Author's Note: DO NOT FRET ALL, I AM NOT CANCELLING ANCIENT ICE, NEW FLAMES. I am currently working on the next chapter right now, it's just taking a long ass time to actually make some progress because I'm currently swamped with work right now since I am in college, and the fact that the last thing that I'd like to do to my readers is disappoint them with a lackluster chapter, after all of these months waiting for more. I'm already disappointing a lot of you because I haven't updated you all in such a long time, so completing chapter 5 is taking a while. I'm very sorry for not sticking with my original word about uploading a new chapter every month (after slowing it down from a chapter a week, to bi-weekly). Now, let me explain this thing.
This is a story that I have not touched in a VERY very long while, since October 30th of 2011, in fact. There was another author that I absolutely loved that was on this site, and her username was Butterscotch MacTavish. She was an expert at creating quality Call of Duty FanFiction stories, and her countless pairings of some of the hottest men in the Modern Warfare series was just a delight to my eyes (and penis).
At the time of this story starting, I was heavily infatuated in a certain character from the Black Ops series called Sgt. Frank Woods. My first story uploaded on this very site, The Adventures of Johnathan Moreno: Rescuing Woods, explored my personal fantasy of fucking this hunk of a man. My imagination ran at super sonic speeds when I thought of him and I together. Johnathan Moreno is an Original Character (OC) that is directly related to me, since I wanted something like that to happen to me so badly.
After creating a couple of chapters of that story, I decided to try and write a sequel to Black Ops (MW3 was JUST announced at the time) and decided to write Black Ops 2, which had also been uploaded here. This was the first story that I have planned from beginning to end, every single gunfight documented to then soon write out. After about three and a half chapters, however, I was starting to lose interest in completing it. At the same time about me procrastinating on completing BO2, I was extremely into Butterscotch's lovely fanfics that I decided to ask her if she would be willing to collaborate in writing a fanfic that included both of our favorite characters from COD just FUCKING THE FUCK OUT OF EACH OTHER. Having the thoughts of BO2 completed for some things in the story to make sense, I established that story as the base to the back story of this story, and that idea eventually blossomed into a 14k word story that she and I loved.
Unfortunately, there was some controversy about something that I wrote into the story, because she wanted to keep that particular aspect of the story historically accurate with the time-frame that it was set in, but I explained to her that it would change my original thoughts on my own ideas on BO2, but I said that since I didn't even write that particular event in as of yet, I was open to change (since my version of BO2 sucked anyway). She freaked out and kept apologizing about the mix up, and deleted everything that she wrote, which was basically the entire story, since she wrote most of it.
After a few years of not even speaking to each other, nor even looking at this doc, I saw the name of the story in my Google Docs files things, and it reminded me about how amazing her stories were, and it made me go into the "mood" and I seeked out her work. Fortunately, the account was still there, but unfortunately, and devastatingly, her stories were all deleted.
Finding this out actually brought tears to my eyes. All of those wonderful works - gone. It made me want to upload this to try and preserve her works out there in the public. Luckily enough, Google saves every single change that happened to the story, so I went to the save that had everything, and I'm hoping that it actually does have everything in here. I didn't even go through it to edit it or anything. I just downloaded it off of Google Drive (which is what it's called now), put it into a doc on here and uploading it right after I finish this rather lengthy author's note.
This is my plea to get her stories back onto this website. I wish to experience them again, Butterscotch. Please return to us.
And as always, please enjoy.
-Chapter ONE: His name is Woods-
May 7th, 2011
Glasgow, Scotland
John sighed as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. The heavy duffel bounced against his back as he stopped on the first landing, and sighed when he looked up at the next flight of stairs. The old tenement building where he kept an apartment was nearly a century old, and although it had its charm, it still had its share of problems.
The elevator was usually out of order, and the old windows rattled in the panes at the slightest breeze. But the rent was cheap and John only needed a place to hang his hat when he wasn't out of the country.
The swollen wood of the old entrance door took some force to open and John nearly fell through the door when it finally gave. He dropped the duffel by the door, and looked around at the place he called "home sweet home."
The smell of ancient wood and the gray film of dust covering the apartment forced him to crack open the windows to air the small apartment out.
John went to his bedroom and sat down on the bed. He slowly unlaced his boots, toed them off, and sat them neatly at the bedside. MacTavish stood up, felt the bones in his spine pop, and groaned. He pulled the black t-shirt over his head, and tossed it into the hamper by the bureau. He pulled off his jeans as he hopped around on one foot, and then sat down heavily on the bed.
He removed his socks and boxers, and tossed them into the hamper along with his jeans that still had the cell phone in the front left pocket. He lowered his head as if in defeat when he remembered the last time he had done that, and had to purchase a new phone when he found the former one in the washing machine.
John placed the phone on the bureau after retrieving it from the jeans, along with his watch, and dog tags. He had been wearing them for so long that they had become a part of him. He strolled into the bathroom, relieved himself, and stood gazing at his reflection in the mirror as he washed his hands.
Captain John "Soap" MacTavish had never been an exceptionally proud man when it came to his looks since vanity was not part of his personality. He was ruggedly handsome, with dark brown hair cut into a Mohawk, and skin now tanned from the hot, sunny climate of the Mideast. The complexion of his skin accentuated the stunning blue eyes, and made the scars on his face more pronounced as the old scar tissue remained pale.
John ran his blunt nails across the dark stubble along his jawline; he thought a shave would be nice but not until he had a nice hot shower to help soften the bristles. He turned away from the sink, pulled back the shower curtain, and turned on the faucets that had to be as old as the building. The pipes rumbled as the huge boiler in the basement forced itself to give up enough hot water to provide the weary soldier a much earned hot shower.
John took the time to strip his bed, remake it, and to grab a towel and washcloth from the small linen closet. By the time he was done, the steam had finally fogged the mirror.
He stepped into the old claw-foot tub, and pulled the curtain closed. He tilted his head back, and moaned deeply as the hot water cascaded over his body. The steam opened his pores, and the feel of the spray as it hit his skin was almost euphoric, as he ran the washcloth slowly over his taunt stomach.
As the pulsing of the water eased the tension from his muscles, the dark chest hair beaded with droplets, ran in rivulets down his body, plastering the dark hair to his legs, and swirled the drain.
John took his time, because to a soldier everything is done in a 'hit and run' fashion. A soldier learns to eat, and shower quickly. This was a treat for him, and he intended to enjoy it until the water ran cold.
John turned off the water, dried himself off, and retrieved his shaving kit from the bedroom. The breeze that blew through the open windows, made his skin instantly break out into goosebumps, and he shivered as he went around the small apartment to close them. He took no notice of his nakedness because to him it was nothing to be in a room full of men nude, so it was nothing to for him to be ashamed of in private.
MacTavish yawned, and returned to the bathroom to shave. He gently ran the shaving cream along his face, took out his razor, and shaved the stubble off. Soap was a man who was a neat freak, and all about organization, and so he rinsed the shaved hairs out of the sink, wiped it dry, and neatly placed his wet towel over the rack to dry before putting it into the hamper. He wiped the tub down until it was bone dry, and turned off the light as he left the bathroom.
His body, now relaxed to the point of boneless, forced him to climb beneath the blankets of the freshly made bed. His eyes slid closed, and he was snoring loudly within minutes. Hours into his deep slumber, John's eyes darted beneath his eyelids as he went into a dream state. He rolled to his side, his snores quieting down, as MacTavish began to dream of a moment from his past.
John landed on the sheet that the firefighters use to catch people as they jumped out of burning buildings while the man who saved Scot was below him as they landed on it. He loosened his grip on John's arms and flopped his arms to his sides as he waited for the younger male to regain his bearings. Once MacTavish had, however, he slowly lifted his head so he could stare into his savior's eyes. John immediately got locked into his gaze as he unknowingly longed to stare into his shimmering brown orbs forever.
He started to move his lips, but the Scot didn't hear them as he was way too focused on the eyes of his savior. He finally shook MacTavish as he came back into reality.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
John felt his heart flutter as he heard his voice for the first time. He noticed that it was amazingly smooth and kind, but he could also hear the battle-hardened strain one it as well.
"Uhh...yes, thank you." replied MacTavish, as he tried hard not to show longing in his voice.
He broke their eye contact as his head pivoted around the area. He realized that a lot of people started to stare at them both, but MacTavish didn't care.
"Could you get off of me? If it's not too rude?" he said after getting a little bit self-conscious about himself, and about the closeness. John's eyes widened as he said his last word, and the Scot started to push off of him by placing his hands beside him but on the trampoline as he pushed myself up.
"E-e-excuse me." he stammered. John felt his cheeks go red as he offered his hand to him so he could help the brown eyed one up. He gladly took it as he planted his feet into the ground hard so he wouldn't slide all over the place while MacTavish helped him up. He saw a group of three men that consisted of two old men, and a young one, probably in his early 30's, motion to his savior to join them as they had to leave the scene.
"Hey!" the Scot called out to him. "Before you go, may I know the name of the one who saved me from burning alive?"
He stopped in his tracks, turned his head, and with a smirk, he said: "Frank Woods. You?"
"John MacTavish. Thank you for saving my life, sir."
He closed his eyelids, shook he head, and moved his hands dismissively towards John's direction. "No biggie. Just stay out of trouble next time, John," He chuckled and winked.
MacTavish watched as he made his way towards his friends, grabbed his gun from the old man with sunglasses, and left the area. At that very moment, he realized that he wanted to be a soldier. He wanted to be in uniform and be proud of it. He wanted to be brave and help people. He wanted to bring every major threat down to save a lot of innocent people from being killed.
John MacTavish wanted to be just like Frank Woods, and as when he enlisted into the army that same afternoon, the Scot felt like he had the capacity to change the world for the better.
John opened his eyes slowly, and tried to recall the details of his dream. He placed his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes in concentration. MacTavish felt his heart palpitate as the face of a man from his past, the man who unknowingly inspired him, flitted through his mind.
John hadn't thought of the man in years, but the dream brought to him feelings of awkwardness. John MacTavish, now a grown man, felt his face flush like a schoolgirl, and he kicked himself mentally for not having control over thoughts that were those of a young man long gone.
"Frank Woods." He smiled as he spoke the man's name. John's smile widened as the memory from long ago back on February 22nd, 1997 came to him as if were yesterday.
John rolled slowly over onto his side, faced the windows, and watched as the morning light filtered in through the blinds. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and groaned as he sat up. When his feet hit the bare hardwood planks, he shivered, and stretched his body before rising up to go relieve himself.
Afterwards, he put on a pair of boxers and a pair of navy-blue denim jeans as well as a pair of brilliant white socks, had his breakfast, and started to watch a bit of television as he gave himself a short break before he finally decided to start going through his thick pile of paperwork his superiors sent him to do during his vacation.
An hour-and-a-half later, and around one-sixth of the way through the stack of paperwork, he earned a knock on the door. John grumbled, rubbed his temples, and stood to answer. He crossed the floor to heavily scarred wooden door that kept his sanctuary from the prying eyes of unwanted company. Without removing the chain lock, he peeked out to see who it was.
MacTavish's smirk widened when he saw the man who stood in the hallway. He opened the door wide and gestured for him to enter.
"Hey neighbour." he said as he made his way into John's apartment. "Long time no see."
"It's nice to see you too, Sersh." John replied as he forced the door to close behind him.
John went over to his desk, as he offered his visitor a seat, and closed up his laptop, and placed the documents into his briefcase.
"So what's been up Sersh? How's life?" John sat beside him on the sofa, and picked up the remote.
John had always found his neighbor attractive, but he would never act on it. Saoirse Taylor was a very attractive man. The dark hair, and amazingly bright blue eyes gave him a classic Scottish look. His lithe form was graceful, but muscular, not really John's type but he could indulge if the other would instigate.
"Oh nothing really. Just wanted to stop in to see how you're doing mate...that's all." Sersh smiled and, nervously picked at the loose strands along the cuff of his jeans.
The men talked casually about nothing in particular. John looked at the time, and knew he had to get back to work, and so Sersh left to allow the man to take care of his business. After John closed the door, Sersh stood in the corridor, and stared at the door for nearly five minutes before walking away. He was never a bashful person, but there was something about MacTavish that made him feel different.
Sersh had been in one long term relationship, and it did not end well, but he sometimes wondered it the laid back man whom he considered a friend could be much more. He looked back over his shoulder, and hesitated before sadly shaking his head and headed back to his door, which was right across from MacTavish's.
Sersh entered his apartment, closed the door softly, and went to his bedroom. He closed the blinds, undressed, and slid beneath the bed covers. He laid on his side, as he chewed on his thumbnail, and wondered if he could even approach the other. He didn't think he could take the rejection, and so Sersh thought it would be best to leave it alone. For now, at least.
As the cool sheet slid across his naked form, Sersh emitted a low moan. When his lips parted, he began to pant. His right hand ran over his stomach, and down into the curls of his dark pubic hair. His left hand went above his head to grasp one of the metal rails of the headboard, and he brought up his knees, and spread his legs.
"Ah...fuck...fuck." Sersh panted as his graceful fingers gently stroked along his cock.
He ran his fingers along the veins, and his hips instantly began to buck upwards. Sersh took in short breaths, and exhaled out as his head tossed back and forth across the pillow beneath his head. He brought his left hand down from the headboard and started to finger himself as he continued his actions.
"Oh...John...John...more...please." His strokes increased as he visualized Soap being the one penetrating him.
When his finger pushed past the ring of muscle Sersh crooked his finger, and stroked his canal. He probed for his prostate, as he threw his head back, and growled. He couldn't get enough as he brought his knees up, and dug his heels into the mattress for leverage. The bed shook as the headboard banged against the wall. His sweat covered form glistened in the light filtering in through the blinds, and his eyes began to water with tears.
"Yes...yes...almost...there!" He ground out from beneath clenched teeth.
Sersh knew he was near his end, as his body tightened, and his back arched off of the sweat covered sheet. He cried out as his stomach and hand were coated with his seed.
He shivered as his body jerked from the overload, and Sersh closed his eyes to bring himself down from the sexual pleasure that coursed through every nerve in his body. His heart rate lowered, and he smiled at the feeling of being fully sated.
His eyes teared up even more as he longed for the moment when Soap would be between his legs. He was not a needy man, but he couldn't get the other off of his mind. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have the man's attention, to be in his company, and in his bed. His last thought was of John MacTavish as he slowly fell into a deep sleep.
In the other apartment, MacTavish looked around has he heard a muffled thumping noise. He was even more confused when he heard it stop after around seven minutes.
'What the hell?' MacTavish thought as he gradually started his work again.
He had a quarter left of his work to do when he decided it was time to call it a night and get some sleep. He closed his laptop, organized his completed work into a briefcase, and got out a rather large elastic band to keep the remaining paper work in one bunch as he made a mental note of it to complete it tomorrow.
He walked over towards his bedroom door as he rubbed his eyelids to get rid of the sleep in his eyes. Once he reached the left side of his bed, he quickly ridden his body of the jeans and boxers he wore as he threw them towards his hamper. He then took off both of his socks, making himself completely naked and ready for bed.
He shivered as he covered his naked body with the cold covers as his body began to warm itself up again. His eyes started to flutter closed as drowsiness started to consume his mind. He stared up at the soft white ceiling and when a picture of the man wearing a bandanna and smirked to himself as his mind was being kind to him that night.
He felt his member stiffen as he was being consumed further and further into subconsciousness. His head slowly dropped to the left as he fully closed his eyes, and smiled to himself. He knew, right then and there, that he was in love with the man who saved him fourteen years ago.
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P.S.: Again, please don't worry about AINF. It's currently in the works.