*Chef’s Kiss*

The first time Mac met Nikolai was when his sergeant had disappeared to go have a smoke outside base to “clear his head”, and was found later by his captain getting his guts rearranged in the back of the criminal pilot’s helicopter.

Mac hated Nik’s guts ever since then. Fucking his sergeant like some wild animal and thinking he wouldn’t find out about it? Not to mention the age difference. While Johnathan was 23, Nik was a smooth 32.

Old bastard.

He quickly gets back into the captain’s good graces though after he’d saved his team from a botched mission, as well as left his favorite biscuits, mint crisps, and a bottle of expensive whiskey on his desk as an apology. Not to mention that a perk of having Nik around is that he keeps John busy so that he’s not a pain in his arse all the time.

Where he’d been drawing penises on Mac’s very important paperwork, he was now helping Nik fix up his helicopter or doing his own paperwork across from Mac’s desk with the pilot by his side watching on. Sometimes they’d even read together, and Mac found that sweet.

What the captain liked the most though was when he could call on Nik to handle John when he was being pissy.

All it took was a quick text or phone call when the brat’s back was turned, and then suddenly Nik is pulling John out of his office with a “happy” expression on his face, claiming that they were gonna go “fix” his helicopter.

Little did John know, it wasn’t the helicopter that was gonna get fixed.

Hehe, the last part made me giggle🤭

Something something about John telling Nik to pick up some alcohol at the store, something like a bud light and all. Nothing too fancy, something to chase down peanuts during game season.

Nik comes back with a crate of red wine from France. Same day delivery apparently.

John face palms, and wonders if it'll be too late to argue with Nik.

Football night has now turned into a mix of watching the telly and swatting Niks hands away from his tits.

Firm believer in sassy/bratty!price supremacy.

I think a few teeth rotted away with this one👏🏾

Price washes Niks hair. That's it pfft.

Theres more under the cut!!

cw: literally none this is sickeningly sweet

The bathroom was warm, steam clinging to the mirror and softening the edges of the small space. Price adjusted the shower-head, the gentle hiss of water filling the quiet. He tested the temperature with his fingers, warm but not scalding, before glancing down at Nik.

Nik sat on the floor, his back pressed against the cool porcelain of the tub. His injured arm was cradled in a sling, the tight bandages beneath his shirt peeking out at the edges. Price had straddled his thighs, his knees bracketing Nik’s hips as he leaned forward to work.

Nik shifted slightly, his good hand resting loosely on Price’s knee, his thumb absently brushing the soft fabric of Price’s sweatpants. His hair had become quite long now, reaching just above his shoulders, framing his face in loose , dark waves that caught faintly in the warm light overhead. Price could tell it was a tangled mess, he was determined to fix it.

“This alright?” Price asked as he folded a towel with deliberate care and tucked it behind Nik’s neck. The softness of the fabric was a small contrast to the firm edge of the tub.

Nik blinked up at him, his good hand flexing slightly in his lap, then looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yes,” he muttered.

Price frowned, leaning in a little closer, his hands braced lightly on Nik’s chest for balance. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” Nik said quickly, waving vaguely with his free hand. “Just… your fussing.”

Price snorted softly, the sound blending with the rhythmic drip of water into the tub, but he didn’t press. Instead, he adjusted his posture, settling into a more comfortable crouch. The warmth of his legs against Nik’s made the latter shift slightly, though his good hand didn’t leave Price’s knee.

“Right, let’s get this sorted,” Price said, reaching for the shower-head. “You’ve been wandering around all week with your hair looking like a bird’s nest, haven’t you? Can’t have that now that I’m back, can we?”

Nik chuckled, his voice low and rough, though his face was still turned slightly to the side. “Are you saying I look unkempt?”

“I’m saying you’ve been looking like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge, love,” Price replied, grinning as he tilted the shower-head. The water streamed in soft rivulets, soaking Nik’s hair. Price used his free hand to shield Nik’s face, his thumb brushing lightly along Nik’s temple.

Nik sighed as the warmth spread through his scalp, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. The water ran down the back of his neck, pooling slightly where Price had placed the towel earlier. “You are enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” Price said, grabbing the bottle of shampoo. He flicked it open with a thumb, the faint citrusy scent filling the air as he squeezed some into his palm. “Get to run my hands through your hair, keep you quiet for a bit. What’s not to like?”

Nik huffed out a laugh but didn’t argue, his good hand pressing a little firmer against Price’s knee, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles. “It feels wrong, you doing this for me after the week you have had.”

“Not this again,” Price muttered, lathering the shampoo between his hands. The soapy foam felt slick between his fingers as he began working it through Nik’s soaked hair. His palms brushed the edges of Nik’s forehead, and his fingers combed through the longer strands with steady, deliberate care. “I told you, I want to do this. You’ve been walking around all week without washing it because of that bloody shoulder. Can’t say I’d let you try it one-handed, either, though I’m sure you’ve tried.”

Nik chuckled, his head tipping forward slightly as Price’s fingers moved through his hair. The gentle pressure on his scalp drew a quiet, involuntary hum from him before he could stop it.

“See? That’s the sound of a man being thoroughly pampered,” Price teased, his voice soft but smug.

Nik let out a low sigh, his eyes drifting shut as he leaned back slightly, his hand brushing up towards Price’s thigh, squeezing absent-mindedly at the muscles there. “No need to be so smug, Mishka.”

Price chuckled, his fingers continuing their slow, steady work. “Too late for that.”

Nik didn’t reply, though the corners of his mouth twitched in the faintest of smiles. His shoulders softened further under Price’s touch as the soothing rhythm of his hands worked away the last of the shampoo.

The warm water cascaded over Nik’s hair again as Price rinsed it clean, taking care to keep any stray suds from running into Nik’s face. By the time he reached for the conditioner, the faint tang of citrus had mellowed into a subtler freshness.

“How’s that shoulder feeling today?” Price asked, his voice quieter now.

Nik shifted slightly beneath him, the sling pressing against Price’s chest with the movement. “Better than yesterday.”

“Good,” Price murmured, smoothing the conditioner through the damp strands. His hands moved slower now, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly over the ends of Nik’s hair. “You’ll be back to giving me hell in no time.”

Nik cracked an eye open, his gaze warm despite his teasing tone. “Am I not giving you hell now?”

“You calling this hell?” Price smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Nik grumbled something under his breath, low and indistinct, but the sound of it made Price grin anyway.

The conditioner rinsed away easily, leaving Nik’s hair softer than it had been in weeks. Price grabbed the towel he’d left nearby, unfolding it and gently patting the damp strands dry. Nik shifted slightly beneath him, pressing his good hand against Price’s thigh for balance as he raised his head back up slowly.

“Better?” Price asked, his voice quieter now.

Nik opened his eyes fully, his gaze unguarded as he looked at Price. “Better,” he said, the simple word carrying a weight that made Price pause.

“Good,” Price murmured, setting the towel aside. He cupped Nik’s face with one hand, his thumb brushing along his cheekbone as he leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re stuck with me, love, like a tick.”

Nik sighed, but his lips quirked upwards in a faint smile. “How romantic.”

“Swept you off your feet, have I?” Price replied, his grin widening.

Nik huffed softly, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and let his head tip forward until it rested briefly against Price’s chest, uncaring that it would leave a wet spot on Price’s shirt. He didn’t speak, but the way his good hand slid up to wrap around Price’s waist said enough.

The bathroom was quiet for a moment, save for the soft drip of water from the shower-head and the occasional rustle of fabric as Price’s thumb traced slow, absent circles at the nape of Nik’s neck. The tension there had eased under his touch, and the steady rhythm seemed to lull Nik into a state of quiet contentment.

He pressed a soft kiss against Nik’s dark hair, his hand brushing back a strand that had fallen into Nik’s face. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Let’s get you on your feet.”

Nik didn’t move immediately, his head remaining against Price’s chest for just a second longer before he sighed and leaned back. Price shifted carefully, adjusting his knees so he didn’t jostle Nik’s injured arm. He reached down, his hands firm but gentle as he clasped Nik’s good hand and slid his other arm around his back for support.

“Take your time,” Price said quietly, his voice soothing as he braced Nik. He rose slowly, steadying Nik as he did, their movements unhurried. Nik’s grip tightened briefly on Price’s forearm, his balance a little off, but Price held him steady, his free hand brushing over Nik’s lower back in reassurance.

“You alright?” Price asked, his blue eyes scanning Nik’s face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

Nik nodded, though his weight shifted subtly into Price’s hold. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice a little rough.

“Good,” Price said, guiding him toward the door with an arm looped lightly around his waist now. He paused just long enough to grab an extra dry towel, draping it gently around Nik’s shoulders and patting at the damp strands of his hair once more.

“You spoil me,” Nik said, his voice light but his gaze holding a quiet sincerity.

“And you deserve every bit of it,” Price replied, his tone matching Nik’s as he gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, let’s get you sorted before your hair dries funny.”

Nik laughed, low and rich, the sound wrapping around Price like a warm blanket. For a moment, Price forgot about the long week he’d had, the mission that had worn him thin, and the worry of leaving Nik to fend for himself. All that mattered was the man standing before him, safe and cared for.

And that was more than enough.

This is just.. *chef’s kiss*🤌🏾🤌🏾

messing around with simon's face again...

They were never ugly, they just never met your unrealistic standards of how someone’s “supposed” to look.

John and Nik try not to make promises to each other that they know they can’t keep, especially if it’s against unfair circumstances or the situation is completely out of their hands, yet for some reason they always promise each other that they’d come back to one another alive. Maybe not in the best condition, but breathing nonetheless.

That was a mistake however, Nik realizes, because now as he’s standing in front of a headstone with the name of a certain Captain with blue eyes that’ll never shine again, he comes to the realization that nothing in this cruel, unfair world was ever guaranteed.

His ability to walk.

His ability to have control over his bird.

His ability to wake up every morning beside his lover.

His ability to get the Captain and his team to safety.

His ability to be able to hold his lover, to keep him warm.

His ability to hold him even when he was already going cold.

None of it was guaranteed, and now Nik has to live with that burning reminder.

I need Price to sit on Nikolai's lap while he shaves him with an old-timey razor.

The absolute trust Nik puts in his favorite captain's hands, his own palms resting on Price's thigh, gently stroking them as he watches him work with such affection in his dark eyes. Price is focused, pushing Nik's head back as he works on his neck, blade scrapping against his skin, a steady and precise hand.

When Nikolai gets too eager to touch him, unable to sit still, and the blade leaves a small cut into his neck, all he can do is smile, a short, teasing "oops" leaving his lips as he stares into Price's disapproving eyes.

With a brush of his thumb, John wipes away the small droplets of blood, but doesn't have time to clean his finger on the nearby towel, Nikolai instead grabbing his hand and his lips closing around his thumb, licking his own blood off of John's finger.

"Bloody animal." John says, an attempt at a frown failed by the affectionate crinkle of his eyes.

"You love it." Nikolai answers, letting go of John's hand, but not before placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

The soft humming that comes from John is enough of an answer, as the captain pushes Nik's head back, resuming his work.

Nikolai’s favorite thing on John is his thighs(and his ass, but that’s a story for another day).

He loves the plump firmness of them, loves to squeeze them or feel them squeeze him, and whenever John’s sitting somewhere or laying down, he’ll lay his head right in his lap and doze off or read a book.

…

Whenever he’s eating John out, he’ll purposely change paces to feel him clench around his head and grind against his face, barely having the luxury of hearing those deep, wanton noises the Captain makes as he approaches his inevitable climax.

If he suffocates, he’ll do it with dignity.. and spend on face.

John Price who's tired after missions.

John Price who strips his gear haphazardly and slides on his last clean shirt and sweatpants.

John Price who rubs his face dramatically, huffs, and ignores the after action report he needs to finish up.

John Price who collapses on to the couch in his office, sprawled out on the thing that's almost too small for him.

John Price who doses off right then and there, not caring an ounce for his comfort otherwise.

John Price who barely cracks an eye open when the door to his office drifts open, the warm light from the hall seeping into the dark room, and a particularly exhausted Sergeant enters.

John Price who closes his eyes and just opens his arms, accepting the weight of one Kyle Garrick on top of him, wrapping his arms around the man.

John Price who breaths in time with Gaz as the smaller man shoves his nose into John's shoulder, to which John sighs contentedly.

John Price who doesn't open his eyes when the door cracks open again and the familiar presence of one sleepy Scotsman shoves his way onto the couch next to them, somehow, impossibly, perfectly. The warmth of one John Mactavish burrowing into his side.

John Price who moves his arm so that one is around Gaz and the other is around Soap, sprawled and wrapped into each other on the couch that's definitely too small for them.

John Price who hardly notices when the door opens again, and one silently tired Lieutenant sits on the floor, leaning back against the couch.

John Price who reaches over, gives the man's shoulder one good squeeze, and his hand is caught in the callused fingers of one Simon Riley.

John Price whose eyes scrunch in a smile when his hand is graced with one gentle press of lips before it's released.

John Price who sleeps warm and comfortable in his pile.

John Price who's tired after missions,

but never too tired for his boys.

John Price who eventually snores but all of them are too exhausted to move and are undeniably comforted by the noise anyway.