Chapter Text
When Soap walked into the conference room, he immediately got a strange feeling. Not bad, exactly, but certainly different. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, but when he looked, no one would meet his. His nerves kicked up, and slid into his usual seat next to Ghost, shrinking down to minimize his target area. Which, in retrospect, was quite stupid, but he wasn’t used to anxiety outside of life-or-death situations.
Price, already seated at the head of the table, called them to order. The room fell silent more quickly than usual, as if they’d all been waiting for his cue. Soap stiffened. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what Price had to say.
“Allow me to get right to the point,” he began. “We all read the latest notification from the higher-ups. You know what I’ve called us here for.”
They’d received a notice less than a week ago about “changes” regarding pack dynamic requirements as issued by the government. It went on and on about research addressing pack stability and the unfortunately high mortality rates in packs with unstable dynamics, which seemed a little pitiful to Soap, if he was honest.
Their pack in particular, the 141, put themselves at constant risk of life and limb. They were in terrible danger regularly, weekly even. If something killed them out in the field, it wasn’t going to be some intangible, nebulous “pack dynamic” issue. It was going to be bullets. There was no point in adjusting their team in any way, especially because they worked so well together.
But someone in charge of team distribution in the military sector obviously thought differently. So differently, in fact, that they’d put out a mandate: each military team needed to have checks and balances, in order to reduce stability-related deaths.
Put simply, every pack needed to have an omega. It had been a rude shock, especially for Soap and his close-knit team: they were all alphas. And what’s more, they were complete like that. They didn’t need someone new to come in and mess up the perfect thing they’d built together. Not in Soap’s opinion, anyway.
He knew they had limited time to find one, too, because the mandate went into effect within three months. They had to start looking now if they wanted to find someone who was both qualified and willing to put up with everything the 141 had to offer. Soap didn’t think the pool of candidates would be very large at all.
So now, they were under pressure to change everything about their pack for some pointless new rule, or risk being forcibly disbanded and retrained for different teams. None of them wanted that, least of all Soap. This was the first real family he’d ever had. He wasn’t giving them up.
“I’ve been looking into alternative options, given that none of us have been enthusiastic about the idea of change, and I think I may have found something that can allow us some freedom.”
Soap snapped his head up, suddenly concentrating on Price completely. To his discomfort, Price was already looking back at him. He flushed slightly under the scrutiny.
“Let me be clear: it would require a huge sacrifice,” Price said, and Soap got the feeling Price was now addressing him and only him. “A lot of things would still change. But, if we do it, we wouldn’t have to add anyone new to the team, and we’d fulfill the requirements of the mandate.”
Price looked around the room slowly, finally landing back on Soap.
“Sergeant MacTavish, you’re the one we’re asking to make this sacrifice.”
This time he was sure everyone was looking at him. He squared his shoulders, tried to shrug off the apprehension Price’s words inspired, and faced Price head-on.
“You know I’d do anything for the pack, Captain. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Price took a breath, hesitated, then cleared his throat. The air was still and thick. No one else moved a muscle.
“Soap, there’s no delicate way to say this. We want to bitch you.”
Soap’s ears started ringing. He felt his face go hot.
“Come again?”
“We want to bitch you. Turn you from an alpha into an omega. That way, we’d have an omega on the team, but you’d already be bonded to everyone, and perfectly qualified for the job. Nothing else would have to change.”
Nothing else, Soap thought to himself hysterically. Nothing else except every single facet of Soap’s life.
There were a lot of emotions running through him, and he separated himself from his body a bit to identify them. He felt horrified. Sickened. Humiliated. Intrigued. Aroused. Scared to be aroused.
Beyond the ringing in his ears, he knew the room had to be deathly quiet. Maybe he was panting slightly in fear. He couldn’t tell. A cold sweat broke out across his brow. He wondered what they could smell in his scent. Was he leaning one way or the other? He couldn’t smell himself well enough to tell.
“So, you, you…” He trailed off, gathering his thoughts with trembling hands. “Have you… already discussed this?”
He looked around, and the averted eyes and heavy scent of guilt in the room told him they had.
“So when you said ‘we’, you meant everyone else.” Price, Gaz, Ghost. None of them would look at him.
“You… you all want this?”
They did look up when he asked that question, eager at the first sign that maybe he was considering their proposal.
“Yes,” said Price gently. “We discussed this as an option, and everyone thought it would be the best decision. Only if you agree, of course,” he tacked on hastily at the end, clearly scared to offend Soap. Soap nodded slowly, processing this information.
Everyone else in this room, all four of his closest friends and colleagues, had discussed this. Had discussed the prospect of turning Soap into an omega, of making him- what? Their collective fucktoy? Soap had no illusions about the realities of what becoming an omega would entail. Omegas were expected to play a certain role in pack dynamics, which included fulfilling the pack sexually. Every man in this room, each of whom he trusted with his life, had agreed they’d like to fuck him. Or, at the very least, they were willing to do so. For the integrity of the pack. Soap shivered, disgust and interest rolling through him in equal measure.
Could he actually do that? Could he give up being an alpha, live like an omega and fundamentally change his relationships to his pack? Did getting bitched mean that they’d look at him differently? Almost certainly. Would they think less of him?
More?
“What… why… hang on. I need to hear from each of you. Why me? Why this? Do you actually want this, or is it just the best option? I’m not- I don’t mean that as an ultimatum. I mean it as a real question.” Soap stumbled through his thoughts, dizzy with overstimulation and shock. He looked around, helplessly. Gaz helped him out of his misery.
“You want to know why we want you?”
Soap nodded. That was what he had meant, but it felt less presumptuous for Gaz to say it, even if they’d effectively already told him that that was the case. That they wanted him. He fought back another shiver.
“It makes the most sense for our dynamic, for preserving our pack,” supplied Price, “But that’s not why I want it. I want- well. Being a pack omega is a very vulnerable position. If someone new were to join our group, and be put into that position, I wouldn’t know how to help them. You, I do know. You, I already want to help. I don’t know if I could be a good pack leader for some stranger, but I know I can support you. And I already like doing it.”
Soap blinked hard. He wasn’t expecting that, certainly not from Price. He knew the man was a bit of a mother hen, but Jesus. He pushed down the gratitude, the affection, the gushy open part of him that wanted to spill over when Price talked like that. He focused on Price’s words. He hadn’t said anything to devalue Soap or his contribution to the pack. Had focused more on his own contribution, in fact. He really was a selfless man.
Soap nodded, indicated that he’d heard and understood everything Price had to say. Price didn’t wait for him to comment, thankfully, just leaned back in his chair and shifted to his listening face. Clearly, he’d said his piece.
“I like you,” Gaz added, startling Soap a little. When he looked over, Gaz’s expression was painfully earnest. He’d always been free with his affections in a way that tugged Soap’s heart. ‘You’re one of my best friends, Soap. Of course I want it to be you. But also, we run a tight ship. There’s no room for slip-ups. It would be dangerous to add someone new out in the field, especially in high-adrenaline situations. We probably couldn’t feel safe on missions for a long time if some stranger had to deal with us like that. I know you’d be able to deal with all our shit, hormones and otherwise.”
Soap snorted a tiny laugh. He hadn’t considered that aspect of being an omega. Omegas were anchor points in their packs, provided stability and support. They were integral to calming the pack, especially when something bad happened. Gaz was right; he really didn’t want anyone who didn’t know his pack intimately to try to guide them through their emotions and needs. And given their line of work, they had a lot of emotions and needs. He nodded, and offered Gaz a tiny smile.
Then he turned, and faced Ghost. Ghost was ready for him.
“There’s no one else I trust with this,” he told Soap. “If you don’t want to do it, I don’t want anyone.” Soap struggled not to gape openly at him, and Ghost held his gaze, steady and unapologetic. Ghost had never been open about his emotions, about liking or trusting other people. Trusting, especially. So if he put all his faith in Soap… it was a huge show of commitment, reliance, pack. All the things he didn’t usually admit to feeling. Soap let out a long, slow breath, relaxing his face. He couldn’t cry right now. His pack needed him.
They needed him. Him, and nobody else. No one else could do what he could; could keep his family together. No one else could love them like he did. Soap felt his heart swell painfully in his chest.
He realized he’d already known his answer, this whole time.
“I’ll do it,” he said evenly. He looked around at each of their faces and saw relief, awe, gratitude. “When do we start?”
…
The first step had been research. Then the second step had been research, and the third, and the fourth. Each of them had gone and looked into a different topic, determined to get this right- and for good reason. It turned out that bitching could be a bloody, brutal practice; sometimes even deadly. Especially when it involved dangerous pack members. And given that everyone in the 141 was a walking reaper, they knew they would need to be careful.
“I thought this would be easier,” complained Soap, when they finally got back together to discuss their findings. “Just-“ he made a wild, inarticulate gesture to encompass the idea of repeated fucking and domination- “and be done with it.” Though he hadn’t been clear at all, the others knew what he was trying to say anyway. Gaz shook his head wryly.
“We can’t do it that way, I don’t think. Maybe for another pack that would work, but us? Nah.”
Price nodded.
“It sounds as if going about it… the direct way… garners a strong fight or flight response, especially for the- uh, subject.” He glanced at Soap. “Your alpha instincts would kick in, and it would be a true battle for domination. Sure, you might lose, and we could do it that way, but any one of us could get hurt like that, and it would make for a rough transition.”
“What do you propose, then?” Gaz asked him.
“Well, there’s research that suggests if we ease into it, get him primed for the idea of submission, and use the regular, uh- supplements,” Price coughed at this, his ears turning red, “then theoretically, he’ll fall into it naturally. No violence involved.”
“Hang on,” said Soap, suspicious. “What ‘supplements’?”
“He’s talking about come,” Ghost told him frankly. “He wants to lace your food with alpha come.”
Soap spluttered in shock, likely turning a violent shade of red.
“It’s the least intrusive way to go about it,” Price explained apologetically, his hands raised in defense. “No fistfights or syringes needed.”
“So… so what? We treat him like an omega and feed him our come? That’s it?” Gaz asked, skeptical.
“That’s the basic idea, yes,” Price admitted, “though there’s not a lot of solid research in this area. We might need to try a couple things, see what works for us.”
“What about blowjobs?” Soap interjected, his voice a little shaky. He wasn’t quite sure why he brought it up, only that it seemed the most logical answer, and he didn’t want them to bend over backwards accommodating him. He was meant to be making a sacrifice, right? He should show that he could be a team player. “That’s also a way to ingest come. Wouldn’t that be easier?” And a good way to practice submitting, he thought to himself.
“Three times a day, every day? Before your fangs shrink?” Price asked dubiously. “Could you handle that?”
“Do you even want to?” Gaz asked.
Soap hesitated. It wasn’t that he was enthusiastic about the idea, exactly. They just needed to discuss all their options. That’s what this meeting was for.
“We can work up to that, if you want,” Ghost suggested, surprising everyone. Soap turned toward him, but his eyes were carefully neutral. “Let’s not start there, though.”
“Okay…” Soap agreed, relieved and disappointed in equal measure. He resolved to shove those particular feelings in a box to deal with later.
“Where do we start, then?” Gaz asked.
“I came up with a list of strategies,” Price replied, thumbing through his notes. “What if I go through them, and we decide what sounds good to begin with, what might come later, and what’s a no-go?”
He looked at Soap as he said this, giving himself away. As much as they all pretended this was a pack endeavor, Soap would have to bare a lot more of himself than the others. In several ways.
He squared his shoulders, and nodded his permission to Price anyway. He could handle a little embarrassment.
…
He could not handle a little embarrassment. They’d gotten through Price’s (completely, horrifyingly arousing) list, and had decided on a few strategies to start out with. It had been a little scarring, though, and Soap had been relieved when a mission had come up and prevented them from implementing any new strategies for the time being.
That is, until Gaz had been shot. Then, he started to categorize his feelings firmly in the “not relieved” category.
It was only a graze on his ribs, but he’d bled plenty before getting stitched up, and he’d been taken to medical as soon as they got back. They were all shaken up, Soap most of all. He’d been with Gaz when it happened- had been there to catch him when he stumbled, drag him to exfil, and help staunch the bleeding- but as much as he knew he’d done all he could, he still felt useless. If they’d been somewhere too far from medical professionals, Soap might’ve had to watch… well. He wouldn’t have been able to do anything.
The feeling of helplessness didn’t stop when Gaz was safe in his hospital bed. If anything, it just worsened. He channeled his energy into pacing, back and forth in Gaz’s room, scuffing the cheap tile floor with his filthy boots. Price, from his chair beside the bed, and Ghost, standing with his arms crossed by the window, lost patience with him at the same time.
“Soap.”
“Enough.”
Soap whirled to face them, tense as a bowstring.
“Calm down, son,” Price told him, voice gentle but exasperated. “He’s going to be fine.”
“This time!” Soap growled. “He got lucky. What about next time? What happens when no one’s there to haul his sorry arse out of danger?”
“Oi,” Gaz protested, “I’d have been fine on my own, thanks.”
“He could’ve died out there!” Soap threw up his hands. “Who’s to say he won’t, next mission?”
“He’s a trained soldier, Soap,” Ghost said. “He’s dealt with close calls before. He’ll do it again.”
“He shouldn’t have to! We shouldn’t have had to deal with shite intel! If you hadn’t told us to go in there-“
“Soap,” Gaz interrupted sharply. “Come here.”
Soap broke off, turning reluctantly towards Gaz. Gaz raised an expectant eyebrow. Soap rolled his eyes and huffed, but shuffled closer until he was standing before Gaz, at his arm. He glared mulishly at the thin blanket covering Gaz.
“Look at me.”
Soap clenched his jaw, but met Gaz’s eye. Gaz was giving him a speculative once-over. Whatever he found didn’t seem to surprise him, and he nodded to himself.
“Right then. Kneel.”
Soap spluttered, knocked from his bad mood by pure shock.
“Excuse me?”
“Kneel,” Gaz commanded, his tone completely alpha.
Soap twitched, the instinctive need to face the challenge warring within him. Gaz wasn’t backing down, though, and he had quite the stubborn streak, on the rare occasion he thought it necessary. He was a formidable alpha in his own right, and Soap held back a growl under the weight of his gaze. They were locked in a staring match for long moments, but eventually Soap clawed himself back from the urge to issue a real threat. Gaz was his friend. Gaz was in pain. He trusted Gaz.
Slowly, painstakingly, Soap kneeled.
Gaz’s demeanor cleared instantly, switching back to his calm, laid-back aura. He let out a quiet, approving growl, and Soap’s eyes widened. Before he could ask any questions, though, Gaz’s hand was in his hair, gently raking through his warhawk. He tightened his lips, holding back a groan of appreciation, but he couldn’t stop the tiny shiver- and Gaz picked up on it immediately. His lips quirked up.
“Good,” he murmured, still carding his hand through Soap’s hair. “Good boy.”
Soap froze, trying valiantly not to react to the words. He was an alpha. Alphas didn’t cave for praise, didn’t seek approval. He wasn’t weak.
But by any other alpha’s standards, kneeling for someone and being petted should feel terrible. Degrading. Unnatural.
So why did he like it?
“I’m safe, Soap,” Gaz said quietly, pulling him from his thoughts. “I made it back. We all did. It’s over now. Let go.”
Soap tensed, feeling the eyes of all three men on him. He didn’t need comfort- or witnesses, for that matter. He was fine. Right? Gaz was the one who’d been hurt. What was he comforting Soap for?
“You helped me, you got me out,” Gaz continued. “And you know what else? You’re helping me right now.”
Soap’s eyes flicked up to meet Gaz’s, thrown by the statement. He frowned uncertainly.
“That’s right,” Gaz insisted. “You’re giving me a place to put all this purpose. Feels shite, being plucked from the field with nowhere to channel the adrenaline. I need to feel… I need to get the commands out, the energy.”
Soap heard what Gaz didn’t say. I need to feel like an alpha.
Maybe he really was helpful like this.
He did his best to relax into the position, to push past his insecurities and past his instincts telling him to get up and fight. That wasn’t what Gaz needed from him right now. It wasn’t what any of them needed.
Fuck, this too-many-alphas emotional-regulation shit might actually be something to worry about.
But that was a thought for another time. Now, he did what little he could to relax Gaz. He played the omega. Let himself be petted and soothed and instructed, let himself fall slack until he was leaning against the bed frame, Gaz’s hand still in his hair, a human ball of putty.
And if submitting for Gaz wasn’t as hard as it should have been, that was his business and no one else’s.
…
Soap thought he knew exactly which part of meals he was going to like the least, after the 141 had that humiliating meeting.
He was dead wrong.
Sure, the food was dosed, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Not by half. Not when his pack was so considerate, doing everything they could to mask the bitter taste. They tried protein shakes, soups, excessive hot sauce- all with some degree of success. But, surprisingly, Soap got used to the taste pretty fast. What he didn’t get used to was the way in which it was delivered.
Soap wasn’t allowed to eat his meals at the table in peace anymore. Oh, no.
The first time they’d sprung that one on him, he’d almost walked right out.
“Ye’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he warned, backing away from the pillow set at Price’s feet. Price gave him his patented exasperated-stern-convivial look, and half-rose from his seat at the kitchen table.
“We went over this, son,” he insisted, long-suffering attitude already in place. “Playing the part is going to get us there faster. We’re on a deadline, remember.”
“Does the deadline also mean I have to eat out of a fuckin’ dog bowl? This is ridiculous,” Soap snarled.
“It will if you don’t get with the program,” Ghost interjected, setting down his cup of tea to stare more effectively at Soap. Unfortunately, it worked very well. Soap had always had a hard time standing up to Ghost, when Ghost made a decision. He didn’t know why. Something about the other alpha’s deadly certainty, maybe. Or the tiny light in his eyes when Soap backed him up or trusted him. Regardless, he was a hard man to turn down. Especially when he stood up and laid the full weight of his gaze on Soap, as he did now.
“This shit better be worth it,” Soap complained, glaring at nothing and slumping down onto the little pillow viciously. If such a thing could be done viciously. He gave it his best shot, in any case.
“It will be,” said Price.
His tone held such certainty that Soap glanced up for a second, surprised. Price didn’t elaborate, though, just stabbed a piece of scrambled egg on a fork and held it out to Soap. Soap accepted after a second of hesitation. Price cooked a good egg, Soap would give him that much. But the feeling of kneeling before him- between his knees, for fuck’s sake- and meekly taking whatever Price wanted to give him? That felt awful. He was so small down here, so weak. Timid and obedient. Completely at the mercy of the strong alpha above him.
Admittedly, the strong alpha above him was Price, who only ever wanted to take care of him. Who cared about him more than he would ever say. Who put extra butter in the eggs, because he knew Soap liked them that way.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad.
“Good lad,” Price murmured absentmindedly, patting his cheek. He fed Soap another bite without looking, and struck up a conversation with Ghost, the two of them talking like he wasn’t even there.
Scratch that. This was worse than he’d even imagined. He could feel the hard knot of something tightening in his lower stomach, and he fought back the wave of mortification that threatened. His ears went hot, and he locked his gaze on a little rip in the fabric of Price’s cargos, on the inside of his knee. All he had to do was sit here and finish his breakfast.
At a glacial pace, because Price got distracted by the conversation, only feeding him occasional bites. He could taste the eggs growing cold.
He nudged the rip with his nose, just gently. When Price glanced down, Soap gave him an expectant look. Price chuckled, surprised, and gave him another bit of scrambled egg.
“Little demanding, isn’t he?” Ghost asked.
“As usual,” Price replied. “We’ll see if we can’t do something about that attitude, eh?” He gave Soap a teasing look.
Soap huffed at him. He felt a little bit… fuzzy, almost? It made him a little nervous that he’d slip and say something embarrassing- get shy, or come off as submissive, or something worse. It was safer just to stay silent.
“Not like him to be this quiet, though,” Price mused. His gaze turned analytical, scanning Soap. Soap dropped his gaze to the floor. No way was he going to let Price read him like a book. If Price deduced something humiliating about him, he’d have to do it on his own steam.
Whatever Price found, he kept it to himself. He just fed Soap another bite. He hummed approvingly when Soap tilted his head up obediently, and rested a soft hand in his hair. Soap pressed down the unwelcome feeling of contentment. He wasn’t a damn omega. He could tolerate being babied a little, for the sake of the pack, but he drew the line at melting into it, welcoming it. Just because some things about him had to change didn’t mean everything had to be different. He wouldn’t lost his strength, his independence, in this transition.
“Do you not like being touched?” Price asked him quietly, and he startled. He gave Price a questioning look. “You’re making a face like I put gum in your hair, son.”
Soap winced, relaxing his face to neutral intentionally. It was true; he’d been grimacing a bit.
“Sorry,” he whispered, taken aback at how quiet his voice was as soon as it left his mouth.
“You don’t need to be sorry. I just want to know if you need me to stop,” Price told him evenly. Soap shook his head. “With words, lad.”
“I don’t mind it,” Soap admitted hoarsely, quietly. It took some effort to drag up the words from his thoughts to his mouth. “It’s just… a lot.”
“Not used to being touched so much?” Price asked him. His tone was empathetic, but not pitying. Soap was grateful Price didn’t use kid gloves on him. He just took charge, figured out the problem without making Soap feel small. Soap didn’t know if he’d properly appreciated that about Price before.
Soap shook his head timidly. Price nodded in understanding, then leaned back, scratching his beard. It was a contemplative look Soap had seen many times before.
“What if we put in some extra hours on that front?” he asked finally. Soap cocked his head. Price glanced at him, but addressed Ghost. “We need to get him used to alpha touch and pheromones. I’ll set up a rotating schedule, and we can take turns having him for the night.”
Ghost nodded, but Soap let out a concerned hum.
“Having me?” he asked, voice wavering. He wasn’t sure he was ready for- a lot of things, really. Price saw his expression, and stroked his cheek reassuringly.
“Sleeping in the same bed as your alphas will acclimate you to us. It doesn’t go any further than that without your say-so, understand?” He leaned in as he explained, projecting calm-comfort-security. Soap nodded before he could think twice, dazed by the overwhelming scent of safety Price was letting out. “Good. You can trust your pack, son. Everyone here has your back. You just need to learn to trust us.”
“I do. I will,” Soap breathed, caught up in Price’s steady gaze and his strong pheromones. The man could steer the mood of a room with a scent like that. It was a good thing he was too above-board for that kind of behavior.
“That’s good, lad. That’s very good.” He pet Soap’s cheek one more time, then slapped his legs and rose to his feet with a groan. “Ghost, you take the first night, alright?”
Ghost grunted an affirmative, and Soap twisted around to catch Ghost staring him down speculatively. Soap ducked his head a bit, ears hot.
“What?” he grumbled, when Ghost didn’t stop staring at him.
“Be at my door by 22:00. ‘Else I’m locking you out, and you won’t get your nightly dose of alpha pheromones.”
Soap snorted, crossing his arms and fighting to hold eye contact, not drop his gaze and admit defeat.
“What makes you think that’s a good enough motivation?” he asked defensively. Ghost rose, his knees cracking as he crossed the room to set his mug in the sink.
“For one, you’re still kneeling; Price has been gone for a while now,” he threw over his shoulder.
Soap sputtered and pushed himself up off his cushion, but by the time he was standing, he was all alone in the kitchen.