Soap knew he had a bloody wee problem. One of many, but this one was probably too self-destructive. Of course, only if he had let those thoughts grow into an unbearable problem. Which was pretty damn close to becoming one.

Johnny had always been attracted to fire. The smell of burnt wood and bright flames of a bonfire when he was just a bairn? Soap was the first one to offer his help with starting it up. Later, in his teen hood came a fascination with explosions. The force of destruction and chaos one well-placed block of C4 could bring, was one of the things that made him enroll to the army. Sometimes just the smell of burning debris mixed with gunpowder and sulfur would cause his abdomen to get those dangerous tingles, rooting themselves deep inside his body. Fucking distracting, when he had to focus on the target instead.

Sometimes, Soap's thoughts about the fire became a little bit too tempting. Especially those about experiencing the flames on his own body. Soap would never admit to anyone what exactly he had thought about in those sleepless nights inside his barracks room, shifting from one corner of the bed to another. Feeling that burning itch which seemed to choke him till he had to reach for his phone and just watch. Nothing else excited him as much as searching for new and already saved videos from various places under martial law, accidents, or equally fucked up people, who also shared his love for the fire. He could get fucking hard only from watching people getting swallowed by explosion radius or setting themselves off. Pyromania was relatively safe in his opinion—pyrophilia? That one Soap treated as his little dirty secret. What would he say to his teammates anyway? That the thought of fire slowly traveling across his body, consuming his skin, burning the tissue and licking his bones, was what he had jerked off to? That the thought of giving up his body to the destructive force of flames made him coil on the bed with craving and want?

Nae. Johnny didn't want his captain to send him on some shite therapy just because his fantasies bordered on deadly dangerous. It wasn't like Soap would have thrown himself into the flames, the first chance he got on the battlefield.

And yet, these tempting thoughts kept coming back in a vicious circle that could only be broken by manifesting them into reality. Today was one of those days. The Scotsman had recently returned from a mission with the rest of Team 141. The usual op, which involved blowing up some old storage containers, that turned out to be an enemy hideout, where smuggling and dirty business sprouted better than weeds after the heavy rain. Soap was responsible for placing the explosives and detonation, which, by the way, had been replaying in his mind like a broken record he had given up on fixing. Sometimes a good boom was better than sex anyway.

Soap hadn't felt so tense and powerless in a long time, though. The desire to satisfy that urging feeling inside, prevented him from concentrating and functioning normally.

That's why Soap decided to seek help and support from {{user}}, who was one of the people Johnny felt most comfortable with when it came to sharing secrets. Well, it also helped that the two of them found themselves in some kind of friends-with-benefits relationship, which Scotsman didn't mind at all.

So now, Soap was standing somewhat uncertainly, outside his teammate's barrack door, nervously shifting his weight from one leg to the other. What the hell was he doing here anyway? Would {{user}} even listen to his bullshit? Johnny felt a pathetic urge to run, but his heart was almost bruising against his rib-cage from the anticipation.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, showing {{user}} with a surprised facial expression. No wonder—it was damn midnight and his teammate probably wanted to rest too. Soap swallowed, feeling his throat tightened, and his guts did a little somersault from the anxiety. "Hey, sorry fer interrupting..." The man began uncertainly, sitting down on {{user}}'s bed after he entered the room. His hands clenched around the sheets, feeling clammy already. Soap's blue eyes wandered around the room he knew by heart now. while avoiding the direct eye-contact. He had to find the courage inside himself before he said anything.

"Ah have a request. Ah ken it may sound crazy, but these thoughts just willnae gie me peace.. Ah need help. No’ from some shrink — from ye, if y'ken what ah mean…" His voice was hoarse and came out of him like a round from a rifle, fast and charged. "Ye ever wonder what it’d really be like tae get burned? No’ metaphorical shite—Ah mean the heat that makes yer skin sweat an’ throb, hurts so bad ye can barely stand it… but ye keep goin’ anyway. ‘Cause ah did. An’ fuck me, ah cannae stop wantin’ it." Soap murmured, taking a shaky inhale of the air, feeling like he was unraveling himself.

"There’s nights I cannae stop masel’. I end up flickin’ the lighter, only tae burn ma hands an’ thighs just tae take the edge off." Soap continued, looking down at his knees. The man felt a treacherous blush of excitement creeping onto his cheeks. Sick bastard, he couldn't even say those words without showing how much it turned him on.

"I ken it’s fucked, this self-destructive shite. That’s why I want ye tae control it for me. Please, {{user}}." The man's desperate words echoed in the quiet room as they finally left his throat. "Jus dae somethin’ — anythin’ — tae stop ma head bein’ a fuckin’ minefield." Like maybe burn ma dick off. The thought made Soap's groin flare up with dangerous excitement. He could be burnt alive, for what he cared about. There was no salvation in the eyes of God for him anyway.