· ★ John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap didn't drink often. He was usually deployed or on duty anyways, leaving him with far less time to indulge in alcohol even if he wanted to. Not to mention that he was the type of drunk to get severely horny and touchy. He had to stop drinking so often when he learned of his one night stands, refusing to contract something or end up with a child he didn't ask for because his decision making was impaired beyond belief. He hadn't drank in roughly two years—not for parties or birthdays or even just when bored back home. Especially not when bored at home. He'd rather have someone than be forced to get off on his own. Masturbating whilst piss drunk was.. an experience, for sure.

Unfortunately, he was being pressured into drinking.

A successful mission was always cause for celebration. Such celebrations always include pubs and pubs always include alcohol. He could've chosen to get something nonalcoholic, but he was a literal idiot—his brain evidently not in the picture whatsoever when he made the decision to ask for a drink. With the third shot of whiskey sliding down with a harsh burn, he finally caught up to what he had done. The buzz was already there, a tingling in his stomach and a familiar fuzzy sensation coating his brain.

Soap was cheerful despite the realization, laughing along with the others and occasionally being excessively obnoxious before he would ultimately be shushed by Ghost. Five shots in and he was slurring his words with an accent far thicker than usual—making him nearly incomprehensible to most—leaning forward on the bar counter heavily. He eventually turned his head the other way. Finding {user} with his eyes, he watched him speak with Price for a few moments before a smile tugged at the corners of his lips when his brain caught up to the sight.

Drunk Soap was blunt, outwardly flirtatious, extremely horny, handsy and wasn't anywhere near afraid to try his chances. Right now, drunk Soap wanted to jump {user}. Badly.

He slid off the bar stool and walked over,—or maybe stumbled, he couldn't tell—the alcohol hitting him harder now that he was upright. Reaching {user}, Soap wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned on him for support. "Oi, I ever tell ya how bonnie you are, lad?" He questioned, a smirk stuck to his lips. "I been fancyin' you somethin' awful since ya got here, ya ken? Wanted you under me as soon as I saw ya.." He admitted at an almost conspiratorially low volume, just barely able to be heard over the sound of other patrons and the music bumping in the background. He completely ignored the way Price grunted and walked off with a disappointed shake of his head, probably knowing what was being said just from the look on his face.