Santa Games-hydra husbands
"You're shitting me." Jack said looking back at Brock with a small grin, certain that any minute Brock would slap him on the back while laughing and in between gasps for breath would yell 'you should see your face'. His CO on the other hand, did none of that. In fact he scowled harder, “it's the only way the entire team can infiltrate and take out the target. We have to blend in and-” he paused, wrinkling his nose, which stop it. It should not be cute and he will murder you for thinking that, Jack, and gestures to the large box sitting on the briefing room table, “this is the only way to do it, without everyone getting suspicious.”
“it's not real fur on the trim, right? Because if it is…” Jack sighed before leveling a glare over in Murphy’s direction. Although… why he even bothered was beyond him because Brock whirled on him and snapped, “real fur? What the actual fuck? You think we got that kind of budget? Of fucking course it's not real fur. It's an itchy as all fuck, polyester fake shit that everyone forced into this hell costume hates.” he ended his tirade with a sneer on his before reaching into the box, grabbing a fistful of bright red fleece and yelling “Suit up! We leave at oh three hundred! That gives you shits thirty minutes to put this crap on!” and stomping out of the room.
Twenty-seven minutes later the entire strike team was on the landing pad, each of them looking various degrees of uncomfortable. Because standing there, still as a statue, dressed in his own ahem, disguise. Jack raised his eyebrow and looked over to Brock, silently asking what the fuck?
“The asset is going to be dropped directly into the building. He's going secure and distract the target, giving us more time to find our positions and move in.” The asset despite staying perfectly still, looked like he wanted to shift around. He didn’t, he was better trained than that, but Jack couldn’t help but wonder what had him so uncomfortable. His question was answered a few moments later when Brock ordered the asset into the helicopter and right there, in the middle of the too small shorts was a fluffy tail, that Jack was pretty sure wasn’t a part of the shorts themselves.
One agonizingly long and bumpy ride later, the asset was dropped off and the team was divided up into teams. Brock and Jack of course were paired up together. Subtle Brock. Are you sure you don’t want to just invite everyone to the wedding? Maybe get ‘I’m with…’ matching shirts? Currently they both were slowly making their way towards the building, when Jack muted his com on his end and asked, “who the fuck did you piss off now?” Brock looked up at him, feigning confusion on his face for a few seconds before rolling his eyes, muting his own com and, “I may have scattered photos of Hill, dressed like a sexy Mrs.Claus all the Triskelion.. “he muttered. Jack sighed because of fucking course Brock would go and piss off Maria Hill.
“Really, Brock?” He sighed, “Hill? You couldn’t have made pictures of Fury in a tutu or told Pierce to fuck off? You had to go and piss off Maria I can make your life living hell Hill? What the fuck? We have to suffer in hundred degree weather because your inner 5 year old came out to play?” if Jack didn't know any better he would assume that Brock might have been ashamed of his actions or feel bad that they all were suffering but… he knew better. And the smirk on his CO’s face confirmed it.
“if it makes you feel any better, I got permission to play with the asset later.” it… sort of did actually. It was nice to know that he wasn't suffering for nothing. Figuring they were done, Jack went to unmute his comms and as he did Brock of course chose to growl, “we could always sneak out instead and I'll let you give me a blowjob.” which, well… it would've have been nice if he said it quietly enough that the rest of the fucking team didn't hear him but the universe hates Jack. Because while Jack couldn't care if anyone knew how much he loved his tiny, angry, fragile egotistical peacock, said peacock was not ready to be outed. He could tell the moment Brock realized what he had done, the look of horror that crossed his face was, without a doubt, because Jack was an asshole, priceless.
Their attention however, was diverted a moment later when there was a rough, “Target is secured” and Brock quickly gave the signal for everyone to move out. Honestly, he couldn’t blame people for more than a little startled as 15 santas suddenly pulled out guns from their sacks and started to move in formation towards the hotel. Of course that had nothing on the sight of one Very Beefy Reindeer, complete with a harness with tiny jingly bells on it, stalking out the front doors with an unconscious plump businessman hoisted over his shoulder.