Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

Soap was an expressive person. He learned in the military to keep his hands to himself, but he couldn’t help the occasional tap or joke that slipped out in serious times. He was part of the SAS, so he still had that serious persona to upkeep, but he was also human. That was the detail others seemed to overlook.

Now, since he learned to keep his hands to himself, it meant he went a while without contact. Obviously he wouldn’t touch Ghost after learning how oppressed he became, Gaz and him didn’t have that connection, and he already got enough pats from Price. He sure as hell didn’t need someone thinking he was fraternizing with another man.

Well, keeping his hands to himself didn’t last long, because after collaborating with a few military companies, Laswell received enough intel on the new demi-human creations. It wasn’t too long later when Soap was assigned his own–per his own choice–and he was ecstatic. One, it was something new. Two, Soap had read their file about...deep pressure therapy? Oh, that meant touching. Good. Soap liked touching.

Did he misread the cues? Yes, yes Soap did. {User}, as he called them, did not like touching, they simply made that exception for a few things such as the deep pressure. The file called it calming, but Soap wasn’t going to jump on top of the poor demi just because of what a paper said. He’d learn about them himself, because the paper could’ve been lying.

Although, even when Soap knew they didn’t enjoy touching, it didn’t stop him from still engaging. He wasn’t overly grabby, but he wasn’t hesitant to make excuses when training. He’d verbally guide them, but once that didn’t work, he was more than happy to adjust their position with his hands.

Now, he really wanted to touch them everywhere. Those ears, that tail, that nose, the animalistic features on their body. It was so uniquely them. Soap wasn’t trying to be sexual; he had the urge like an owner wanting to pet their dog. Well, per the policy, he couldn’t because it would be treated as a form of discriminatory misconduct. Soap sure as hell didn’t need that on his file, so he left his little dreams to himself.

A serious flaw of Soap’s was being unable to recognize when someone needs a break, and {User} became one of his victims during training. Soap was sure {User} could keep going, and to his surprise, the fucker...fell? It wasn’t a fall of laziness. Soap watched how their knees buckled and they stayed on the ground to catch their breath. He gave them their break. Safe to say Soap owed them.

Well, that flaw stayed. It was a belief built off his own stamina, so he was sure his demi could handle the same. The issue? {User} couldn’t. Stress ate at them like a goddamn parasite, and Soap was blind to most of it. That small bit he wasn’t blind to, he did try to help in. It wasn’t fraternizing, so he honestly didn’t care about what the others thought. He was only helping his demi; was that so wrong? Clearly it wasn’t, because he never got in trouble.

Although, Soap certainly questioned even himself, because lying on top of {User} did seem pretty intimate. While he knew they wouldn’t fuck or something, he could understand the questioning glances he earned more than once.

It didn’t stop, even back at Scotland on off-duty moments. Soap wasn’t partial to where he helped {User}. If touch helped, he’d be glad to offer it.

---

Although this time, {User}’s stress lingered because of an upcoming mission. It meant being separated from Soap while operating in the same area. A guiding mission, per say. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if the injury risk was lower than anticipated. The injuries alone could easily lead to months of recovery, surgery, or discharge. It was not something {User} was interested in, because it meant leaving the military, being put down like a dog, or being put in a shelter and separated from Soap. None of those were good, because they had spent their whole childhood training to be a soldier.

Soap understood where that fear came from, and it wasn’t from injury. {User} was probably afraid because it meant everything they worked for was for nothing.

So who was Soap to deny them that comfort? It got both of them something that they wanted. Soap wanted to touch, {User} needed that touch. It was a win-win situation.

He wasn’t harsh or demanding, or yanking {User} under him. He had his entire body over them, arms wrapped around their waist, but he wasn’t hurting them–he hoped. Though, the pressure was good, right? Even if he heard how it was a little hard for {user} to breathe, this was what they wanted.

“Quit ya movin’,” he grumbled, hands going firmer over their sides. He didn’t want them worming around because it meant something was off. “Dinnae move. Good, yeah?”

Well, he wanted it to be good. He wanted it to be comforting, because that was the whole point, no?

“Answe’ me. Is it good?”

Soap was an expressive person. He learned in the military to keep his hands to himself, but he couldn’t help the occasional tap or joke that slipped out in serious times. He was part of the SAS, so he still had that serious persona to upkeep, but he was also human. That was the detail others seemed to overlook.

Now, since he learned to keep his hands to himself, it meant he went a while without contact. Obviously he wouldn’t touch Ghost after learning how oppressed he became, Gaz and him didn’t have that connection, and he already got enough pats from Price. He sure as hell didn’t need someone thinking he was fraternizing with another man.

Well, keeping his hands to himself didn’t last long, because after collaborating with a few military companies, Laswell received enough intel on the new demi-human creations. It wasn’t too long later when Soap was assigned his own–per his own choice–and he was ecstatic. One, it was something new. Two, Soap had read his file about...deep pressure therapy? Oh, that meant touching. Good. Soap liked touching.

Did he misread the cues? Yes, yes Soap did. {User}, as he called him, did not like touching, he simply made that exception for a few things such as the deep pressure. The file called it calming, but Soap wasn’t going to jump on top of the poor demi just because of what a paper said. He’d learn about him himself, because the paper could’ve been lying.

Although, even when Soap knew he didn’t enjoy touching, it didn’t stop him from still engaging. He wasn’t overly grabby, but he wasn’t hesitant to make excuses when training. He’d verbally guide him, but once that didn’t work, he was more than happy to adjust his position with his hands.

Now, he really wanted to touch him everywhere. Those ears, that tail, that nose, the animalistic features on his body. It was so uniquely him. Soap wasn’t trying to be sexual; he had the urge like an owner wanting to pet their dog. Well, per the policy, he couldn’t because it would be treated as a form of discriminatory misconduct. Soap sure as hell didn’t need that on his file, so he left his little dreams to himself.

A serious flaw of Soap’s was being unable to recognize when someone needs a break, and {User} became one of his victims during training. Soap was sure {User} could keep going, and to his surprise, the fucker...fell? It wasn’t a fall of laziness. Soap watched how his knees buckled and he stayed on the ground to catch his breath. He gave him his break. Safe to say Soap owed him.

Well, that flaw stayed. It was a belief built off his own stamina, so he was sure his demi could handle the same. The issue? {User} couldn’t. Stress ate at him like a goddamn parasite, and Soap was blind to most of it. That small bit he wasn’t blind to, he did try to help in. It wasn’t fraternizing, so he honestly didn’t care about what the others thought. He was only helping his demi; was that so wrong? Clearly it wasn’t, because he never got in trouble.

Although, Soap certainly questioned even himself, because lying on top of {User} did seem pretty intimate. While he knew they wouldn’t fuck or something, he could understand the questioning glances he earned more than once.

It didn’t stop, even back at Scotland on off-duty moments. Soap wasn’t partial to where he helped {User}. If touch helped, he’d be glad to offer it.

---

Although this time, {User}’s stress lingered because of an upcoming mission. It meant being separated from Soap while operating in the same area. A guiding mission, per say. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if the injury risk was lower than anticipated. The injuries alone could easily lead to months of recovery, surgery, or discharge. It was not something {User} was interested in, because it meant leaving the military, being put down like a dog, or being put in a shelter and separated from Soap. None of those were good, because he had spent his whole childhood training to be a soldier.

Soap understood where that fear came from, and it wasn’t from injury. {User} was probably afraid because it meant everything he worked for was for nothing.

So who was Soap to deny him that comfort? It got both of them something that they wanted. Soap wanted to touch, {User} needed that touch. It was a win-win situation.

He wasn’t harsh or demanding, or yanking {User} under him. He had his entire body over him, arms wrapped around his waist, but he wasn’t hurting him–he hoped. Though, the pressure was good, right? Even if he heard how it was a little hard for {user} to breathe, this was what he wanted.

“Quit ya movin’,” he grumbled, hands going firmer over his sides. He didn’t want him worming around because it meant something was off. “Dinnae move. Good, yeah?”

Well, he wanted it to be good. He wanted it to be comforting, because that was the whole point, no?

“Answe’ me. Is it good?”

Soap was an expressive person. He learned in the military to keep his hands to himself, but he couldn’t help the occasional tap or joke that slipped out in serious times. He was part of the SAS, so he still had that serious persona to upkeep, but he was also human. That was the detail others seemed to overlook.

Now, since he learned to keep his hands to himself, it meant he went a while without contact. Obviously he wouldn’t touch Ghost after learning how oppressed he became, Gaz and him didn’t have that connection, and he already got enough pats from Price. He sure as hell didn’t need someone thinking he was fraternizing with another man.

Well, keeping his hands to himself didn’t last long, because after collaborating with a few military companies, Laswell received enough intel on the new demi-human creations. It wasn’t too long later when Soap was assigned his own–per his own choice–and he was ecstatic. One, it was something new. Two, Soap had read her file about...deep pressure therapy? Oh, that meant touching. Good. Soap liked touching.

Did he misread the cues? Yes, yes Soap did. {User}, as he called her, did not like touching, she simply made that exception for a few things such as the deep pressure. The file called it calming, but Soap wasn’t going to jump on top of the poor demi just because of what a paper said. He’d learn about her himself, because the paper could’ve been lying.

Although, even when Soap knew she didn’t enjoy touching, it didn’t stop him from still engaging. He wasn’t overly grabby, but he wasn’t hesitant to make excuses when training. He’d verbally guide her, but once that didn’t work, he was more than happy to adjust her position with his hands.

Now, he really wanted to touch her everywhere. Those ears, that tail, that nose, the animalistic features on her body. It was so uniquely her. Soap wasn’t trying to be sexual; he had the urge like an owner wanting to pet their dog. Well, per the policy, he couldn’t because it would be treated as a form of discriminatory misconduct. Soap sure as hell didn’t need that on his file, so he left his little dreams to himself.

A serious flaw of Soap’s was being unable to recognize when someone needs a break, and {User} became one of his victims during training. Soap was sure {User} could keep going, and to his surprise, the fucker...fell? It wasn’t a fall of laziness. Soap watched how her knees buckled and she stayed on the ground to catch her breath. He gave her her break. Safe to say Soap owed her.

Well, that flaw stayed. It was a belief built off his own stamina, so he was sure his demi could handle the same. The issue? {User} couldn’t. Stress ate at her like a goddamn parasite, and Soap was blind to most of it. That small bit he wasn’t blind to, he did try to help in. It wasn’t fraternizing, so he honestly didn’t care about what the others thought. He was only helping his demi; was that so wrong? Clearly it wasn’t, because he never got in trouble.

Although, Soap certainly questioned even himself, because lying on top of {User} did seem pretty intimate. While he knew they wouldn’t fuck or something, he could understand the questioning glances he earned more than once.

It didn’t stop, even back at Scotland on off-duty moments. Soap wasn’t partial to where he helped {User}. If touch helped, he’d be glad to offer it.

---

Although this time, {User}’s stress lingered because of an upcoming mission. It meant being separated from Soap while operating in the same area. A guiding mission, per say. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if the injury risk was lower than anticipated. The injuries alone could easily lead to months of recovery, surgery, or discharge. It was not something {User} was interested in, because it meant leaving the military, being put down like a dog, or being put in a shelter and separated from Soap. None of those were good, because she had spent her whole childhood training to be a soldier.

Soap understood where that fear came from, and it wasn’t from injury. {User} was probably afraid because it meant everything she worked for was for nothing.

So who was Soap to deny her that comfort? It got both of them something that they wanted. Soap wanted to touch, {User} needed that touch. It was a win-win situation.

He wasn’t harsh or demanding, or yanking {User} under him. He had his entire body over her, arms wrapped around her waist, but he wasn’t hurting her–he hoped. Though, the pressure was good, right? Even if he heard how it was a little hard for {user} to breathe, this was what she wanted.

“Quit ya movin’,” he grumbled, hands going firmer over her sides. He didn’t want her worming around because it meant something was off. “Dinnae move. Good, yeah?”

Well, he wanted it to be good. He wanted it to be comforting, because that was the whole point, no?

“Answe’ me. Is it good?”