Chapter Text
John has spent his entire life drenched in shame and guilt. Like most who grew up catholic, he learned shame sooner than he learned his own name. Shame and cruelty hung over the MacTavish household for years, shrouding it in a heavy cloud of misery. Their patriarch had been a cruel man obsessed with order and purity, despite fucking street whores any day but Sunday.
Self hatred choked John every day of his life. He’d been left handed as a child, until his father caught him and beat his left hand so bloody it couldn’t hold anything. The man had repeated it over and over until John only ever used his right hand for anything important, body flinching whenever it followed its natural inclination to lean left.
He knew he liked boys at a very young age, but saw the way his family sneered and spoke of people like him, and shoved it down as hard as he could. He tried to be a good catholic boy, but he couldn’t. It didn’t come to him as easily as it did his family, even when he knelt beside his bed sobbing and begging God to fix him. There was never a response, but asking why only earned him beatings.
Watching his sisters be punished only made it worse. He saw his baby sister, only six, kneel on rice and sob for hours. Her crime had been tempting their neighbour, a filthy old man who liked to stare at even Johnny, with her dress that ended too high above her ankles. John had been the one to clean and ice her tiny knees when it was over, unable to believe in any sort of god that would allow such an awful thing.
He acted out more and more, taking the brunt of his father’s attention to save his Ma and his four sisters. He questioned the church and refused to go, bracing himself on bedposts to take as many lashes as his Father could manage before his arm grew tired. On his fifteenth, he shaved his head into a mohawk that he wore in spikes, slamming his fist into his fathers nose when the man tried to shear it all off in punishment. Shortly after he turned sixteen, his father caught him kissing a boy from down the road.
John ran away that night, black and blue all over: limping and wheezing pathetically. He slept on the street for a week, then used every pound he had to forge papers that said he was eighteen and enlisted. He was still shades of yellow-green when they handed him his papers, but he was finally free.
It's hard work, but he’s intent on climbing. Intent on proving to himself this was all worth it, to prove he deserves the freedom he fought so hard for. He seizes it with both hands, gorging himself on pleasure like a true heathen.
He sucks off his drill sergeant in the showers, then just about every other soldier he meets.
The mohawk stays, through some loopholes of regulations and the graciousness of men who wanted a hot tongue on their prick.
John uses his money to buy whatever he pleases, no matter how stupid or overpriced.
He gambles, drinks, smokes, and rolls around in bed with strangers he’s never met before.
He makes a list of everything he wants to do. Then he makes another. A list of experiences he wants to have before he dies, then the following list a layout of hedonistic pleasure that grows slowly more erotic and twisted with each new idea.
Freedom is amazing, and purity is overrated.
John cleans house like nobody else, earning himself the name Soap. It feels good, unmarred by his father’s cruel brogue.
He climbs the ranks like it's the world's easiest ladder, bulking up into a whole new man along the way. Happiness soon joins freedom, as he finds himself in Hereford, surrounded by a team of the most elite soldiers he’s ever met. He’s honoured to be a part of it, honoured to be welcomed into their little circle.
He respects Price, enamoured by the older man’s kind nature when they aren’t on a mission, despite his stern demeanour. Sure, the captain can be a right bastard; and Soap once saw him croon mockingly at an enemy while he slowly peeled off the man’s toe and fingernails one by one. But he also brought them all tea and coffee to early meetings and left his door open to them at all times.
Kyle and he are fast friends. Easily matching each other’s overexcited personalities and stirring up as much trouble as they possibly can. They work together easily, shoving their guns over one another’s head to shoot enemies and communicating with ease. Their humour matches easily, and together they become the bane of Price’s existence.
Then there’s Ghost. Simon. The lieutenant. A brick shithouse of a man that Soap flirts with easier than he breathes. The hulking man is the source of easily fifty percent of Soap’s wet dreams. They banter like they’re made for each other, and their work on the field is much the same. Verbal communication is hardly even a need, outside of Soap’s need to annoy Ghost into growling out his name in that sexy manc gravel.
Maybe Soap’s a little in love with the lot of them, but he doesn’t have any shame for that. He isn’t ashamed of anything anymore, and he doesn’t want to be. He flirts openly and shamelessly, showing off to them whenever the opportunity arises and caring for them the best he can. It’s the best he’s ever felt, and he isn’t ashamed to want more.
⛧°.⋆༺ ⸸ ༻⋆.°⛧
Soap moans into the balaclava in his fist, jerking his cock hard with his other hand. He’d taken the opportunity to stay in for the night, having the room all to himself while Kyle was off at whatever bar he could get to and back from easily.
Is Soap proud of stealing his team's personal effects so he can huff them while he gets off? Debatable. He has one of Kyle’s favourite hats, a freshly worn balaclava, and Price’s gym shirt laying on his chest. Usually they would be tucked away safe and sound under his bed, except in times like these. Desperate times and all that.
So with the pit of Price’s filthy shirt draped over his nose, Ghost’s mask fisted tightly in his hand to be sniffed at will, and Kyle’s hat in clear view: Soap is about two seconds from coming all over himself.
He fists himself tightly at the base of his cock and whines as it staves off his orgasm, wanting this to last a little longer. Throbbing hard, he releases himself with no small amount of difficulty and sits up. Shaking hands arrange the articles of clothing on his pillow in a clumped up pile before he drops himself face down on it with his arse up in the air. He breathes deeply and groans, struggling for breath as he desperately jerks himself off. By the time he comes, he’s shaking and his vision is spinning from suffocation.
He cries out loudly into his pillow, nearly a scream, continuing to stroke himself through it. Before he can pass out, he wrenches himself upwards and sucks in deep breaths. Pain bursts through his skull. The dim lighting of the room seems so bright to him as he pants, pain pulsing in time with his heartbeat as his pulse tries to calm from the lack of air. It feels fucking incredible.
Barely remembering his own name, he drops onto the pillow and snuggles into the stolen objects with a content sigh. Come is sticky on his hand and blanket, but he’s too blissed out to care, slipping easily into peaceful sleep.
⛧°.⋆༺ ⸸ ༻⋆.°⛧
“So this is where our things keep disappearing to, huh Tav?”
Soap startles awake with a gasp, sticky and naked, with three bodies hovering above him. He realises the sight he must be. He’s covered in dry come and sweat, their clothing pooled around his head and covered in his sleepy drool. It was stupid of him not to clean up after he finished.
Kyle is grinning ear to ear, something mean lingering in it that makes a shiver run up and down Soap’s spine. Price looks equally amused, thumbs hooked lazily in his belt loops similar to how he grips his vest in the field. Then there’s Ghost, staring down at Soap as if he’s the last drink of water in a desert.
“Messy lad, isn’t he? Leaving all his secrets out for us to play with.” Price chuckles, tilting his head ever so slightly.
“More than that, Cap. Left his little toy out for us too.” Ghost growls out. He reaches down and flicks Soap’s cock. Soap yelps and jolts, snapping his thighs together protectively as he stares up wide-eyed towards his team.
Kyle laughs out loudly, grabbing one thigh to yank it back open. “Come on now, bruv, don’t hide! Little late, after tugging that pretty little prick all over our things?”
The words are mocking and just on the edge of mean. Soap loves it, arousal already returning in a hot coil deep in his belly. His cock is already chubbing up again, twitching as it’s forcefully exposed to the air.
“We found your little list, son.” Price purrs, only seeming more amused as Soap tenses up, “quite the imagination you’ve got.”
“Read it out, Lieutenant.”
Ghost does, following his Captain’s orders perfectly and reading out Soap’s filthiest desires like a goddamn mission brief. “Somnophilia, lingerie, sex in the woods, gangbang, floggers, whips, blindfolds–"
Soap grows gradually more red, breaths coming fast. His cock is rock hard again, filling out until it rests hot and heavy on his stomach. It drools out a clear puddle, more than willing to go along with the mean new game his team has come up with.
“Look at him, squirming for us already,” Price croons, dragging the tip of his finger down the length of Soap’s cock before cruelly pulling it away again. Soap whines loudly to show his upset with that action, but it goes utterly ignored. Ghost continues on without so much as a flinch, while Gaz’s mean grin only gets bigger.
By the time Ghost is all the way through the list, Soap is bucking up repeatedly for even the slightest amount of friction. His prick slaps uselessly on his belly, connected to it with thick lines of clear pre. Price makes a noise of pity as Soap lets out a particularly loud whine, reaching down to stroke his mohawk with faux gentleness.
“Sergeant Garrick, why don’t you give our pet a treat so he can refocus. I think all the blood has left his little brain,” Price coos mockingly. Soap can’t scrounge up any reaction outside of an agreeing mewl, more than happy to oblige the men whatever they want from him.
“On your orders, Cap.” Kyle grins, wrapping his mouth around Soaps cock. Hissing in relief and bucking up, Soap murmurs out slurred gratitudes that he’s not even sure are in English.
Kyle’s mouth might be the closest that Soap ever gets to heaven, so perfectly hot and skilled. He sucks eagerly, lapping on the throbbing vein along the bottom of the prick like it's the tastiest lollipop he’s ever had. His nose rubs lazily against Soap’s navel, throat swallowing twice around it before Price is ordering him to pull off.
Objecting with whines, Soap writhes. He cants his hips up with babbled pleas for mercy. It feels like nothing else in the world could possibly matter more than having Kyle’s mouth back on him. Surely, the universe is going to combust if Soap doesn’t get to cum down his best friend’s throat at this very second.
Price’s roughened hand strokes Soap’s head condescendingly again, a smirk on his face. The bulge in his trousers has Soap’s mouth watering. He doesn’t understand the words that come out of Price’s mouth at first, brain sluggish and dazed. Soap only catches up on what's being said as Kyle’s perfect mouth wraps around him again.
Crying out and arching into it doesn’t get him far, Kyle’s hands holding him down firmly as he bobs up and down. His tongue twists skillfully, but the crushing blow are those perfect puppy eyes watering up at him as Kyle deepthroats him.
“Please– Oh ffff– please-” Soap begs, tears burning at his eyes as he desperately tries to fuck up into Gaz’s mouth. He needs to come, needs it so badly it aches. He’s going to die if he doesn’t get to cum.
Soap must voice these thoughts out loud, because Price croons down at him mockingly: “Oh? You need it that badly? Ghost, how many items are on that list?”
“Over thirty, sir.”
“Sounds like we ought to edge him for at least thirty minutes then,” Price hums.
“Nae! Sir, please, please– dinnae do tha’, Ah can be so good!” Soap begs through sobs, shaking his head desperately. He doesn’t want to be edged, he needs to come. There’s no possible way he can hold out for half an hour, his cock is going to fall off!
Price tuts disapprovingly and pulls away the gentle hand, making Soap keen in desperation as he babbles out apologies. “Forty minutes then, for arguing,” The Captain says, sounding almost bored.
“Time us, Lieutenant,” Price orders. Soap can see Ghost snap to attention in his peripherals, the masked man looking towards the clock on the wall with an unbelievable intensity.
Soap keeps his head about him for the first few rounds. Ten minutes in, he’s sobbing and writhing, begging any of them to take mercy on him. His heart is racing, the blood rushing in his ears so loudly he can hardly hear himself cry. Each breath seems tighter than the last, the tightly curling ache of his orgasm twisted behind his navel. Every inch of his body feels like it’s on fire by the fifth time he’s being ripped back from the edge, skin overtight and achingly sensitive to each touch.
After a while, time melts away, his mind a mushy mess of confusion and painful pleasure. Pleasure has turned to full-body, white hot sensation, each feeling incomprehensible and inseparable from the others. He doesn’t know if he wants it to stop, or keep going, or increase. Everything is a melting pot of delicious agony he doesn’t think he wants to escape.
When he’s finally allowed to come, he thinks he screams, every muscle in his body tensing up. He thrashes like a man possessed, howling out his agonised pleasure before consciousness slips away from him.
He isn’t sure how long he’s unconscious, but he comes back around to gentle hands on him and soft voices around his head. Sighing contently, he nuzzles into the body in front of him, burying himself in a perfect set of pecs. They’re thick, but just soft enough for him to very willingly suffocate to death between. The scent of musk and bar soap is familiar enough to help his brain come back online without fear.
Soap blinks slowly, thankful for the low light. He smiles up dumbly at the men cradling him, giggling like an idiot as he sees Ghost staring back at him. The goliath of a man flushes slightly pink, the colour just barely visible at the edge of his mask’s eyeholes. Something soft enters those bourbon eyes; and wow, Soap has a sudden understanding of Simon’s love for the nasty liquor when he sees it staring back at him like that.
“What are you giggling at, Johnny?” Ghost murmurs, voice low and amused. The arms behind Soap tighten up slightly, too big and hairy to be Gaz. Price lays kisses along the back of Soap’s shoulders, gently affectionate in the wake of his formerly stern attitude.
Soap briefly wonders where Kyle is, until he feels a face nuzzling at his thigh. He can’t help but giggle again, surrounded by his team and undeniably safe. He wants nothing more than to curl up and stay nestled between them all for the rest of time (until the sun explodes and the universe is gone).
He can’t even fathom wanting anything else, ever again.
⛧°.⋆༺ ⸸ ༻⋆.°⛧
“We shouldn’t have sprung all that on you, son, that was an intense scene.”
Price is speaking, Soap is just barely listening enough to nod along. It’s not his fault. Really, it isn’t! How is he possibly supposed to listen when Price is sitting there in a skanky little tank top with his tits out!
Okay, maybe it’s not skanky at all. Maybe it’s a totally normal tank thats just a little too thin and a tad too old. But Soap can see the man’s nipples, and it really is tight! It hugs the older man’s tits like a second skin, his thick chest hair poking out from every goddamn angle. Soap wants to take a bite out of him.
“MacTavish!”
Soap’s head snaps up, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Price is raising an unimpressed eyebrow.
It isn’t his fault!
They rocked his world a week ago and have left him utterly high and dry since, outside of being slightly more physically affectionate. Of course he can’t stop staring at them and getting rock hard, after having the most mind-bending, earth-shattering, flat out extraordinary orgasm of his life. He’ll stare at Price’s tit if he fucking wants to.
“If ye wan me ta’ focus on yer mouth, sir, ye should put yer rack away,” Soap says bluntly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Gaz barks out a laugh from the settee, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth to silence the giggles he cannot hold back. Price looks shocked before he leans forward with a look in his eyes that makes Soap ache to get on his knees.
“I see we didn’t fuck the slut out of you,” He grumbles, fist clenching on the tabletop as his gaze goes to Soap’s mouth.
“Nae, Cap, that’s naw possible,” the sergeant laughs, leaning forward. Maybe if he pushes hard enough, Price will hit him. Soap didn’t think he wanted that right until this very moment, but the thought has him rock fucking hard. “Didnae fuck me a’ all, actually. Might have tae get someone else tae volunteer.”
Price is out of his seat before Soap can even blink. His hand squeezes around the younger man’s throat and forces his gaze up. “You will fucking not,” Price snarls, rage simmering in the faded blue-grey of his eyes, “If anyone who isn’t on this fucking task force touches you, I’ll kill them slow.”
Soap shivers, angling himself up towards his Captain with a satisfied noise. He loves getting Price like this, riled up to the point that raspy tone turns into a smoked-out snarl. If he could, he’d angle himself all the way up for a kiss. He’d let Price bite into his mouth like an animal and leave beard burn all over his mouth. Anything for the man to keep touching him and sounding like that.
“Real slow, Captain? Keep them alive jus’ for me tae see the consequences of mah actions?” Soap purrs, rocking his hips against his chair. Price smiles, free hand patting Soap’s cheek gently.
The pats gradually grow harder until Price’s palm cracks across his face hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Soap moans loudly, shivering as the cool air of the room brushes across his red-hot cheek.
“Yes.” Price growls, squeezing tighter around Soap’s throat. He never expected Price to be the rough, borderline violent one out of all of them, but he’s plenty happy with it.
“We’re going to run through every filthy desire on that little list of yours, John. Mark my fucking words, you won’t sit right any day of the goddamn week.”