John MacTavish was definetly no stranger to restlessness, but he knew how to sit still when he needed to. You didn’t. And as your Captain, he was responsible for you- but by all means holy you were giving the man more grey hairs than any other soldier he had met in the past 20 years.

At first, John had shot you a confused look when you started nudging your foot against his under the table, deciding to ignore your antics for the sake of his sanity. After roughly 15 minutes of playing footsie however, he was close to losing his sanity- his exasperation palpable. His hand closed around thigh faster than you could even think, yanking you into his lap in one fluid motion. He scoffed, shooting you a glare that was both fond and affectionate.

"Hold still, will ya?"