#soft!soap

While he contemplates where the idea even came from, weather he should really bother to reply, he adjusts to wrap an arm around your shoulders to properly pull you into his chest. Only when you've successfully melted against him does he reach a conclusion. "What do i get in return?"

That same frown he sported seconds ago has now taken place on your brows, "oh, so we're trading now?" You feel the vibrations of his chest more than you hear his laugh, your eyes momentarily drifting shut when one of his hands sneaks under your shirt to begin tracing mindless shapes against your back. Just a few seconds later you remember the topic of conversation, tilting your head back to look at him. "Why would i give something in return?"

There's a light bob of your head as he shrugs, his free hand cupping the back of it as if to stabilise it. "Ye want an answer, don't ye?" It's quiet for a moment, mostly the sounds coming from the busy street under the cracked window filling the space while you take your time to ponder your decision.

With an eye roll, you end up leaning in, giving a teasing nuzzle of your nose against his before trapping his lips in a kiss. It starts slow, patient, both of you familiar enough to know how much you should tilt your head or who cradles a cheek.

The movement are still languid when you pull back, pressing a feather-light peck to his lips, that try to chase after you, before properly looking at him again. "So?"

He gives a light hum, big hand adjusting to cup your chin, the calloused pad of his thumb lightly tracing your shiny bottom lip. "Need more payment, bon. Nae enough." You don't get enough time to argue, instead being guided in until your lips clash against his.

It's not so calm this time, his mouth is greedy against yours, his tongue sneaking past your parted lips to lick against yours. For a moment you think this will be it, your hands moving to hold onto his shoulders, ready to pull back. Instead he's faster, free arm wrapping around your waist to pull you from his side and onto his lap.

It doesn't take long for you to forget about everything else, mind hazy and only able to focus on the feeling of his lips, his tongue, all over you. The light string of spit that forms between you two, the following path he traces from your lips to your jaw, down the slope of your neck and to the just-revealed dip of your clavicles.

You barely register it, the word he mumbles against your skin, as he easily turns the both of you around so he can pin you under him. You're too busy running your fingers through his hair, arching your back into his trailing kisses and spreading your legs so he can fit nicely between them. "Huh?"

He lets a soft laugh out, much more capable at multitasking that you're right now, easily sliding your underwear down your thighs while he looks back at you. "Asked me, did nae? Said I'd be a cowboy."

More soft!soap

However, he’s going back on deployment in less than a week and you’re getting increasingly busy in your job, being eligible for a promotion. So you both agree, that night doesn't change anything, you’re still friends. So what, if you sleep with each other when either of you needs to scratch the itch? 

Just like your relationship up until now, it evolves naturally. You both stay on that thin line surprisingly well, not really committed to each other nor more than friends, but also with no need to seek anyone else. At least that’s at the beginning. 

Because then there starts to be small gestures, small decisions that feel more deep than they have until now. Outings just the two of you that feel too close to a romantic date to be called anything else, really. Compliments and sweet gifts become regularly interchanged –he gives you flowers or chocolates when he picks you up, you give him a small plushy of a rubber duck you saw, saying it just made sense for someone that goes by Soap–. 

But of course, you say nothing, because it works too well and feels too natural to really care. And also because, maybe, you’re a little worried that bringing it up might pop the bubble and undo all of it. After all, you both had agreed, you’re too busy for commitment and so is he, so you’ll take this. Whatever it is. 

That is until the day Johnny was supposed to come back from deployment. 

You’re sick like a dog, a stupid virus that had gone all throughout the office and had finally caught up to you. For the first time since you joined the group, you’re not going to be at Johnny's little welcome back reunion at the pub. Before you can feel guilty about it your friends reassure you, he’ll understand. Plus, all half of them had gone through the nasty cold already and could vouch on how horrible it feels. 

Luckily enough you don’t get to dwell too much on guilt, because with your feverish and incredibly sore state, you settle down on the couch inside a cocoon of blankets, falling asleep before the initial credits of the movie you put on for background noise even finish. 

No wonder you feel completely disoriented when you wake up, not even half of the movie having played yet, due to your doorbell ringing. You’re not too sure if it’s real, still too groggy from both sleep and the sickness, before it rings again. 

With a grunt you get up, dragging your cocoon along, even more confused when you see Johnny standing there. “Johnny…?” you mumbled, definitely feeling delirious now. It must be the fever, right? There’s no way he’s at your doorstep, his eyes worriedly taking in your sickly appearance and carrying a bag that probably contains medication and soup. 

“Oh bonnie, ye definitely have a fever, don’t ye?” He says, his tone coming out soft and quiet, almost worried he’ll give you a headache just from his voice. The moment his hand touches your forehead before moving to cup your cheek you know he’s actually there, your eyes closing as you pretty much melt into his touch, which is surprisingly soft and gentle. 

You barely even register when he easily picks you up, closing the door behind the two of you with his foot, carrying you directly to your bedroom. By the time your brain manages to catch up, you're all warm and cosy in your bed. You don’t really get the chance to complain anyway, because he’s already fussing over you. 

He helps you sit up against the headboard so he can spoon-feed you the soup he brought, make you take the over the counter meds he got at the pharmacy at the end of your street, and drink enough water to make sure you stay hydrated. He leaves for barely a minute, taking the bowl to the kitchen once you've eaten all of it and getting an extra blanket from the couch. Soon enough he’s back with you. 

This time he helps you lay down, getting into bed right beside you and pulling you close so you can rest against his chest. He doesn’t have to ask, immediately putting on your comfort movie as one of his hands moves to rub your back, making up random patterns as he goes.

“You should be in the pub,” you finally get to reprimand, although it doesn’t have the scolding tone you would’ve liked, given that you’re already half-asleep and melting against the comfort of his body's warmth and soothing touch.  

A light scoff leaves him, as if he was offended by it. “Nah bonnie, should be here taking care of ye. No fun without ye there, anyway.” he’s quick to correct, adjusting to pull you a bit more against him. “We’ll go when ye feel better. Now rest.”

And to be fair, you can’t really argue with that, not with the way your eyes close in their own, nor with how relaxed and loose your body feels thanks to the meds he had brought. So you just give a small nod, melting further against his chest and slowly drifting off. 

But what really confirms it, what makes you know you’re both on the same page, is what happens next. Because Johnny smiles to himself and feeling overly confident about your sleeping state, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before whispering a soft "gotta get better so i can take ye out, bonnie. Have to tell ye i love ye properly."

You’re really thankful of how tired you are, because it takes all of your will to not sit up and go on and on about how much you love him too. Instead a small smile pulls at your lips, and you just shift that little bit closer. It’s okay, you can tell him you feel the same way right after this nap. 

His usually closely shaved sides would get long enough for fingers to be able to run though and hold onto them, your fingers. Gods how he loved your fingers running through his hair, massaging his scalp as you shampooed it or while his head rested on your lap during movie night.

And the centre part growing long and fluffy enough to fall onto his forehead, long enough to be pulled into small ponytails and braids that stayed upright. The giggles that would leave you making him smile as he sat on the floor in front of you, head leaning back against your thighs as you did silly hairstyles on him.

And just thinking about the way you would hold onto his hair and pull when his head was buried in between your legs would make his mouth water, your whimpers and moans resonating in his mind. The same gesture but rougher when you were on top of him, being the one pulling soft and whiny sounds out of him, the main cause of his daydreams.

Yet what he would define as his favourite part of it was right now. He was sitting on a stepstool in the shower, head leaning forward and the buzzing of the clippers on your hands filling the room. Your fingers carefully run through his hair, making sure to make an even and straight part before ridding the sides of fluffy hair.

Brows adorably pinched together as you focus, now standing in front of him, hand cupping his chin as the other carefully takes away length from what it’s starting to be a proper mohawk. A smile tugging at the corners of his lips at your focused expression, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs fitted between his, patiently waiting for you to be done.

His smile only gets bigger once the frown between your brows is replaced for a smile that matches his, your hands dust some of the loose hair off his bare shoulders. “What do you think?” you ask, presenting a small handheld mirror in front of him.

You smile amusedly, running your fingers through his mohawk, pushing it back so it won’t stick to his clammy forehead. “You turn into such a baby.” you joke, receiving yet another side eye. You giggle and lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, which is enough for him to soften a bit. “Here, this’ll help.” You say, handing him the little cup with the medicine in it, you were honestly glad you weren’t sick too, because that thing was disgusting.

“Bonnie, no.” he grumbles, covering his face with a pillow, hiding from the tiny cup. It’s another minute of his dramatics before he sighs and pushes the pillow to the side, grabbing the medicine and throwing it back as if it were a tequila shot. He makes a grimace and shudders as he gulps it down. “That tastes horrible.” he complains as he leans back against the pillows.

You chuckle, “It’s supposed to taste bad so babies don’t chug it down or something like that.” You take the small cup from him and leave it on the bedside table, handing him water to wash off the flavour.

“Yeah, no wonder they won’t.” He grumbles, drinking about half of the cup before giving it back. He twists and turns again, burying his head in the mountain of pillows he has accumulated. He looks at you for a moment before a small grin appears, “Give me a kiss to make it better.” he says, puckering his lips.

You roll your eyes but lean in anyway, pressing a soft peck to his lips. “Nuh-uh,” you say before he complains, “that’s all you get. I don’t want to be sick.”

He sighs, burying his head on the pillows again. “Is it illegal to be clingy?” He asks indignantly, “Because I dinnae think so. I'm sick, I need kisses. And attention.” he keeps on grumbling. It just makes you chuckle again, more so because he’s had a hand resting on your leg this whole time.

“You’re always clingy, darling.” You tease with a smile, another laugh leaving you as he huffs and puffs indignantly, having to fight with his pile of pillows to turn and look at you.

“I need yer touch, bonnie. I dinnae ken how long I have left.” he justifies, sitting up a bit to wrap his arms around you and pull you down on the bed with him, causing you to yelp. In just a second he’s laying with his head on your chest, arms around your waist and legs tangled with yours. He lets out a small sigh, absolutely pleased with himself.

You let out a soft laugh, wrapping your arms around him, one hand moving to play with his hair. “Love, you’ve got the flu, you’re not on your deathbed. You’ve been through worse” you say bemused.