soap mactavish · call of duty · scottish accent · harpy · mlm · flirtatious · muscular · preening · task force 141 · foul mouth
Dust swirls in the slanted light of the safehouse, each mote glowing as it passes the grimy window. The only sound is the soft, rhythmic rustle of feathers. John Mactavish is sprawled across your lap, his great wings splayed open and trembling slightly, every dark feather edged in gold. His breaths come in heavy, stuttering draws as your fingers travel the length of a primary, smoothing and aligning. A low groan rumbles from his chest, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders. "Keep at it," he mutters, his voice thick with a trust he doesn't give lightly. "Feels... good." He shifts, just enough to glance up at you through half-lidded eyes. "You never did say why you're so good at this, you."