Archive of Our Own

It took Gaz three hours to get the hint. Perhaps it was your fault. After all, you'd been dancing around the point of your words for a while, not really knowing what they meant yourself. You wanted Gaz to leave, sure, but were too afraid of how badly you wanted to be alone with Johnny to say it outright. 

You and Gaz were close, had been for years; if you just told him, he’d understand. It wouldn't have even been the first time he’d been a wingman for you, but he was having a good time — too good a time. 

You’d never seen him move so much. A drink in his hand, his eyes barely open, his body swaying to the music, a woman pressed snug against his chest. She’d called him ‘pretty boy’ earlier that night (or, at least, the Spanish equivalent, according to Alejandro); after that, you knew you’d lost him. That grin, like a kid on Christmas. It made you giggle. 

You’d been on the dancefloor with Gaz for a while, battering off unwanted attention like they were mosquitoes. You meant no offence, you were sure those in Los Vaqueros were nice enough guys, but your eyes had been trained on a fellow sergeant sat by the bar; the alcohol not quite dulling his senses enough to join you. You’d tried to coax him onto the floor, as had Gaz - only he’d done it a lot louder than you, not that he noticed. 

There weren't any English speaking clubs in Las Almas, nor were any of them partial to the military. Instead, you had been invited by Alejandro into his makeshift club. He’d had it set up after the raid on the prison and had secured his base. Once his dead had been counted, he wanted to commemorate their sacrifice, and to celebrate a belated Dios de Los Muertos, along with his new found friendships. So, he’d repurposed a bunker, just for one night, to party como hacen los vaqueros. 

It was underground, its entrance dug into the side of a hill and far from the main base. Candles and skulls lit the stairs, and the “club's” name, El Coyote, had been painted in bright colours above the door, the glass of which had been broken and patched haphazardly with cardboard and tape, but it would make do for now. Through the gaps of the patchwork, the scent of sweat, syrup, and sex drifted out into the base. That was actually how you found the place to begin with.

A “bouncer” clung to the door (one of Alejandro’s lieutenants who’d volunteered to keep track of people), his attention given to a lady (also a lieutenant), sweet-talking him. He stopped you on the way in. He began in Spanish, but quickly switched to English, telling you to be good and play nice. Johnny had uttered something about him being ‘a shite guard.’ You all laughed it off. 

The inside was exactly what you’d expected of a makeshift club in a military base. Stairs led further down into the main part of the bunker, dimly lit by pinks and greens and reds. Graffiti lined the walls, a design choice to showcase the celebrations of Los Muertos, compiled of flowers, skulls, and mantras; there was even the inclusion of an offrenda at the bottom of the stairs. 

You’d all stopped to pay your respects, lighting a candle in their honour and leaving some pesos.

 Alejandro had explained that the bunker was to be taken down soon anyway, something about making more room for training facilities, so he didn't mind if it got messed up. In fact, he encouraged people to go wild, to just enjoy themselves. He was especially excited to share a part of his culture with 141. 

Inside, pool tables were scattered around. How he’d managed to acquire them and get them down the stairs, you weren’t sure. And the bar, (also dubiously erected)  was freshly stocked, and busy. That was where you all headed first — an unquenchable thirst gnawing at your throats.

There had been eyes gawking at the three of you all night. It wasn’t anything personal; emotions were heightened after everything Los vaqueros had gone through. Many had lost friends, some had even lost family during Shadow Company’s occupation, it was understandable that they weren’t happy about sharing their time of mourning with gringos - even if Alejandro had vouched for them. 

Some had poked the hornets' nest, saying something provocative to Gaz that you couldn't hear over the music. Johnny had moved to interfere, but Gaz simply offered to buy the guys a drink, and the problem seemed to resolve itself. And now, with his nose nuzzled in a woman's neck, it was apparent he relished in his decision. 

Then there was the music. Latin, of course. Bad Bunny, Rauw Alejandro, Luis Miguel, and so on. You didn't care that the words held little meaning to you, since you were still new to Spanish; the beat carried your body. You had no reason to sing when your body spoke for you. It was nice to let loose, to just move however you wanted, less worries on your mind. 

Still, Soap was sat by the bar, stiff as a board. His grip tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning white. He didn't even tap his foot to the beat; his body stayed taut; his muscles locked, his jaw clenched. 

What his issue was, you couldn't tell. He’d been to one suggesting you came here. “Lets go have a dance,” is what he said verbatim, but for some reason he just sat there watching you. You could only assume the events of the past week had dampened his mood. His eyes constantly scanned the room for some form of threat: a gun or a goon. He looked anxious.

You stuck close to Gaz. Johnny wasn't far, though. You watched him over your shoulder most of the night, only losing him when he went to the toilet or to get another drink. 

He’d knocked back God knows how many Corona's before he finally mustered up the courage to step on the dancefloor, after Alejandro’s intervention, of course. He waddled over to you, two drinks in hand. Your favourite. 

He muttered something over the music that you couldn’t hear. He handed you the drink and leaned in, his lips inches from your ear.

“You enjoying yersen, lass?” His voice was deep, vibrating down your back slightly.

“Yeah, I am,” you nodded your head vigorously, taking a sip of the drink. The liquid was cold and bitter; it burned your throat in a good way. 

In truth, you definitely didn't need another drink; you already couldn’t feel your face… or hands or feet… and your mouth had gone kinda numb, but you didn’t care. You thanked Johnny anyway, sure that you would regret drinking it later, but glad to have something to cool you down. 

Johnny moved to talk to Gaz, but decided against it when he saw he was locked in a passionate embrace with his new lady friend. He shot you a look, seeing as Gaz had only known her for twenty-something minutes. You laughed at them both, dabbing sweat from your brow. 

“You maftin’?” Johnny asked.

“yeah,” you declared. 

“You need some air?” 

You nodded in response, the humidity of the bunker stealing the air around you. You tapped Gaz on the shoulder and motioned to him that you were going out for some air. He barely nodded before going back to his previous engagement. 

On your way out, someone told you to leave your drink behind. ‘No glasses outside’ apparently. You obliged and finished the drink in one big gulp, and with that single, swift motion, the world shifted. 

The alcohol hit you almost instantly. Johnny raised his brow; concern laced his expression. You wiped the leftover liquid from the corners of your mouth and flicked it his way with a laugh. He smiled at you and helped you up the stairs, his hand ghosting the small of your back. 

“Easy,” he teased.

“I'm not paralytic yet, lad,” you shot back, defensive, despite using both handrails to pull yourself up the stairs.

“Aye, but yer not far off.”

“Best get me another drink later, then.” 

“Not a chance,” he laughed. 

The air wasn't much cooler out there, but it was still a relief to be away from all those bodies. You giggled a bit, not at anything in particular, just an absent-minded chuckle. It piqued Johnny’s interest, though. 

“Somethin’ funny?” He asked endearingly.

“I'm just thinking is all.”

“Don't hurt yourself.” He teased

“Give over. Prick.” 

You leaned against the wall just outside the bunker, you could still hear the faint music coming from down below. There wasn't really anywhere for you to sit, so you rested as much weight as you could on the brick.

“I'm just…happy,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Been so long since I've– since we’ve been able to do something like this. It's just… well, you know, it's nice, isn’t it?”

You stumbled on your words, slurring a little, shaking your head as you spoke, embarrassed over how soppy the alcohol was making you. Soap didn't reply; he just smiled up at you. He agreed with your every word, his body inching closer to you along the wall. God, he stunk of beer. Which you told him before you could catch the words from falling out of your mouth. 

“Well, you don’t smell o’ roses yerself, lass.” He said, sarcastically. His Scottish accent came through thicker.

Of course, in your inebriation, you’d failed to pick up on this sarcasm. 

“No, you’re joking,” you grabbed a fist full of your shirt panicked, lifting it to your nose. All you could smell was your perfume. It was the same for your pits and breath, nothing out of the ordinary. You shot Johnny a look of annoyance, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

"You're an arse,” you deadpanned. 

Soap only laughed. “You catch on fast.”

Before you could continue the riveting conversation, you heard someone sloppily stomping their way up the stairs. It was a woman, her dress two sizes too small, her heels gripped in her hand, an earring missing, and her bag tucked under her arm. Still, miraculously, her make-up was intact. 

She took one look at you and smiled wildly. “Ay, chica…” she scans you up and down, strolling towards the main base. “Mírate.”

You blush at her compliment, whispering back a soft and embarrassed thank you. 

"Don't hang your head, chica, you're looking good tonight - don't she look good, Hawk?” The woman looked to Soap, who only stumbled over his words, bubbling out an ‘aye’ and a ‘yeah.’

“Tío…I set you up, and you let it slip. Los hombres no valen madre.” She said the last part under her breath as she waved her arm in the air dismissively, her heels nearly falling out of her hand. “Treat her good, guero!” 

Before you could protest to her safety given how she was walking (stumbling), she crawled her way into a car waiting near the bunker. She looked elated to see the man behind the wheel, as did he, so you let your mind ease again. 

As long as she’s safe, you thought.

Her scent lingered for a moment, as did her words. A smirk tugged at your lips.

 “I look good, Hawk.” You teased. 

Johnny didn't meet your gaze; instead, he smiled, hung his head, and let a slight chuckle escape his nose. 

He kicked a stone, “well, you do look good tonight.”

“Only tonight?”

“Don't push yer luck, lass.” There was something behind his words, something more. His tone suggested that was exactly what he wanted you to do. To push. To see how far it could go. 

You took a moment to look at him under the dim light, and all you found there was your unwavering attraction to him. The way he leaned against the wall, his legs crossed in front of him. The way his shirt was pulled tight around his arms, and, with their position, exposed the muscles of his chest. Had his pectorals always been this defined? And his scent. Though primarily smelling of beer, there was another layer to it. Aftershave, or some form of Eau De Parfum. Or maybe just him - his smell. Either way he had an allure to him that pulled you in despite the dangers it could pose for both of you. 

“Have I got something on my face?” Johnny asked. He was watching you stare, his brow cocked, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“What? No. Whaddya mean?”

“You’ve been staring.”

“I ‘ave not!” You declared with all the conviction of the guilty.

“Ya ‘ave,” he mocked jokingly.

You struggled to form a retort, the words catching in your throat. The alcohol had already flushed your cheeks red, so you weren't sure if Johnny could see how deep they burned or not, but you felt your face warm under his gaze. 

You cursed silently. Part of you wanted to go back inside and dance some more, take your mind off things - off Johnny - but you didn't want to do that alone, you wanted Johnny with you. And, at the same time, you were too afraid to ask. So, as per usual, you asked something else entirely hoping you’d find the courage to say what you actually meant.

"When you thinking of heading back?” 

"You want rid of me that badly, eh?” He replied.

“That's not at all what I said.”

“No, but ‘s what you implied,” he slurred his words now, his eyes blinking slowly.

“Oh my god, you're just as drunk as I am!” You crossed your arms.

“Get a grip. I am nowhere near your level of drunk.” He sounded offended, like you'd scorned him with your words. 

“Are you gonna answer my question?”

“What question?”

You scoffed, “when are you gonna head back?”

“Not yet, I don't think, unless… you want to?”

Your shoulders visibly eased at his words, missing what he had implied, but before he had the chance to double down, the door to the bunker swung open, and out rolled Gaz, his new lady friend in tow. 

“Oh! Thank god, I thought I'd lost ya both.” He had a bottle in his hand, how he had snuck it out you weren't sure. 

“I told you we were coming out here,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, but I thought you meant, like, leaving leaving.”

“Why on earth would we leave you here alone?” Soap chimed in.

To which, Gaz did not reply; instead, with his bottled hand, he lifted it to his nose, giving it a knowing tap as he walked by the two of you. You rolled your eyes.

“Where d’ya think you're going, then?” Johnny asked, watching Gaz walk away.

Again, he didn't use his words, he just planted a kiss on the woman's forehead. 

You muttered something under your breath, along the lines of my god, but Johnny spoke over you, shouting down to Gaz: ‘Be safe! Ya filthy animal.’ 

Price had allowed 141 to relax for the night. The base was defended, and they weren't leaving for a day or two, he saw no reason to stop his sergeants from celebrating a well deserved victory. He did advise they take it slow, however. Plans often change quickly in their line of work, he needed you prepared in case you had to deploy should new information arise. 

You were grateful to your captain for the opportunity to chill. Seeing Gaz happy made you happy, even if it was only temporary. And maybe, if you were lucky, you’d get some temporary relief as well. 

“That boy’s crazy,” Johnny continued.

You laughed a little, “he’s a lucky man, he is.”

“Aye. ah’m jealous.”

“Pull yer sen together, lad.” 

You regretted the words the moment they came out. Originally, you’d meant to joke with him, to jest that only the blind or an animal would be his partner, but the words didn't come. Whether it were nerves or inebriation, or both, you couldn't tell. It didn't matter. You watched as his face dropped a little, the hopeful smirk on his face fading, inferring your words as a rejection of sorts - a dismissal. 

“C’mon, let’s get you back,” he said, pushing off from the wall.

“I don’t wanna go back yet.”

“No, but I reckon you need to.”

“Who died and made you captain?”

“Don’t be difficult.” He wasn’t annoyed, not really, though he tried to act like he was. It was his way of coercing you back to base, so you wouldn’t cause yourself, or anyone else, trouble.

“I’m not going,” you protested.

Johnny only sighed, debating whether or not to do the ‘I’ll leave without you’ trick people do to their toddlers. 

“Well, I'm gonna go,” he mumbled.

“What? Why are you leaving? You said you wouldn't." You moved closer to him, almost blocking his path. He was close enough that his aftershave permeated the evenings lingering scent of hot dust and sun-baked earth. 

It was colder at night, especially around the desert terrain next to the base. Even with your beer blanket, you felt the chill, goosebumps pricking at your arms and neck. 

Soap took notice, using your chill as a further excuse to go back. 

“I don’t want to, Johnny.”

“You said that already, lass.”

“So stop pushing me,” you half-joked.

“Where else would you wanna go? Back inside?” He suggested.

You scoffed, “nah, I’ll pass.”

“I thought you enjoyed it?”

“I did! I just… don’t wanna go in without you.” 

As you admitted your feelings, you saw that the penny hadn’t really dropped for him. He didn't get why you would assume he’d leave you alone, and not that you wanted to be with him specifically. 

“Obvioiusly,” he scoffed back. “Why would you think that?”

“No, you dont… nevermind.”

“No, gwon.” he encouraged.

The truth dangled at the tip of your tongue. You could come clean, tell him you can’t stop thinking about him and yourself in a tangle of linen and sweat, but it was a risk. High-risk, high-reward. Your mother always told you not to gamble. 

You’d never really listened. 

“I wanna be with you tonight,” you confessed with blushes.

“You are with me?” 

“You’re so fucking dense,” you replied.

“Wait. You mean… like that?” He hadn’t meant for his face to light up the way it did, the same way Gaz’s had in the club - como un niño en navidad.

“Reign it in, Soap,” you laughed. “I haven’t even said owt yet.”

“You don't have to.”

Soap didn’t stop himself as he advanced towards you, his hands coming up to cup your face, enveloping your lips in a kiss. It took you a second to register the contact, on account of not being able to feel your face, but once you had, you kissed him back like you were never going to let him go. 

The kiss was shy at first. Soft and sweet noises of desire escaped you as you shifted to deepen the touch; your arms snaked up his chest, one hand grabbed hold of the back of his mohawk and the other clutched his forearm. 

The kindling in your cheeks had begun to spread, igniting areas of yourself you had almost forgotten existed. This only worsened when you felt his hand snap to your side, snaking around your waist, pushing you flush against him with the small of your back. 

His lips mashed against your own, his hands grabbing at you as if it were the last time he’d be able to hold you. You could physically feel his restraint from letting his hands wander, instead, they gripped your sides as though he’d done this a thousand times already. You kissed him back fiercely, with a violence that translated to: I’m yours. 

Your mouth parted to suck in a breath, but Johnny took the opportunity to plead for entry to the space within. This, ironically, in its intoxicating nature, sobered you up.

You pulled away. 

“Not here,” you panted. 

Looking around, there really wasn’t anybody who could catch you, and, even if they did, report you. Still, it was unwise to make out in the open like this, on a military base no less. 

“Where d’ya ‘spose we go?”

In truth, there really wasn’t anywhere the two of you could go. Come to think of it, where had Gaz taken that woman? Then, it clicked. The cars. They were jeeps, big enough to fit 8+ people in, and their weapons. Plus, the woman who had complimented you earlier had gotten into one, so Gaz had probably gotten into one. Why couldn't you?

“We need to find a car.”

“A car? What are you on about?” Johnny had barely pulled away from you, his hand still on the small of your back, but the other now rested on your shoulder instead of your cheek. 

“We get a car, we drive said car, then… yeah.” 

“Then… yeah?” He repeated. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay - and how exactly are we going to commandeer a car?”

“Not ‘commandeer,’ Johnny, borrow.” 

“Oooh, I see,” his tone was sarcastic. “What will you have me do? Just rock up to Alejandro and say ‘hermano, do you mind if me and my lady take one of your cars for a spin?’”

You wanted to acknowledge his ‘my lady’ slip up. You wanted to grab him by the collar and face fuck him right there on the tarmac, but you couldn’t because someone had spotted you. It was Alejandro.

“Sure. Just keep the seats dry.”

He stood at the door to the bunker, leaning against the frame, laughing with his signature grin on his face. 

You and Soap jumped apart from one another as though you were part of a comedy sketch. You looked to the floor, and Soap looked to the sky. 

“Easy, there’s no judgment here.” He stepped closer towards the two of you. 

He looked different without all his gear on, just a black t-shirt and some sand coloured cargos. 

“I’ll let you in on a secret, hermanos… I’ve never stopped my men from enjoying themselves.”

Soap looked to you, then back to Alejandro. “You don’t?”

“No. I should. But I learnt that they do it anyway. So, I prefer to just keep the peace.”

You really hadn’t expected it from Alejandro of all people. He was a cool dude, but he was the colonel of this base. Rules, especially fraternisation, should not be taken lightly. 

“You just let them get on with it?” you asked. 

Soap moved closer to you again, no longer afraid of judgment, his hand returning to the small of your back.

“Si,” he continued. “I find when my men have something to fight for, they’re more effective.” He chuckled at this. 

You and Soap also smiled. 

He threw his keys over to Soap. “Take this one, I parked her out by the main building. I need to take her into the shop anyway.” 

“Gracias, Alejandro,” you said.

“You’re welcome, chica.” he laughed, then walked past you.

After a moment, just before the two of you could collide in a fit of passion once again, Alejandro called back: “Soap, take care of her!”

“Ahuevo!” He shouts back.

“Dios sabe que te va a volver loco!”

Soap looks to you, a bit confused. “I only caught half of that.”

“Then, I guess we’ll never know,” you chuckle.

***

Soap had driven (very carefully) further out into the remote area of Las Almas. And surprisingly the drive had sobered you up a little, or maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the thought of what you were about to do that sent shivers through you. 

“We don’t have to do this,” Johnny said, taking the keys out of the ignition. As he did, the two of you were practically plunged into darkness. He chuckled a bit and flicked on the overhead light. 

He looked so good in the driver's seat. His body turned towards you slightly, his elbow propped up on the centre armrest, his watch pulled tight on his arm. You looked to it, and by extension, followed his veins up to his elbow, then to the flex of his bicep. 

He wore a smirk on his face, watching your eyes scan his body.

“I take it you want to then?”

You didn't reply - couldn't reply - your mind was already in overdrive as you crawled onto his lap. With ease he pushed the driver's seat back as far as he could, all the while his free hand snaked up the side of your body gripping at whatever he could. 

Your lips collided again in a fit of sex and sweat and saliva, pleasure already soaking into the very marrow of your bones, desperate to taste his leather and lace. 

You took a sharp breath, taking in as much air as you could while your mouth was free. Soap didn't care. He wanted all of you. Your sex, your sweat, your heart, your soul, your breath. He wanted every part of you to melt into him, as much as he melted into you. 

His hands practically pinned you to him, wrapped around your back. His hips moved on their own, the zipper of his jeans digging into your crotch. His teeth clashed with yours, and his tongue forced its way into your mouth, fighting for dominance.

  He sat up slightly, his back leaving the chair. 

“Not enough room here,” he moaned. 

“You’re not creative enough,” you teased. 

With each kiss and tug and hump, restraint and discipline left your bodies, seeping out into the aether, seeping into your pants. 

“Back seat,” he kissed. “Now.”

You didn't even get to say ‘yes, sir’ as you followed his command. He slapped your ass as you crawled into the back seat. 

You laughed and sat back, watching as he followed suit. The fullness of his body blocked the light as he moved to kiss you again, full of ferocity and lust. 

He wanted you out your clothes asap, his hands gripping the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head. You let him. You wanted him to see you, all of you, bare and vulnerable and ready. 

“Fuck…” he drawled, his eyes soaking in the plumpness of your skin. He glossed over the scars and bruises you’d gained from your past, his eyes landing on the bra that held you down. 

It wasn't anything special, a basic, military issued bra to help keep the girls at bay - similar to a sports bra. If anything the bra’s benign nature added to the feeling of anticipation as his fingers hooked into the hem of it, and in doing so, traced the edge of your tits. 

You moved your hands to his to stop him. He seemed concerned that maybe he’d moved too fast. God, had he made you uncomfortable?

“Let me,” you whispered. 

He leaned back, practically sitting down on the centre armrest, watching as you slowly removed the fabric. Crossing your arms over your body, you grabbed the sides of the bra, deliberately pushing your tits closer together, lingering for just a moment so he could get a good look at the cleavage peeking over the top. Then, achingly slow, you lifted your arms up and let your boobs bounce out of the bra. 

Soap bit at his bottom lip, watching your every move. As sexy as your body was, he couldn't take his eyes off your face. He wanted to kiss every inch of it; to pluck it, to tease it, to fuck it. He couldn't help but think how good your lips would look around him. 

He needed to make you feel good. It was an urge that had been building inside him since the day he was introduced to you, all those years ago. And now, all those nights, all those dreams, all the times he’d touched himself to the thought of you were finally coming to fruition. 

“I need you,” he huffed, connecting your lips again. 

“Yeah?” You spoke through the kisses. “Take me then.”

Your wish was his command. With one swoop he switched your positions, your legs framing his, straddling his ever growing crotch. 

Immediately, you ground your hips into his, earning a soft praise from him. He moved his hips in tandem with yours, humping you as he bit at your lips. 

“Take ‘em off,” he demanded. 

You did, faster than you’d ever done before. Honestly, Soap was impressed at how quickly you undressed in such a small space. First your shoes and socks, followed by your trousers and pants. And before he knew it, you were naked. 

You tugged at his shirt, pouting a little at the disparity. 

“Off.” Was all you could really choke out, arousal hijacking your senses. 

“In a minute, let me look at you.” He kissed you one last time before he leaned you back in his arms. 

He looked at you with a fever that could only be attributed to pure lust. It was animalistic, the way his eyes glossed over, like he was no longer in control.

Without warning, he swung you down onto the seat; not fast enough to hurt you, but enough to shock you. Before you could process what was going on he had already unbuckled his belt. 

“Woah,” you murmured, apprehensive suddenly. Your hands moved to stop him.

“Please.” He sounded so pathetic as he begged to be in you. “I can't wait any longer, please.”

“You are not just gonna spit on it and call it a day.”

“You gonna make me work for it, eh?”

“I always do, Johnny.” 

With that, you moved your hands to where his unbuckled belt was, then to his zip, then to the top button. He helped you as you lowered his trousers to reveal his boxers, imprinted with the throbbing outline of his manhood. 

Your hands moved slowly, methodically. Slow enough to tease, but also enough for him to say no if he needed to. Instead, pulled by a carnal desire, he took your hand in his and pressed it directly onto his shaft. 

“For you, baby. All for you.” He said, looking down at you. 

Your cheeks burned fiercely, astonished at the size of him. You chuckled nervously, but covered it with a bite on the lip. You were so drunk in so many ways, you had no idea how you’d ended up in this situation - your hand caressing his cock. 

He curled his hips into your hand as you palmed him through his boxers, a small patch of wetness already appearing at his tip. 

“I want you to fuck my face.” You spoke without thought. The vulgar words had left your mouth so matter-of-factly that it had taken Soap aback. Still he agreed, nodding his head as a smirk grew across his face, already moving to make room for you. 

It was awkward, in the backseat. Even though the vehicle was made to be spacious, when limbs are climbing over one another, no amount of space is ever enough. Then, Soap caught you, his hand gripping your side as you began to slip off the seat and onto the floor. 

You questioned him with your face. You needed to be on the floor if you were gonna get a good angle, but then you saw him eyeing the boot of the jeep. It was usually reserved for duffles and guns (big guns), so there was plenty of space for the two of you. And the bonus? The seats you were sitting on now laid down. 

You both moved at mock speed, resting the seats down, and you moving your stuff onto the front ones. Now there was enough room for the two of you to lay down comfortably. And for you to get on your knees and do as you please. 

Soap had left one of the seats for him to sit on, his trousers around his ankles. His pants were still on. He wanted you to take them off. 

So you did. Your fingers slipped into the waistband of his pants, the same way he did with your bra, and you began to drag them off. 

As you pulled them down, you watched his member spring forward, and allowed yourself to bask in its size. Soap was girthy, thicker around the middle then the tip or base, and he was the perfect size. He sported a little bush, but he was well groomed; not long enough to be a jungle, not short enough to itch.

“Fuck,” you mumbled. 

“You impressed?” He asked.

“Maybe,” you drawled. Keeping your eyes locked into his, you took him into your hands and guided him into your mouth. 

His head lulled back into the car's window, as the first increments of pleasure began to wash over him. 

Instinctually, his hand came up to your face, taking your cheeks into his palms. He watched as you slid your tongue down the vein of his shaft, lapping up his scent and sweat. Carefully, you took more and more of him into your mouth, as far as your throat would let you. 

The more your head bobbed up and down, the louder he became. You were honestly surprised at the noises he was making, he was almost whining. He quickly caught himself bringing his shirt up to bite in his mouth. 

The sight was magnificent. His body, clammy with sweat and lit by the dingy little light in the front of the car, cast defining shadows over his muscles. And there, under the shirt, poking out, were his dogtags. 

He spoke into his shirt, but it was muffled. You went to ask what he’d said, but he shoved himself further into your mouth. It hurt a bit, but you welcomed the vigor. 

Using his left hand, he scrunches up your hair, combing it out of your face. Then he uses the fist full of hair to push you up and down his length. His other hand lay limp at his side, occasionally coming up to wipe sweat off his brow, or to cover his eyes in ecstasy. 

You took a mental snapshot of him there on your knees, looking up at the man you were pleasing. It sent a pang of electricity straight through you; you needed to touch yourself. 

You left one hand on his manhood, helping you literally twist the pleasure out of him, the other moved to work on yourself. 

The sensation immediately sent a shiver up your spine. You’d never felt yourself so swollen before, every inch of you throbbing with satisfaction. A hum bubbled in your throat, vibrating around Johnny. He took notice of your moans and looked at you.

“Are you- fuck… are you touching yourself?” He stuttered, his shirt still clutched between his teeth. 

You didn't reply, only nodded as you pushed him deeper into your throat, and your fingers further into yourself. 

You closed your eyes as the gratification began to take hold. You rocked your hips into your own hand and bobbed your head onto his cock, saliva pouring out of the corners of your mouth. Still, your throat had its limits, and you could barely make it past the halfway mark of his shaft. 

You wanted to please him, to take all of him into you, no matter what. You pushed further down, clutching his thigh as you kept your eyes locked with him. At first you gagged a little, then released the pressure and sucked in a breath. 

“What’re you doing, lass?” He released the shirt from between his teeth, his face taken with concern. 

“I want you,” you said simply, taking him in again.

“I know…” he moans. “But you’re gonna make yourself choke.”

He sounded worried, as though he were hurting you. Truth be told, the only thing you could feel was the pleasure it caused. Perhaps it was your completionist archetype, or maybe it was the primal urge to please Johnny, but there was no way you were stopping without taking all of him in your mouth. You wanted your lips to kiss his stomach.

Taking another breath, you explained to him: “I wanna deepthroat you.”

Stunned, but completely turned on, he nods. “Alright… can you?”

Insulted by his words, taking them as a challenge, you shoved him in as far as he would go, your throat still tense. Sucking in as much air as you could through your nose, you inched painfully slow down his length. You gagged a few times, but you didn't let that stop you from trying again and again. 

Eventually, Soap stopped you.

“Babe,” he called. “Yer gonna hurt yourself.”

“No, Johnny, I want to. I have to.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes, a desperation curling  itself into the pit of your heart. By wit or by will, you would deepthroat John MacTavish by the end of the night.

“Then let me help you,” he said. 

Slowly, he let go of your hair, combing it back again so he could get a better grip on your head. 

“Relax for me,” he spoke, his voice soft but rough around the edges. “Use your hands to help.”

Following his instruction, you put both hands around his shaft, and let your mouth reconnect with his tip. You lap up the leftover mix of pre-cum and saliva there, earning a sensitive groan from your man. 

“Go slowly,” he commands, and you follow. 

It doesn't take long for you to reach where your hands are.

“Good, now take one hand off.” 

You do. 

Now, with more space, you feel the pressure of his hand pushing your head further down. He can feel the resistance on his tip, he can also feel the way you close around him. 

“Now, breathe.”

You take in air through your nose again, watching Johnny as he leans forward a little, making the angle easier for you. 

You feel his hips begin to buckle, the sensation of the back of your throat against his sensitive tip threatening to throw him over the edge. He takes a deep breath himself.

“You’re doing so good,” he says, as his hand begins to apply pressure again. 

He feels you begin to gag, and releases the force.

“Shhh, you're okay, take a second.” 

Tears begin to fall, and he quickly wipes them away.

“Tell me if you want to stop, my love,” he says, his voice now completely smooth, dripping from his mouth like honey. 

Vehemently you shake your head, and he reapplies the pressure, his mouth contorted into a permanent smirk. 

Slowly, your throat's boundary is crossed. It hurts for a second as you adjust to the size, but your gag reflex no longer responds. Soap nods his head as he feels himself curve into your throat. 

Soon your mouth connects with your second hand. Looking into his eyes, he moves his free hand to take yours off him, and holds it, lacing his fingers with yours. You can feel his callouses against your own. His hand in your hair readjusts, gripping your hair tighter. 

You nod as much as you could, excited at the new territory you were entering, or at least, he was. Then, miraculously, using his hips to push the last few inches, you feel your top lip push flush against his stomach. 

Your eyes widen with achievement. You wiggle your hand in his a little as you move your head to free yourself from his member. 

“I did it,” you say, saliva coating your lips. 

He wipes the remaining tears away from your eyes, a fascinated smile tugging at his lips. 

“You did, baby,” he lets you go and cups your cheeks again, raising you up to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Shut up,” you reply, slightly embarrassed.

“It’s true.”

“Oh yeah? Why don't you show me how proud you are?” You bait him.

Like you’d set a fire beneath him, he shoves you back down with a venom you’d only ever seen with him on the battlefield.

In seconds, his cock was inside your mouth again, his hips ploughing into you without hesitating. His hands were lost in your hair, and yours were pressed onto his thighs. 

He could hear the way your throat would open to make room for him, the soft squelch music to his ears, and right alongside the liquids, was his groans and yours melding together. 

He chased his release, but let you breathe when you needed it. Sorry strings of sweet nothings poured out of his mouth as the blood rushed from his brain and into his groin. He could barely speak, he could hardly think; his mind, body, and soul sucked out of him by the warmth of your mouth. 

His thrusts became sloppy, and his hands were practically seizing against your head as he felt his climax approaching. It had been so long since he’d had sex with anyone, hell, it had been so long since he’d felt this good, and it was all thanks to you. 

In a split second he pulled away, the absence of contact leaving you whining and confused. 

“If I finish now, I won't be able to please you,” he said. 

His hands left your hair and helped to wipe away the leftover mess of fluids splashed across your face. It was there, as he wiped the salt and tears off your cheeks that his hands lingered. He looked down at you on your knees before him, a cocksure grin plastered on his face. He bit his lip slightly, his eyes scanning over the sight of you completely given over to lust.

He leans down to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing the stray hairs that stuck to your face away. Then, a slight pause. A brief moment of disbelief, still stuck in the heat of the moment, but suddenly struck by the absurdity of your actions. 

“I- Where do you want me?” You choke out, your voice hoarse. 

Everywhere, he thought, but his mouth betrayed him. His lips curled to make a noise, to instruct you to his desired position (of which he had a thousand in mind) but instead, utterly awestruck by you, he said something else entirely.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The silence that followed was palpable. It became clear in that moment, that neither of you knew exactly what this was. 

Just sex was dangerous enough. If there was more, and it was clear there was, then the two of you would have to navigate so much more than the cramped boot of a military jeep. 

The darkness of the night seemed to close in around you. The want, the longing, now recontextualised, meaning so much more than ‘I wanna fuck you.’

Friends with benefits weren't gonna cut it anymore. Perhaps your next move could be attributed to the inebriation, whether from the alcohol or Johnny himself, but you slammed your lips into his, a feverish need to crawl into his skin besetting you.

You could have bit into him, taken a chunk of his flesh off the bone, a completely unnatural need to consume him washing over you. 

“I need you,” you said, your breath stolen by need. 

He grunted in response, the fire in his loins returned. 

He’d fantasised about taking you a million times. He knew it was wrong, to dream about his manhood enveloped in your warmth. You were his equal, a comrade, not his partner. Fraternisation was not to be scoffed at, and neither of you knew how Price would take this. God, how would Ghost take it? Soap didn't really care, this - you - were his truth. Plus, he’d always been a rebel.

Still locked into the kiss, he wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you up onto your feet as far as the roof of the car would let you. He followed you to your feet, his left hand sliding down your back, then your ass - that he gave a quick, sharp squeeze - then to your thigh. He cupped it, bringing your leg up to wrap around his hip.

“Jump,” he commanded. 

You did, as well as you could in the small space, the lack of clothes around your body helped. He carried your body weight with ease, waddling as best he could over to the folded down back seats, and laid you down there. You could feel him poking at your entrance, still slick with your saliva. 

Then, a thought: you didn't have any condoms. 

“Johnny,” you kissed. “Do you have…?”

“What love?” His face was buried into your neck, leaving pecks and small bites along your shoulder. He balanced his weight on his elbows beside your face. 

“You know… Does Johnny have a Johnny?” You asked, laughing a little. 

He stopped kissing your neck, his head stayed there for a second as you heard him curse under his breath.

“Forgot about that,” he admitted.

You should have been disappointed. The sensible thing to do would be to not have sex. After all, celibacy is the most effective contraceptive. But you knew yourself better than that; no way was this gonna stop you when you were so close to unrivaled pleasure at the hands of John MacTavish. 

It was silly, the way your head swam with the consequences of your actions, knowing it could spell disaster. Still, in all honesty, it turned you on. The danger of it. It was different from the normal danger you usually faced, new and exciting. You knew it was wrong, but your mind clouded in a fog of lust, you didn't care. Not one bit. 

“I don’t mind,” you said, voice barely a whisper. 

His head shot up to look you in the eyes, a slight shake in his movements.

“No… we can’t, it’s too-”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted. “I need you, Johnny. Please.”

He thought for a moment, the heat from his body seeping through his shirt as he imagined himself deep inside you, no barriers in the way of his pleasure. 

“We shouldn’t,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“We already are.”

It was all he needed to hear. 

Soap is a part of damage control; he’s a demolition expert. He was good at controlling the damage caused by explosives. Yet, here, as his heart burst into flames, he let it consume him, taking control of the reins; a complete disregard for the outcome. 

He bit at your lip, dragging it down as he repositioned between your legs. He’d imagined the first time he’d take you to be different, to be more romantic, in a different position. He’d always liked the idea of you sitting on his lap, pressed flush against his chest as he hammered into you. Missionary seemed so… basic. Boring even. 

How wrong he was. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he stared at your tits beneath him, your nipples hard and sensitive. He took a moment to position his tip at your entrance, feeling your wetness meld with his own. His watched hand came up to hold your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple as he began to slide in. 

He wasn't slow about it, but he also didn't plough into you. He groaned freely as your canal made room for him, your arousal lubricating the contact. 

The sensation was paralysing. The pleasure completely rewired your mind, electricity hurtling through you at a million miles an hour. Your hands practically seized up as your head went blank. You couldn't even moan, the gratification sending you into a catatonic state. He hadn’t even begun to move yet. 

“You alright lass?” You didn't register his words, they bounced around the empty crevice of your cranium, all logical thought now absent. 

You nodded your head, at least you tried, but you mostly just moved it in a circle. Your eyes glossed over and your back arched. Soap took the opportunity to slip his arm beneath you. 

Cautiously, he let his hips begin to move.

He knew moving too fast would have him over the edge before he could even begin to pleasure you, the arousal from his shaft encased in your throat still lingering.

The two of you were quiet at first, allowing the sounds of flesh slapping together, liquids bubbling between your thighs, and the noises of the jeep creaking with the movement to surround you. 

Soap’s shirt clung to your chest, you moved your hands to snake under it, your nails clawing at the skin beneath. You hooked your arms around his back, nails digging into his shoulderblades, your cheek pressed into his shoulder. 

He quickened his movements as he felt your hands drag down his back. Still, he was unhappy with the angle, so he shifted. He pulled away from you, inviting in the cold air that skilled the space between you. 

He repeated his earlier shirt bite, stuffing his mouth full of the fabric. Somehow, this only made him louder. Now, looking down at you, he watched as your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts. 

Sweat beaded around his temple and on his chest. You raised your hands up to rest on his stomach, nails digging into his abs. Eventually they came to rest on his waist. 

He loved the buzz your hands gave him as they explored his body, and the way your nails delved into his skin, desperate to latch onto him.

Above you, Johnny looked incredible. Now facing the light in the front of the car, you could see him properly. The way he was soaked through with sweat and pleasure, every contortion of his muscles (in his face and in his body), the way his hips bucked into you, his hands gripping desperately at your lovehandles. Best of all, his shirt in his mouth, pulled tight around his biceps, threatening to rip the fabric. The mere sight of him brought forth an impending height of pleasure surging through you. 

He drove into you again and again, his muffled grunts vibrating in his chest. He began to get sloppy, his hips descending into a flurry of short bursts. He could feel how tight you closed in around his tip, an otherworldly level of bliss abducting his senses. 

You were all he could feel. Your heat, your sweat, your sex, your love, your lust. 

Your name slipped from his lips, muffled by the shirt. This pissed you off slightly, you needed to hear him moan it clearly. 

“Off,” you groaned. “Take it off.”

He obliged, not stopping the onslaught of thrusts into you. His mohawk grazed the roof of the jeep as he practically ripped the fabric off his body. 

He bent down to kiss you as he initiated a position switch. The sudden movement shocked you, but before you could even register what was happening, you were on top of him. 

“Ride me,” he said. His voice was a whimper, a plea. You couldn't tell if he was asking or if he was commanding. 

Either way you didn't care. At this angle, he was so deep inside you you could feel him inside your stomach. Still, it wasn't deep enough. You pushed your hips into his, feeling the pressure of him press into your cervix, it was incredible. You began to rock instead of bounce, his tip tickling the deepest part of you. 

Your whole body heated up, taken over by an ecstasy you hadn’t felt in a long time. You could feel the encroaching peak of your pleasure the more you rubbed yourself into him. 

Soap watched as you chased your high. In truth, he couldn't feel a lot when you did this, other than you getting tighter. He didn't care, the sight of you using him to get yours was hot enough. 

“You feel good?” he asked.

“Yes… so good,” you slurred out, your hips shaking into his.

 Thinking you didn't want to finish too fast, you lifted yourself up slightly, using whatever strength you had in your thighs and core to lower yourself up and down his length as controlled as you could.  

Looking at him through hooded eyes, you decided you didn’t want to wait. The impatience caused by the thought of reaching your climax on his cock taking hold. 

You wanted it, and you wanted it now. 

Slamming yourself down onto him again, you began to rock back and forth with violence. His tip twitching against a part of you that you didn't even know you had. You could feel your heart implode as the pit began to rise in your stomach. 

You fucked him like you wanted to cum. 

His hands gripped at the flesh around your hips, shocked at the vigor you displayed. He watched you chase your orgasm, your hips trembling against him, your mouth hanging open and your head thrown back. 

You slowed your movements as the sensation of your climax washed over you. Your whole body twitching with pleasure. You rode out your high, your hands resting on top of his.

“You cum?” He asked, almost surprised.

You shot him a look, what do you think? 

He laughed a little at this, so did you, your hips still oscillating, pangs of pleasure still shooting through you. 

Once you’d finished, you lent down to kiss him. Your body pressed flush against him, your hands resting on his chest. Looking into his eyes, you felt something new, something strange. Something a little like love. 

Heat rose in your cheeks. Coming down from your high, you sobered up, acutely aware of what just occurred, and how amazing you had felt. A clarity washed over you: you didn't want this to end. 

His heat pressed against you, his sweat melting into yours. 

In a moment of vulnerability, you started to cry. 

“Woah, lass, what’s happening?” He asked, taking your face into his hands. 

Never did you think that you’d find love. It wasn’t in the cards for you, for any of you, not in this line of work. Especially not with each other. 141 was a family. Nothing more. 

Johnny was more. 

Johnny was so much more. 

You sat on top of him, letting the love you felt for him flood into you.

“Thank you,” you breathed into his hand, planting a kiss on his palm.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered.

“Please fuck me.”

He shook his head in disbelief, mouthing a ‘what?’ as you let out a little laugh. 

“I want you to use me to feel good,” you sniffled. 

“Yeah, okay…” he agreed, his hips starting to move again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Better than okay, Johnny.” You plant a kiss on his nose. 

He smiles as you connect your foreheads together, soaking up each other's essence. 

His thrusts were slow at first, mindful of your recent surge of pleasure, but soon enough they became uncontrolled. His arms pinning you down into him, his legs propped up to get a better angle into you. 

He lost himself in the crook of your neck, his moans escaping freely now. He nibbled at your earlobe, his face twisted in ecstasy. 

His thrusts were fast and violent, a primal, animalistic urge taking over. He’d never felt so good in his life, didn’t even know such pleasure existed. He wanted to drink you up, to seep inside of you, to live between your bones. His mind was so laser focused on reaching his climax that he’d all but forgotten the world outside. 

The fogged up windows, the overhead light, the jeeps seats, his trousers still around his ankles, they’d all slipped his mind. You, your warmth and heat, were the only thing he was capable of acknowledging. 

Your name fell from his mouth, clearer this time, repeated like a mantra. He‘d whined it at first, a pathetic, needy sound, as though he were begging, but as his thrusts increased with intent, it started to sound more like a growl. 

He wasn't going as fast now, instead he focused on how deep he could hit. There was absolutely nothing stopping him from using your body to reach his goal. He was in heat, he could have ripped you apart in that moment. His hands gripped you so tightly it hurt, but you didn’t mind, if anything you liked it. 

Sloppy, uncontrolled thrusts signalled the approach of his high. Growls vibrated out of him as though a beast had taken over his being. 

Without warning, he twists, his arms cushioning you as he flips the two of you over, you back pressed into the wall of the jeep. You hiss at the sudden contact, the cold metal of the wall causing you to arch your back. 

The complete loss of control was evident, moans and growls dripping from his mouth like treacle as he pounds himself deeper into you again and again. He’s aggressive with his movements, his hands gripping at your thighs as though the flesh were tender enough to fall off the bone. 

After a few more deep, hard thrusts his climax begins to wash over him. In a sudden bout of panic, he unsheaths himself from you, spilling all over your stomach. Using his hand to milk the last increments out of himself, he lets out deep and satisfied breaths out of his nose. 

For a short time he is stunned, unable to move, his body still shaking. Then, his hand still wrapped around his manhood, his breathing begins to steady. 

You look down to the mess on your stomach, gobsmacked at the amount that covered you. 

“You been pent up, babe?” you ask.

He laughs, “Yeah, a little.”

He plants a kiss on your mouth, full of gratefulness and joy. The kiss slowly progresses, deepening, yet it's not aggressive, instead it teeters on worship. The two of you stayed there like that, wishing that there was a way the night would never end; wishing there was a way for the two of you to merge together. 

You hadn’t really thought about the clean up. Hell, you’d had a complete disregard for the consequences when you started this, so now it's over, the two of you are lost. Lost together. 

You giggle into his mouth as you feel the warm liquid begin to pool in your belly button. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, lass,” he says, looking down to the pool.

“It’s fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know how to clean it.”

He looks around for a minute, his head lifted for the first time since the two of you began. He remarks on how fogged up the windows are, and how he can't find your clothes. 

You point them out to him, strewn haphazardly into the front seat. Pulling up his own pants and buckling his belt (which sends another pang through you at the sight), he reaches over to bring them over to you. 

Now he’s partially dressed, he grabs his shirt and hands it to you. 

“Use my shirt,” he says.

A strangle string of protests babble out of your mouth, “I can’t use your shirt. Are you joking?”

“Just use it, I’ll be fine.” He explains, swinging into the front seat, getting ready to drive back. 

“You’re just gonna leave?” You ask, his shirt scrunched up in your hand. 

“Yer coming with me, don’t worry.”

“I know that, I just mean…”

You were hesitant to ask to cuddle. Which was odd, considering all that you’d just done with him, but it seemed so intimate, too intimate, like it would cross a line that the two of you couldn't un-cross. 

“You don’t wanna go back yet?” he asked looking back at you, one hand on the wheel. 

“No, I don’t want this to end,” you admitted, looking away from him. 

He let out a sigh from his nose. Not a dismissing sigh, nor one of shock, but one of content, that said he was relieved you’d admitted your feelings. 

“Okay,” he began. “We stay for a bit.”

“Yeah?” Your face lit up.

“Yeah. Just clean yersen up first.”