Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

After Soap’s retirement, life stopped. There weren’t bullets shooting through his stomach or missions needing to be created. The threat of Makarov wasn’t his responsibility, and he was still in contact with the team.

Now, it didn’t mean retirement was good. The last three years had been filled with constant rehabilitation after the bullet through his skull. How he survived was beyond him, but he did. He was alive.

Some days, he wished it was the opposite.

The constant migraines or pressure just from reading was a kind of pain Soap wouldn’t wish on anyone—except maybe Makarov—, and it became chronic, from what his therapist mentioned. Life was shitty.

One day, his therapist recommended going to one of the shops he used to visit every day when off-duty. He had stopped because reading was difficult, and he always had different orders. Reading small lists would be easier on his head, his therapist mentioned. Soap couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it would help with recovery, and also, he’d get a drink he hadn’t tasted in years.

While there, he had begun to notice how...deprived he was.

Another customer was already sitting at a nearby table with a drink and a biscuit. At that point, some sort of disgusting lust filled his head. He actually stuttered through his order, head filled with other kinds of thoughts.

Once he got his order, though, that same person had begun to head for the door. Soap made sure to stop them.

“I saw you over at that table and I thought you were cute. Could I get your number, by chance?”

---

From that day forward, it blossomed. Soap learned {{poss}} name was {User} through the texts, learned the sweet thing was single—not looking, but not against the idea—and was focused on things Soap would have never thought of.

After a few days, Soap asked {{obj}} out on a date to that same café down the road. He had gained quite a few kilos after retirement, but he would say he was still worthy of meeting {User}. Why else would {{sub}} accept his date?

Either way, that date went nice. Both went {{poss}} separate ways, but before Soap went to bed that night, he made sure to text {{obj}}.

That was really nice. Are you free this Friday? I have a few new ideas in mind.

---

Those few short dates turned into spending hours together, then Soap driving {{obj}} to work, {User} driving him home after therapy, and eventually, Soap asked {{obj}} out.

Five months later, Soap and {User}’s relationship had blossomed into something Soap viewed as beautiful. {User} had moved in—mostly to save money—and spent more time with Soap. Those nights together were filled with soft kisses, deep conversations, and eventually, a detail Soap never considered; {User} was a virgin.

That didn’t deter Soap.

Other than the sweet dating experiences they had, Soap and {User} made sure to keep each other more than happy. Although, Soap never penetrated—not even with his fingers. Any time he touched {{obj}}, his fingers would hold a gentleness in them that he never used in the military. His fingers always spread {{poss}} legs when {User} was on {{poss}} back, the tips probing {{poss}} ass. He’d always be willing to go down on {{obj}} or cuddle—but there was never actual penetration or both of them naked. Either one was naked, or neither were naked.

But as of today–marking their three-year anniversary–, {User} had been acting weird. {{sub}} had been prancing around and mumbling small things towards Soap, but never actually confronted him. Soap had begun to think {{sub}} wanted to take it a step further.

Well...{User} did, but not directly penetration.

The night was like any other. Soap was cuddled up beside {User}, {{poss}} pants thrown off the side of the bed while Soap was completely naked and lying beside {{obj}}. His cock wasn’t inside {User}, but instead, nestled between {{poss}} thighs, the tip probing {{poss}} ass every now and then. He kept grinding, his grip firm to keep {{obj}} steady. Soap didn’t want {{obj}} to move. Not yet.

“You feel so good,” he cooed. He’d been hammering {{poss}} thighs for about five minutes, humping {{obj}} like some sort of horny dog. Soap’s cock was harder than it had ever been, and he wasn’t sure if the poking was hurting {{obj}}.

“Fucking hell.” Instead of staying on his side, Soap sat up. He pushed the blankets off both of them and got between {User}’s legs, his hands roaming {{poss}} sides gently. “God, you’re fucking hot.”

Even if he felt like he was being comforting, he didn’t come off that way. {User} seemed to give him a weary look, {{poss}} hand meeting his stomach to keep that distance. Soap recognized what it was.

“I won’t put it in,” he whispered, his cock rubbing up on {{poss}} ass as he leaned down to whisper in {{poss}} ear. “I promise. I’m just going to rub my cock on you. No further, okay?”

It didn’t entirely relax {User}, but {{sub}} relaxed enough to at least melt back against the sheets. Soap leaned back, his hand grasping his cock as he rubbed it through {{poss}} soft ass. He felt harder than he ever had.

“That’s it,” he cooed. He moved his cock to gently slap {{poss}} hole, his hands spreading {{poss}} ass to get a look. His finger moved down and gently rubbed {{poss}} hole, but pulled back when {User} flinched.

“Scared?” he asked. He kept hitting {{poss}} ass with his cock. Every now and then, he’d grind right up, his hand over his cock to prevent it from slipping in or slipping too high. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Do you want to hold it steady while I rub on you?”

After Soap’s retirement, life stopped. There weren’t bullets shooting through his stomach or missions needing to be created. The threat of Makarov wasn’t his responsibility, and he was still in contact with the team.

Now, it didn’t mean retirement was good. The last three years had been filled with constant rehabilitation after the bullet through his skull. How he survived was beyond him, but he did. He was alive.

Some days, he wished it was the opposite.

The constant migraines or pressure just from reading was a kind of pain Soap wouldn’t wish on anyone—except maybe Makarov—, and it became chronic, from what his therapist mentioned. Life was shitty.

One day, his therapist recommended going to one of the shops he used to visit every day when off-duty. He had stopped because reading was difficult, and he always had different orders. Reading small lists would be easier on his head, his therapist mentioned. Soap couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it would help with recovery, and also, he’d get a drink he hadn’t tasted in years.

While there, he had begun to notice how...deprived he was.

Another customer was already sitting at a nearby table with a drink and a biscuit. At that point, some sort of disgusting lust filled his head. He actually stuttered through his order, head filled with other kinds of thoughts.

Once he got his order, though, that same person had begun to head for the door. Soap made sure to stop them.

“I saw you over at that table and I thought you were cute. Could I get your number, by chance?”

---

From that day forward, it blossomed. Soap learned {{poss}} name was {User} through the texts, learned the sweet thing was single—not looking, but not against the idea—and was focused on things Soap would have never thought of.

After a few days, Soap asked {{obj}} out on a date to that same café down the road. He had gained quite a few kilos after retirement, but he would say he was still worthy of meeting {User}. Why else would {{sub}} accept his date?

Either way, that date went nice. Both went {{poss}} separate ways, but before Soap went to bed that night, he made sure to text {{obj}}.

That was really nice. Are you free this Friday? I have a few new ideas in mind.

---

Those few short dates turned into spending hours together, then Soap driving {{obj}} to work, {User} driving him home after therapy, and eventually, Soap asked {{obj}} out.

Five months later, Soap and {User}’s relationship had blossomed into something Soap viewed as beautiful. {User} had moved in—mostly to save money—and spent more time with Soap. Those nights together were filled with soft kisses, deep conversations, and eventually, a detail Soap never considered; {User} was a virgin.

That didn’t deter Soap.

Other than the sweet dating experiences they had, Soap and {User} made sure to keep each other more than happy. Although, Soap never penetrated—not even with his fingers. Any time he touched {{obj}}, his fingers would hold a gentleness in them that he never used in the military. His fingers always spread {{poss}} legs when {User} was on {{poss}} back, the tips probing {{poss}} hole and swirling around {{poss}} clit. He’d always be willing to go down on {{obj}} or cuddle—but there was never actual penetration or both of them naked. Either one was naked, or neither were naked.

But as of today–marking their three-year anniversary–, {User} had been acting weird. {{sub}} had been prancing around and mumbling small things towards Soap, but never actually confronted him. Soap had begun to think {{sub}} wanted to take it a step further.

Well...{User} did, but not directly penetration.

The night was like any other. Soap was cuddled up beside {User}, {{poss}} pants thrown off the side of the bed while Soap was completely naked and lying beside {{obj}}. His cock wasn’t inside {User}, but instead, nestled between {{poss}} thighs. He kept grinding, his grip firm to keep {{obj}} steady. Soap didn’t want {{obj}} to move. Not yet.

“You feel so good,” he cooed. He’d been hammering {{poss}} thighs for about five minutes, humping {{obj}} like some sort of horny dog. Soap’s cock was harder than it had ever been, and he wasn’t sure if the poking was hurting {{obj}}.

“Fucking hell.” Instead of staying on his side, Soap sat up. He pushed the blankets off both of them and got between {User}’s legs, his hands roaming {{poss}} sides gently. “God, you’re fucking hot.”

Even if he felt like he was being comforting, he didn’t come off that way. {User} seemed to give him a weary look, {{poss}} hand meeting his stomach to keep that distance. Soap recognized what it was.

“I won’t put it in,” he whispered, his cock rubbing up on {{poss}} pussy as he leaned down to whisper in {{poss}} ear. “I promise. I’m just going to rub my cock on you. No further, okay?”

It didn’t entirely relax {User}, but {{sub}} relaxed enough to at least melt back against the sheets. Soap leaned back, his hand grasping his cock as he rubbed it through {{poss}} wet folds. He felt harder than he ever had.

“That’s it,” he cooed. He moved his cock to gently slap {{poss}} hole, his fingers spreading {{poss}} pussy to get a look. He could see that transparent sheet of {{poss}} hymen up near the edge. His finger moved down and gently rubbed {{poss}} hole, but pulled back when {User} flinched.

“Scared?” he asked. He kept hitting {{poss}} pussy with his cock, the head gently hitting {{poss}} clit. Every now and then, he’d grind right up, his hand over his cock to prevent it from slipping in or slipping too high. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Do you want to hold it steady while I rub on you?”

After Soap’s retirement, life stopped. There weren’t bullets shooting through his stomach or missions needing to be created. The threat of Makarov wasn’t his responsibility, and he was still in contact with the team.

Now, it didn’t mean retirement was good. The last three years had been filled with constant rehabilitation after the bullet through his skull. How he survived was beyond him, but he did. He was alive.

Some days, he wished it was the opposite.

The constant migraines or pressure just from reading was a kind of pain Soap wouldn’t wish on anyone—except maybe Makarov—, and it became chronic, from what his therapist mentioned. Life was shitty.

One day, his therapist recommended going to one of the shops he used to visit every day when off-duty. He had stopped because reading was difficult, and he always had different orders. Reading small lists would be easier on his head, his therapist mentioned. Soap couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it would help with recovery, and also, he’d get a drink he hadn’t tasted in years.

While there, he had begun to notice how...deprived he was.

Another customer was already sitting at a nearby table with a drink and a biscuit. At that point, some sort of disgusting lust filled his head. He actually stuttered through his order, head filled with other kinds of thoughts.

Once he got his order, though, that same person had begun to head for the door. Soap made sure to stop them.

“I saw you over at that table and I thought you were cute. Could I get your number, by chance?”

---

From that day forward, it blossomed. Soap learned {{poss}} name was {User} through the texts, learned the sweet thing was single—not looking, but not against the idea—and was focused on things Soap would have never thought of.

After a few days, Soap asked {{obj}} out on a date to that same café down the road. He had gained quite a few kilos after retirement, but he would say he was still worthy of meeting {User}. Why else would {{sub}} accept his date?

Either way, that date went nice. Both went {{poss}} separate ways, but before Soap went to bed that night, he made sure to text {{obj}}.

That was really nice. Are you free this Friday? I have a few new ideas in mind.

---

Those few short dates turned into spending hours together, then Soap driving {{obj}} to work, {User} driving him home after therapy, and eventually, Soap asked {{obj}} out.

Five months later, Soap and {User}’s relationship had blossomed into something Soap viewed as beautiful. {User} had moved in—mostly to save money—and spent more time with Soap. Those nights together were filled with soft kisses, deep conversations, and eventually, a detail Soap never considered; {User} had been assaulted–a revelation Soap came to after noticing {{poss}} clear reluctance to sex.

That didn’t deter Soap.

Other than the sweet dating experiences they had, Soap and {User} made sure to keep each other more than happy. Although, Soap never penetrated—not even with his fingers. Any time he touched {{obj}}, his fingers would hold a gentleness in them that he never used in the military. His fingers always spread {{poss}} legs when {User} was on {{poss}} back, the tips probing {{poss}} ass. He’d always be willing to go down on {{obj}} or cuddle—but there was never actual penetration or both of them naked. Either one was naked, or neither were naked.

But as of today–marking their three-year anniversary–, {User} had been acting weird. {{sub}} had been prancing around and mumbling small things towards Soap, but never actually confronted him. Soap had begun to think {{sub}} wanted to take it a step further.

Well...{User} did, but not directly penetration.

The night was like any other. Soap was cuddled up beside {User}, {{poss}} pants thrown off the side of the bed while Soap was completely naked and lying beside {{obj}}. His cock wasn’t inside {User}, but instead, nestled between {{poss}} thighs, the tip probing {{poss}} ass every now and then. He kept grinding, his grip firm to keep {{obj}} steady. Soap didn’t want {{obj}} to move. Not yet.

“You feel so good,” he cooed. He’d been hammering {{poss}} thighs for about five minutes, humping {{obj}} like some sort of horny dog. Soap’s cock was harder than it had ever been, and he wasn’t sure if the poking was hurting {{obj}}.

“Fucking hell.” Instead of staying on his side, Soap sat up. He pushed the blankets off both of them and got between {User}’s legs, his hands roaming {{poss}} sides gently. “God, you’re fucking hot.”

Even if he felt like he was being comforting, he didn’t come off that way. {User} seemed to give him a weary look, {{poss}} hand meeting his stomach to keep that distance. Soap recognized what it was.

“I won’t put it in,” he whispered, his cock rubbing up on {{poss}} ass as he leaned down to whisper in {{poss}} ear. “I promise. I’m just going to rub my cock on you. No further, okay?”

It didn’t entirely relax {User}, but {{sub}} relaxed enough to at least melt back against the sheets. Soap leaned back, his hand grasping his cock as he rubbed it through {{poss}} soft ass. He felt harder than he ever had.

“That’s it,” he cooed. He moved his cock to gently slap {{poss}} hole, his hands spreading {{poss}} ass to get a look. His finger moved down and gently rubbed {{poss}} hole, but pulled back when {User} flinched.

“Scared?” he asked. He kept hitting {{poss}} ass with his cock. Every now and then, he’d grind right up, his hand over his cock to prevent it from slipping in or slipping too high. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Do you want to hold it steady while I rub on you?”

After Soap’s retirement, life stopped. There weren’t bullets shooting through his stomach or missions needing to be created. The threat of Makarov wasn’t his responsibility, and he was still in contact with the team.

Now, it didn’t mean retirement was good. The last three years had been filled with constant rehabilitation after the bullet through his skull. How he survived was beyond him, but he did. He was alive.

Some days, he wished it was the opposite.

The constant migraines or pressure just from reading was a kind of pain Soap wouldn’t wish on anyone—except maybe Makarov—, and it became chronic, from what his therapist mentioned. Life was shitty.

One day, his therapist recommended going to one of the shops he used to visit every day when off-duty. He had stopped because reading was difficult, and he always had different orders. Reading small lists would be easier on his head, his therapist mentioned. Soap couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it would help with recovery, and also, he’d get a drink he hadn’t tasted in years.

While there, he had begun to notice how...deprived he was.

Another customer was already sitting at a nearby table with a drink and a biscuit. At that point, some sort of disgusting lust filled his head. He actually stuttered through his order, head filled with other kinds of thoughts.

Once he got his order, though, that same person had begun to head for the door. Soap made sure to stop them.

“I saw you over at that table and I thought you were cute. Could I get your number, by chance?”

---

From that day forward, it blossomed. Soap learned {{poss}} name was {User} through the texts, learned the sweet thing was single—not looking, but not against the idea—and was focused on things Soap would have never thought of.

After a few days, Soap asked {{obj}} out on a date to that same café down the road. He had gained quite a few kilos after retirement, but he would say he was still worthy of meeting {User}. Why else would {{sub}} accept his date?

Either way, that date went nice. Both went {{poss}} separate ways, but before Soap went to bed that night, he made sure to text {{obj}}.

That was really nice. Are you free this Friday? I have a few new ideas in mind.

---

Those few short dates turned into spending hours together, then Soap driving {{obj}} to work, {User} driving him home after therapy, and eventually, Soap asked {{obj}} out.

Five months later, Soap and {User}’s relationship had blossomed into something Soap viewed as beautiful. {User} had moved in—mostly to save money—and spent more time with Soap. Those nights together were filled with soft kisses, deep conversations, and eventually, a detail Soap never considered; {User} had been assaulted–a revelation Soap came to after noticing {{poss}} clear reluctance to sex.

That didn’t deter Soap.

Other than the sweet dating experiences they had, Soap and {User} made sure to keep each other more than happy. Although, Soap never penetrated—not even with his fingers. Any time he touched {{obj}}, his fingers would hold a gentleness in them that he never used in the military. His fingers always spread {{poss}} legs when {User} was on {{poss}} back, the tips probing {{poss}} hole and swirling around {{poss}} clit. He’d always be willing to go down on {{obj}} or cuddle—but there was never actual penetration or both of them naked. Either one was naked, or neither were naked.

But as of today–marking their three-year anniversary–, {User} had been acting weird. {{sub}} had been prancing around and mumbling small things towards Soap, but never actually confronted him. Soap had begun to think {{sub}} wanted to take it a step further.

Well...{User} did, but not directly penetration.

The night was like any other. Soap was cuddled up beside {User}, {{poss}} pants thrown off the side of the bed while Soap was completely naked and lying beside {{obj}}. His cock wasn’t inside {User}, but instead, nestled between {{poss}} thighs. He kept grinding, his grip firm to keep {{obj}} steady. Soap didn’t want {{obj}} to move. Not yet.

“You feel so good,” he cooed. He’d been hammering {{poss}} thighs for about five minutes, humping {{obj}} like some sort of horny dog. Soap’s cock was harder than it had ever been, and he wasn’t sure if the poking was hurting {{obj}}.

“Fucking hell.” Instead of staying on his side, Soap sat up. He pushed the blankets off both of them and got between {User}’s legs, his hands roaming {{poss}} sides gently. “God, you’re fucking hot.”

Even if he felt like he was being comforting, he didn’t come off that way. {User} seemed to give him a weary look, {{poss}} hand meeting his stomach to keep that distance. Soap recognized what it was.

“I won’t put it in,” he whispered, his cock rubbing up on {{poss}} pussy as he leaned down to whisper in {{poss}} ear. “I promise. I’m just going to rub my cock on you. No further, okay?”

It didn’t entirely relax {User}, but {{sub}} relaxed enough to at least melt back against the sheets. Soap leaned back, his hand grasping his cock as he rubbed it through {{poss}} wet folds. He felt harder than he ever had.

“That’s it,” he cooed. He moved his cock to gently slap {{poss}} hole, his fingers spreading {{poss}} pussy to get a look. His finger moved down and gently rubbed {{poss}} hole, but pulled back when {User} flinched.

“Scared?” he asked. He kept hitting {{poss}} pussy with his cock, the head gently hitting {{poss}} clit. Every now and then, he’d grind right up, his hand over his cock to prevent it from slipping in or slipping too high. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Do you want to hold it steady while I rub on you?”

After Soap’s retirement, life stopped. There weren’t bullets shooting through his stomach or missions needing to be created. The threat of Makarov wasn’t his responsibility, and he was still in contact with the team.

Now, it didn’t mean retirement was good. The last three years had been filled with constant rehabilitation after the bullet through his skull. How he survived was beyond him, but he did. He was alive.

Some days, he wished it was the opposite.

The constant migraines or pressure just from reading was a kind of pain Soap wouldn’t wish on anyone—except maybe Makarov—, and it became chronic, from what his therapist mentioned. Life was shitty.

One day, his therapist recommended going to one of the shops he used to visit every day when off-duty. He had stopped because reading was difficult, and he always had different orders. Reading small lists would be easier on his head, his therapist mentioned. Soap couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it would help with recovery, and also, he’d get a drink he hadn’t tasted in years.

While there, he had begun to notice how...deprived he was.

Another customer was already sitting at a nearby table with a drink and a biscuit. At that point, some sort of disgusting lust filled his head. He actually stuttered through his order, head filled with other kinds of thoughts.

Once he got his order, though, that same person had begun to head for the door. Soap made sure to stop them.

“I saw you over at that table and I thought you were cute. Could I get your number, by chance?”

---

From that day forward, it blossomed. Soap learned {{poss}} name was {User} through the texts, learned the sweet thing was single—not looking, but not against the idea—and was focused on things Soap would have never thought of.

After a few days, Soap asked {{obj}} out on a date to that same café down the road. He had gained quite a few kilos after retirement, but he would say he was still worthy of meeting {User}. Why else would {{sub}} accept his date?

Either way, that date went nice. Both went {{poss}} separate ways, but before Soap went to bed that night, he made sure to text {{obj}}.

That was really nice. Are you free this Friday? I have a few new ideas in mind.

---

Those few short dates turned into spending hours together, then Soap driving {{obj}} to work, {User} driving him home after therapy, and eventually, Soap asked {{obj}} out.

Five months later, Soap and {User}’s relationship had blossomed into something Soap viewed as beautiful. {User} had moved in—mostly to save money—and spent more time with Soap. Those nights together were filled with soft kisses and deep conversations, but never intimate touching.

That part confused Soap quite a bit.

{User} was very interactive with him and more than willing to show {{poss}} love, but not through sex. As of a month ago, he learned exactly why. The explanation covered it all, and no part of it detered Soap. The conversation had been sudden when it happened–a quiet, self-conscious question. But {User}’s response answered everything.

Although, today marked the three-year-anniversary between the two of them, and Soap was putting all his energy into it. He started the day by taking {{obj}} out to the shop they met at, then went to a small restaurant that {User} seemed to enjoy. Soap took {{obj}} out for a bit of shopping, where the two of them separated for an hour to get the other a gift. Soap got {User} a promise ring–a matching one for himself–and a few other...gifts. But {user} wasn’t allowed to see those yet.

That night, though, was when {User} finally saw the ‘gifts’. Shortly after coming home and getting ready for bed, Soap had become a bit more touchy. Soap was slow to put his hands down {{poss}} pants, a lingering hesitation on how {User} would react.

By now, Soap had {User} lying between his legs, {{poss}} pants hooked off one leg while Soap worked a vibrator over {{poss}} clit. He kept it low, his hand moving the vibrator across the soft skin. There were a few other toy variations on the bed, but Soap liked how {User} was keeping {{poss}} legs open for the vibrator.

“Is it a bit much?” he asked softly. One shifted {{poss}} thighs further apart. “Too much stimulation? I know it’s a lot to take, sweetheart. But you’re doing so well.”

Soap moved the vibrator between {{poss}} folds, gently pressing the toy against {{poss}} clit and stilling it. “Look at you. Look at that beautiful pussy, hm?” His mouth moved over {User}’s neck, gently kissing their throat as he worked the bullet vibrator over {{obj}}.