You were certain, you had died and gone to heaven...
There was no way in hell, this life was yours.
You're on leave, a much-needed extended holiday granted to you and Soap by Price.
You both had agreed to get away from the city, somewhere only you and him know.
It's nothing special, but it's everything special to you and him.
The cabin sits by a lake surrounded by huge trees decorated in bright green and vivid red.
There's a storm sitting on the horizon, you can see the silhouette of massive black clouds as lightening strikes once, twice, three times before the thunder rumbles in a deep growl.
The air is cool, and misty... It's chilly and smells of water and oak.
You and Soap had prepared, like teammates in the battlefield, you were never short handed should anything go south.
You walk out, onto the porch, overlooking the fields of trees and greenery and spot him in the short distance.
And suddenly, you feel the heat of embarrassment flush over chilled skin.
Soap had told you he wanted to get some wood going for the fire, the radio had called for a massive storm, and though you have the generator... You would use it as a last resort.
And even though there is a chill in the air, Soap has shed his flannel, as he cuts away at the logs.
Walking over to him, you can't help by feel mesmerized by the way each muscle in his back tightens and loosens upon each swing of the axe.
You can see the glisten of sweat, and suddenly your mouth goes dry.
"Hey handsome."
Soap places the axe down, turning to you with a brisk smile, "Hey beautiful."
"Storm is getting close, why don't you come in and get cleaned up... Dinner should be ready in about an hour or so."
Soap's eyes wonder to the line of dark clouds, "Let me finish this up here and I'll be in," he steps closer to you, giving you a sound kiss as his hand wonders to grab a handful of your ass.
You don't know where this sudden need came from, but you're glad you did it...
While dinner cooks in the slow cooker, you have decided to treat Soap...
Every window within sight is open, letting in the chill of the incoming storm.
The fireplace is lit, as blankets are scattered on the floor with pillows thrown in for good measure.
You are striped bare, except the warm metal of yours and Soap's dog-tags resting between your breast.
You can see him from the window – he's finished for the night, heading your way.
You can feel your insides turning, as he draws near.
Every moment with Soap was heavenly bliss; he's a passionate lover, tender and giving to any and all your needs.
But you know Soap has been stressed as of late; the recent missions hadn't been in Soap's favor, and he was pushing himself harder than normal.
You know it's silly, but even if you can take a bit of his stress away, you'll do it.
Your thoughts are cut off, at the sound of Soap entering the cabin, as he closes and locks the door.
"Smells good in..."
You watch as he enters the living room, stunned, speechless as his eyes lock with yours.
"Hi there, Sergeant," your voice is small; you've always been on the shy side, Soap told you it's part of what drew him to you.
"Oh baby doll," Soap swallows down the lump in his throat, as he walks around the couch, "What is all of this?"
Soap steps into your space, hands grasping at your bare hips, as he pulls himself closer to you.
Resting your hands on his chest, you feel the stickiness of sweat that has began to dry; you can smell his unique musk and feel the heat gathering between your thighs.
"Well, I thought I might treat you tonight... You've been so busy with training and our last... Mmm!"
Soap cuts you off with a kiss, his lips are feverish and slightly chapped, but he kisses with conviction and need.
It stirs the fire deep within your belly, as Soap tugs at your bottom lip.
It's a dance of tongues and teeth as he pulls you closer.
"Soap," you whisper between the heated kiss, "You're wearing too many clothes, Sergeant."
He pulls away, eyes blown wide with lust and lips swollen red and glistening with passion.
He studies you, as his eyes rest in between your breast.
The Dog Tags.
During the beginning of your relationship, Soap knew you were it for him, through thick and thin you had been by his side no matter what.
So, you gave him one of your dog tags, while he gave you one of his...
You called him a sap in that moment.
But he knew deep down inside, he just wanted to keep you close.
That's when he feels the last bit of humanity and self-control snap.
There has always been a feral side to Soap, it's in those rare moments that you bring it out of him.
Where he needs to have you in any way.
"Sweet girl," his arms snake around you, gripping the meat of your thighs, as he lifts you up and brings you over to the arrangement of blankets you have made.
He lays you down gently, stripping himself of his last piece of clothing.
That's when you hear it.
It's the first heavy rumble overhead, and as you peek outside you are greeted with near black skies and heat lightening.
"Eyes on me, sweet girl," he commands.
You can hear the rush in his voice, the hiccup as his breathing picks up.
There's a heaviness in the air surrounding you both.
The cabin is in the heart of the storm as night has come and the rain drenches the earth.
There is a scent of sex in the air... Of cologne, and lavender.
There is the sound of thunder, rain, and lightning.
Of broken whimpers, and skin slapping against skin.
Soap has you trapped beneath him as he stretches your weeping hole.
You don't know how much time as passed, and you have lost count at how many orgasm Soap has pulled from you.
Your limbs feel like Jell-O.
Your legs shaking with anticipation as Soap drives you further and further into nirvana.
You feel boneless, yet you have never felt so alive.
There is a gathering of sweat pooling around you as it soaks into the sheets beneath you.
Yet, you can't find it in your heart to care.
Not, when Soap has you on the edge, and your belly tightens with each fluttering thrust.
"That's it pretty girl," Soap's voice is horse and gravy... You can feel his arms vibrating, as he tries to control what little hold, he has.
"Soap," your voice is a breathless whimper, as your hands finds purchase in the grooves of his back, creating deep, red marks of claim.
He nudges your nose with his, "Think you can give me another, pretty girl? I haven't had my fill of you yet."
