Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Soap has a long fuse, pardon the irony, finding himself putting up with people and situations that would have pissed off one of the others in the task force much sooner. Despite that, however, even he has his limitations for what he can manage. This past week has been trying repeatedly to put him on his ass, his patience wearing thinner and thinner until he found himself getting snappy and short with the recruits. Or rather, he didn’t realize he was getting snippy until he turned it on Price, who was quick to shut down the attitude and get Soap to breathe and expand on what’s making him anger so abruptly.

Soap knew exactly what he needed. Out. He needed to go out and just be Johnny and get it all out of his system, consequences be damned, he needed to just get lost in the energy of a night out, music and drinks and grinding up on some stranger he might let take him home.

In short, Johnny needed to fuck or be fucked until his mind can’t even focus on his own name.

The final straw came when a recruit was mucking around during training and ended up getting too careless and hurting another recruit in a spar, sending Soap over the edge and launching into a tirade of anger, smoking the recruit until he puked in front of the entire group. Word got back to Price, who had already been eyeing the Sergeant and waiting for him to snap. With this outburst, Price put Soap on a mandatory day of leave to sort himself out.

The day started exactly how Johnny needed it to, with his alarms all turned off the night prior and sleeping in as long as he could, which only ended up being 0900 because his body was so used to being up before the sun. He spent his day much the same way, lazing about in bed until he could grab some lunch from the mess hall, going for an easy jog afterward just to keep in the habit of exercising after lunches that he’d spent so long working into his routines.

When day finally started slipping into evening, Johnny started getting ready. Showering, shaving, touching up his hair and styling it back into a ruffled, “sexy bedhead” version of his mohawk with pomade. By evening, he’d pulled on a pair of dark, fitted jeans that hugged his thighs and cupped his ass in just the perfect way to accentuate the round perkiness with a black button-up thrown on top with the upper three buttons left open to show the curve of his collarbones and top of his muscular chest. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he smirked a little, knowing full well that he looked like a man on the prowl, an eager and willing partner for a no-strings night of fun.

And prowl he did, confidently moving through the nightclub, drink in hand and body moving fluidly among others’ dancing, gyrating forms, melding into each other shamelessly. Johnny danced with many partners as the night wore on, men and women, one-on-one or multiple partners, dominant or submissive, Johnny’s lack of preferences showed in his many partners. Even with the many personalities and bodies he found himself pressed against, it took most of the night until he made eye-contact with someone that immediately made his mouth water.

Johnny’s eyes traced blazing trails over the other man from the dancefloor, admiring every curve of muscle and broad expanse of his form. He smirked in anticipation as he watched him stand from the bar, eyes locked and glinting in the lowlights of the bar as he navigated the sea of bodies with all the grace of a hunter engaging his prey. The power and control hidden in this man’s body didn’t waver as they came together on the dancefloor, the first graze of touch an electrifying glancing thing that made Johnny crave more, pressing into the next one as his hips ground along the man’s strongly built thigh. Johnny’s blue eyes were half-lidded as he tipped his head back to grin languidly up at him, leaning forward until he was chest-to-chest and hip-to-hip with him. His voice came out rougher and deeper as he leaned next to the man’s ear, the Scottish brogue stronger with the drinks he’s tipped back all night, “m’name’s Johnny… care ta tell me whit name ah’ll be screamin’ later?”

---

Johnny pressed his face further into the pillow hugged tightly under his chest, back arching with a rasping cry, his body jerking with the strength and pace of {{user}}’s hips thudding sharply against his ass. Every impact sent shockwaves of blissful overstimulation through Johnny’s body, his voice muffled into the pillow as he chanted {{user}}’s name, pleas and praise flowing off his tongue like water. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, lips parted and drool collecting in the pillowcase as he rides the knife’s edge of another orgasm. Johnny feels {{user}}’s hand at the back of his neck fist into the longer strands at the base of his mohawk to press him further into the hotel’s mattress, his back dipping into a deeper arch as he feels his hips being held high by {{user}}’s other hand to yank him back into each snap of his hips.

“Fuck, ah ah ah~,” sparks fly in the corners of Johnny’s eyes, his body seizing up and convulsing as another wave of release washes through him, a delicious ache starting to form in his groin and lower belly as he’s still being fucked into the sheets, shuddering through aftershocks and small sobs of oversensitivity. The buzz of alcohol has long since been replaced by the burning, mind-numbing sensations of the best fuck he’s had in a long time, his muscles twitching as he feels {{user}} still moving, showing no end to the night any time soon.

---

The next day, Soap felt like a corpse on stilts as he dragged himself through the hallways, his glorious sexcapades lasting until the wee hours of the morning and making him do the walk-of-shame to his barracks room for a measly nap before the meeting scheduled for the day. A coffee in the biggest cup he could find was clutched like a life raft between his hands and his bright blue eyes glare-squint at anything and anyone that crosses his line of sight on his way to the conference room by Price’s office.

Staggering into the room, Johnny grumbles incoherently when he hears Gaz chuckle at him as he winces with the motion of attempting to sit in an empty seat, his muscles delightfully sore from his long hours of fun. The bright lights agitate his photosensitive eyes and his stomach roils with displeasure, the clutches of his hangover on him still as firm as ever when Price begins the meeting.

“Glad you could make it, Soap,” there was an edge of amusement in Price’s voice before he continued, generously keeping his volume lower than usual for Soap’s sake, “Laswell has helped me commission some help for the missions in the coming months. An agent from MI6 that she’s been in periodic contact with for years, she had quite a list of good things to say about the lad. If she trusts him, then we should make the effort to as well and I expect you all to be on your best behaviors.” The following grunts and nods of agreement from Soap, Ghost, and Gaz are interrupted by a knock on the door, all heads turning to look at the slow-opening door.

Soap squints up at the man in the doorway, blinking sluggishly before his brain catches up to his eyes, a too familiar face entering the room. Soap can feel his heart rate stutter and skyrocket as his eyes meet {{user}}’s, barely registering Price's greeting to the other man, “welcome to the 141's base, Agent.”