chitters happily.
“It’s not,” he replies with manic glee. “But it’s comfortable and it’s fun, aye?”
Spazz blinks like he isn’t sure how to answer that. Soap pats one of his adorably freckled shoulders and pecks a kiss against his hair before he’s unearthing a mound of ombré red-black fabric and carrying it over to König.
Well, if Spazz has no shame, Gaz supposes he doesn’t need to either. He kicks off his boots and shoves his jeans down — leaves his boxers on because like hell he’s going commando with this and slides the skirt up his legs. Oh, it feels nice. The material is soft, and smooth, and it flutters around him in a peculiar way that isn’t bad. He’s just not used to it. He likes the different-colored panels, all the various shades of green. Likes that the skirt has a tie so he doesn’t have to worry about it slipping off his hips. The crop top takes more maneuvering, but once it’s on, he can’t stop touching the ribbing and zoning out on the way it feels against his fingertips. The way it clings to his chest and shoulders without feeling restrictive, just good.
“There’s tops for both o’ yeh as well,” he hears Soap say, but he’s distracted by the sound Spazz makes once he’s got his skirt on. It’s definitely short, but not dangerously so. The longer pieces tickle the boy’s knees while the shorter parts stop around mid-thigh. Still a lot of leg on display, a lot of skin, but the noise Spazz had made wasn’t a bad one. Gaz isn’t sure how to decipher the look on his face, but he’s certainly not unhappy.
He looks adorable — and that’s going to cause so many problems. He’ll have to make sure to keep a close watch on the boy today. Soap wants to have fun, wants them all to be silly and pretty together, but Spazz isn’t used to their particular brand of rowdiness just yet. They’ll have to make sure he stays safe, especially with his aversion to being touched.
“I like it,” the boy says softly, and ah, fuck. How is he so violent and so naïve at the same time? It’s dangerous.
Roach’s skirt is an army-green maxi that goes all the way down to his ankles. “Know yeh like ta stay covered,” Soap explains, and the man signs a trembling thank you. Even his shirt is meant to cover everything — a black full-length asymmetrical hooded top with a sewn-in face covering. Soap definitely knew how to choose for everyone; the style match-up is practically perfect.
“I will forgo top,” König says hesitantly. “But the skirt I will wear, yes. It feels very nice.”
“Picked the material wit’ you in mind, mah big wolf,” Soap says with a bright smile, tugging the bigger man down to give him a kiss through his hood. “It’ll match, too,” he adds. König nods, eyes closing and head tilted as he smiles beneath his covering.
“And this is for fun today?”
“You betcha. Fun, and a little bit of chaos.” Hands on his hips, Soap grins widely at them. There’s only one skirt left on the couch — a layered piece that’s blue and red tartan and black lace trim. It looks criminally short, with studded belts that loop at the hips, and of course Soap is going to wear that one. Of course he is. And he’ll look fucking amazing in it, too.
Simon is going to kill him.
Price might just kill all of them, but fuck it. They need a day of fun. It’s been too quiet on base. This’ll definitely liven things up for sure, especially since he’s due to oversee shooting drills with König and Spazz later. And won’t that be fun, the three of them dressed up as they are while ordering around a batch of soldiers. He can’t wait to see how that plays out.
Let the games begin.