Wait For Me || John "Soap" MacTavish x OC (Call Of Duty)

21. Everything I ever wanted

Two weeks later, Johnny showed up at her doorstep in the middle of the night. Yael would have recognized the muffled thuds of his tactical boots at the entrance even at the end of the world.

She jumped up, heart pounding in her chest from the sudden surge of adrenaline, fumbling her way to the foot of the bed in the dense darkness of the room. She almost tripped over the sheets that had tangled around her legs, still numb from sleep.

She stumbled through the darkness that enveloped the hallway to the top of the stairs, her breath rapid and her head light, vaguely confused.

From behind, the huge figure took up the entire frame of the entrance, the black T-shirt so tight on his chest that every muscle flexing under the thin, sweaty fabric was visible. She heard him swear in a low growl, almost whispered, as he took off his boots in the light of his cell phone.

The doctor almost couldn't hold back a laugh, curiously, what came out of her lips resembled a sob so painfully it made her heart sink.

"Johnny," she called softly, her voice still sweet and sleepy.

MacTavish turned around abruptly, straightening his massive body, a flash of surprise on his young and attractive face. His blue eyes met hers in the half-light cut by the oblique light of the cell phone, sparkling, intense, and Yael thought the air had suddenly disappeared from the room.

"Leannan, did I wake ye?" he growled, his dark eyebrows drawing closer on his forehead in a look that was both annoyed and appalled, his big fingers nervously intertwining with his mohawk crest.

"It's fine," the girl smiled back, her arms instinctively wrapping around her waist, as if to hold back the emotion: "God, I missed you so much," she then admitted in a whisper that broke softly between the narrow walls of the stairs.

For a moment, she thought Soap hadn't heard her because he hesitated for what seemed like an eternity. Instinctively, she moved closer, close enough to catch the rhythmic, deep breath that rolled through the electric air.

A blink of an eye, nothing more. She didn't even have a moment to think more clearly before the sergeant's lips covered hers, taking the air from her lungs, as if his whole existence depended on that breath. The statuesque body, burning hot, crushing her indiscreetly against the rough wall of the entrance.

With a breath caught in her throat and her heart in turmoil, Yael groped for Johnny's solid, damp torso.

Her fingertips crept boldly under his shirt, at the height of his belt, barely grazed the dense fuzz on his abdominal muscles, and a groan suddenly escaped the sergeant's lips, a low, deep growl.

A single rough hand found her wrists and, alone, pinned them above her, perhaps leaving a bruise, the other sought a hold on her hips, desperately. Then lower and lower. The sergeant's lips pressed into the hollow of her neck, the longer strands of his mohawk tickling her face.

The familiar and earthy smell of jet fuel, gunpowder and tobacco threatened to drive her crazy.

John MacTavish was driving her crazy.

With every growled phrase whispered into her ear in the hours that followed, Soap did nothing but show her how deeply he had missed her.

It was incredible how he was able to juxtapose blatant smut with the most romantic words anyone had ever said to her in her life. Especially if murmured between her sweat-soaked thighs, in a flash of those eyes of that dazzling and shameless blue that, alone, could even penetrate the dense shadows of the night.

Johnny loved her in such a physical and all-consuming way that clouded her thoughts and judgment, letting his strength both maneuver and crush her at the same time, almost as if those rough and calloused hands should leave indelible marks on her. Ghosts of wounds that, in all probability, Soap MacTavish carried inside him as baggage from every past mission.