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"It's not my job." Cody huffs. "Besides, she's on one. Heard she dumped her coffee on Tiffy."

"I might too," Harris tosses back. "She's an idiot, like her boss."

You almost argue that Penelope is as good as all your boss. She might not be directly upwards but she could have any of you out of a job. She might just if you don't give her time tonforget your unfortunately stray into the spotlight.

"I know, I just thought..."

"Oh yeah, didn't you fuck up?" Harris chortles.

"Typical," Cody rolls his eyes. "You ladies should stick to makeup."

You frown. They are so annoying. Whatever. If they did it, you'd probably have to redo it anyway.

You give up on the firmware updates and grab your gear. You clip your radio to your belt and head down to the studio stage. Penelope is there growling at Tiffany and tugging her limp waves.

"What the hell did you do to my extensions?"

"Nothing, they look good." Tiffany insists as she spritzes hair spray and tries to add volume.

"That's not what I asked. I always look good." Penelope retorts.

"Where's the guest?" You ask Karlsen, the stage director.

"Late. Kid called to say he got stuck on Sunset... Somehow." Karlsen shakes his head.

Right, no distracting yourself.

You approach Penelope as she sits in her chair. You take out a clip-on mic and look for the best place to put it on her busy dress. She barely notices as you slip it behind a ruffle.

"Where's my coffee?" Penelope snips.

Tiffany looks down at her stained satin blouse. "Mick went for a refill--"

"You are all useless." She whines and swats you away like a fly.

You back up, avoiding her manicure, and she once more fusses at her hair. She's usually in a mood but since yesterday, she's been a terror. You can't help but feel responsible.

"...thanks very much. Every studio is the same yet different, huh?" The deep voice carries before the man appears.

It isn't the expected young actor and his reddish curls, but the same as the day before. What's going on? Napoleon Solo, action star, three time sexiest man of the year, enters with an armful of flowers; violets, daisies, carnations, roses, in a dozen shades of pink, purple, and cream. A lovely wild array.

"Ah, so you've come to apologise," Penelope scoffs as she stands and struts over. She reaches for the bouquet.

He lifts a brow. "If I assumed you had any sense of self-awareness, I might expect the same of you," he keeps the flowers away from her easily. "No, I spoke with Larry. The footage will be scrapped." His blue eyes barely graze her as he turns and searches the stage. "Ah, there you are." He walks towards you as your confusion has you frozen. He holds out the flowers and you stare. "My appreciation."

You blink and glance over at Penelope. She's fuming, lip curled, shaking. You put your palms up.

"Sir, I really don't think I can. Uh... It's a nice gesture and all but... I really can't." You sniff. "It's not professional."

He tilts his head. "Don't let her spoil it," he pushes the flowers at you again.

"Really, Mr. Solo--"

"Napoleon," he intones with a crooked grin. Then he says your name. You almost cringe. "I know you remember me. I remember you."

You stand, uncertain. Your heart pumps wildly and your ears thrum. All at once, the bouquet sends up a puff of petals and you back up as Penelope snatches them and swings them into the floor. The flowers explode into a cloud of stems and petals.

"As gracious as ever," Napoleon remarks tersely.

"You come into my studio." Penelope clings to the few stems still bound on the ribbon and pokes him with it. "And insult me like this. For a tech?" Her voice is shrill. "For this creature--"

She pulls her arm back again and aims at you. He catches the stems easily and yanks them from her grasps. He growls and throws them in her face.

"I don't think you realise how little power you actually have," Napoleon says evenly. "Your a name on a script. No one watches for you, darling."

She balls her hands and stomps, like a toddler in a tiara and plastic heels. "You are so stupid--"

She raises her fists as if to hit his chest and he snags them in his large hands. He walks her backwards as she squeals. He doesn't let go until she sits in her chair.

"Expect my complaint to be followed by legal notice," he brushes a fingertip over his palm. He turns and looks at Karlsen, "if those cameras are rolling, don't wipe the footage."

"Wouldn't think if it," Karlsen can't help but smirk.

Napoleon retreats and stops by you, "you'll need a new job, I expect." He pauses and feels inside his powder blue jacket. "My agent will arrange it." He hands over a card. You accept it, speechless.

"See you in court, Penelope." He turns and strides out. You quickly hide the card. Penelope stands and storms over to kick around the ruins of the flowers.

"Clean this up! Now!" She hollers as stomps past you. "You will all pay for this!”

You don't bother to try to get the mic back. Instead, you turn to help Tiffany clean up the flowers. The rest of the crew whisper in confusion. What do they do now?

As you father up the bent stems, you feel heat on your nape. You peek over and notice how everyone is watching you. Even Tiffany stops tidying to look at you.

You frown and ignore them as best as you can. You didn't ask for any of this. As nice as it is for him to want to make up for Penelope's behaviour, it's the worst thing Napoleon could have done. Especially for you.

“Hey, I'm here, I'm here!” The guest, Peter Parker rushes in, his shirt button unevenly and his hair askew. He stops short and looks around. “What happened here?”

"It's not my job." Cody huffs. "Besides, she's on one. Heard she dumped her coffee on Tiffy."

"I might too," Harris tosses back. "She's an idiot, like her boss."

You almost argue that Penelope is as good as all your boss. She might not be directly upwards but she could have any of you out of a job. She might just if you don't give her time tonforget your unfortunately stray into the spotlight.

"I know, I just thought..."

"Oh yeah, didn't you fuck up?" Harris chortles.

"Typical," Cody rolls his eyes. "You ladies should stick to makeup."

You frown. They are so annoying. Whatever. If they did it, you'd probably have to redo it anyway.

You give up on the firmware updates and grab your gear. You clip your radio to your belt and head down to the studio stage. Penelope is there growling at Tiffany and tugging her limp waves.

"What the hell did you do to my extensions?"

"Nothing, they look good." Tiffany insists as she spritzes hair spray and tries to add volume.

"That's not what I asked. I always look good." Penelope retorts.

"Where's the guest?" You ask Karlsen, the stage director.

"Late. Kid called to say he got stuck on Sunset... Somehow." Karlsen shakes his head.

Right, no distracting yourself.

You approach Penelope as she sits in her chair. You take out a clip-on mic and look for the best place to put it on her busy dress. She barely notices as you slip it behind a ruffle.

"Where's my coffee?" Penelope snips.

Tiffany looks down at her stained satin blouse. "Mick went for a refill--"

"You are all useless." She whines and swats you away like a fly.

You back up, avoiding her manicure, and she once more fusses at her hair. She's usually in a mood but since yesterday, she's been a terror. You can't help but feel responsible.

"...thanks very much. Every studio is the same yet different, huh?" The deep voice carries before the man appears.

It isn't the expected young actor and his reddish curls, but the same as the day before. What's going on? Napoleon Solo, action star, three time sexiest man of the year, enters with an armful of flowers; violets, daisies, carnations, roses, in a dozen shades of pink, purple, and cream. A lovely wild array.

"Ah, so you've come to apologise," Penelope scoffs as she stands and struts over. She reaches for the bouquet.

He lifts a brow. "If I assumed you had any sense of self-awareness, I might expect the same of you," he keeps the flowers away from her easily. "No, I spoke with Larry. The footage will be scrapped." His blue eyes barely graze her as he turns and searches the stage. "Ah, there you are." He walks towards you as your confusion has you frozen. He holds out the flowers and you stare. "My appreciation."

You blink and glance over at Penelope. She's fuming, lip curled, shaking. You put your palms up.

"Sir, I really don't think I can. Uh... It's a nice gesture and all but... I really can't." You sniff. "It's not professional."

He tilts his head. "Don't let her spoil it," he pushes the flowers at you again.

"Really, Mr. Solo--"

"Napoleon," he intones with a crooked grin. Then he says your name. You almost cringe. "I know you remember me. I remember you."

You stand, uncertain. Your heart pumps wildly and your ears thrum. All at once, the bouquet sends up a puff of petals and you back up as Penelope snatches them and swings them into the floor. The flowers explode into a cloud of stems and petals.

"As gracious as ever," Napoleon remarks tersely.

"You come into my studio." Penelope clings to the few stems still bound on the ribbon and pokes him with it. "And insult me like this. For a tech?" Her voice is shrill. "For this creature--"

She pulls her arm back again and aims at you. He catches the stems easily and yanks them from her grasps. He growls and throws them in her face.

"I don't think you realise how little power you actually have," Napoleon says evenly. "Your a name on a script. No one watches for you, darling."

She balls her hands and stomps, like a toddler in a tiara and plastic heels. "You are so stupid--"

She raises her fists as if to hit his chest and he snags them in his large hands. He walks her backwards as she squeals. He doesn't let go until she sits in her chair.

"Expect my complaint to be followed by legal notice," he brushes a fingertip over his palm. He turns and looks at Karlsen, "if those cameras are rolling, don't wipe the footage."

"Wouldn't think if it," Karlsen can't help but smirk.

Napoleon retreats and stops by you, "you'll need a new job, I expect." He pauses and feels inside his powder blue jacket. "My agent will arrange it." He hands over a card. You accept it, speechless.

"See you in court, Penelope." He turns and strides out. You quickly hide the card. Penelope stands and storms over to kick around the ruins of the flowers.

"Clean this up! Now!" She hollers as stomps past you. "You will all pay for this!”

You don't bother to try to get the mic back. Instead, you turn to help Tiffany clean up the flowers. The rest of the crew whisper in confusion. What do they do now?

As you father up the bent stems, you feel heat on your nape. You peek over and notice how everyone is watching you. Even Tiffany stops tidying to look at you.

You frown and ignore them as best as you can. You didn't ask for any of this. As nice as it is for him to want to make up for Penelope's behaviour, it's the worst thing Napoleon could have done. Especially for you.

“Hey, I'm here, I'm here!” The guest, Peter Parker rushes in, his shirt button unevenly and his hair askew. He stops short and looks around. “What happened here?”

"It's not my job." Cody huffs. "Besides, she's on one. Heard she dumped her coffee on Tiffy."

"I might too," Harris tosses back. "She's an idiot, like her boss."

You almost argue that Penelope is as good as all your boss. She might not be directly upwards but she could have any of you out of a job. She might just if you don't give her time tonforget your unfortunately stray into the spotlight.

"I know, I just thought..."

"Oh yeah, didn't you fuck up?" Harris chortles.

"Typical," Cody rolls his eyes. "You ladies should stick to makeup."

You frown. They are so annoying. Whatever. If they did it, you'd probably have to redo it anyway.

You give up on the firmware updates and grab your gear. You clip your radio to your belt and head down to the studio stage. Penelope is there growling at Tiffany and tugging her limp waves.

"What the hell did you do to my extensions?"

"Nothing, they look good." Tiffany insists as she spritzes hair spray and tries to add volume.

"That's not what I asked. I always look good." Penelope retorts.

"Where's the guest?" You ask Karlsen, the stage director.

"Late. Kid called to say he got stuck on Sunset... Somehow." Karlsen shakes his head.

Right, no distracting yourself.

You approach Penelope as she sits in her chair. You take out a clip-on mic and look for the best place to put it on her busy dress. She barely notices as you slip it behind a ruffle.

"Where's my coffee?" Penelope snips.

Tiffany looks down at her stained satin blouse. "Mick went for a refill--"

"You are all useless." She whines and swats you away like a fly.

You back up, avoiding her manicure, and she once more fusses at her hair. She's usually in a mood but since yesterday, she's been a terror. You can't help but feel responsible.

"...thanks very much. Every studio is the same yet different, huh?" The deep voice carries before the man appears.

It isn't the expected young actor and his reddish curls, but the same as the day before. What's going on? Napoleon Solo, action star, three time sexiest man of the year, enters with an armful of flowers; violets, daisies, carnations, roses, in a dozen shades of pink, purple, and cream. A lovely wild array.

"Ah, so you've come to apologise," Penelope scoffs as she stands and struts over. She reaches for the bouquet.

He lifts a brow. "If I assumed you had any sense of self-awareness, I might expect the same of you," he keeps the flowers away from her easily. "No, I spoke with Larry. The footage will be scrapped." His blue eyes barely graze her as he turns and searches the stage. "Ah, there you are." He walks towards you as your confusion has you frozen. He holds out the flowers and you stare. "My appreciation."

You blink and glance over at Penelope. She's fuming, lip curled, shaking. You put your palms up.

"Sir, I really don't think I can. Uh... It's a nice gesture and all but... I really can't." You sniff. "It's not professional."

He tilts his head. "Don't let her spoil it," he pushes the flowers at you again.

"Really, Mr. Solo--"

"Napoleon," he intones with a crooked grin. Then he says your name. You almost cringe. "I know you remember me. I remember you."

You stand, uncertain. Your heart pumps wildly and your ears thrum. All at once, the bouquet sends up a puff of petals and you back up as Penelope snatches them and swings them into the floor. The flowers explode into a cloud of stems and petals.

"As gracious as ever," Napoleon remarks tersely.

"You come into my studio." Penelope clings to the few stems still bound on the ribbon and pokes him with it. "And insult me like this. For a tech?" Her voice is shrill. "For this creature--"

She pulls her arm back again and aims at you. He catches the stems easily and yanks them from her grasps. He growls and throws them in her face.

"I don't think you realise how little power you actually have," Napoleon says evenly. "Your a name on a script. No one watches for you, darling."

She balls her hands and stomps, like a toddler in a tiara and plastic heels. "You are so stupid--"

She raises her fists as if to hit his chest and he snags them in his large hands. He walks her backwards as she squeals. He doesn't let go until she sits in her chair.

"Expect my complaint to be followed by legal notice," he brushes a fingertip over his palm. He turns and looks at Karlsen, "if those cameras are rolling, don't wipe the footage."

"Wouldn't think if it," Karlsen can't help but smirk.

Napoleon retreats and stops by you, "you'll need a new job, I expect." He pauses and feels inside his powder blue jacket. "My agent will arrange it." He hands over a card. You accept it, speechless.

"See you in court, Penelope." He turns and strides out. You quickly hide the card. Penelope stands and storms over to kick around the ruins of the flowers.

"Clean this up! Now!" She hollers as stomps past you. "You will all pay for this!”

You don't bother to try to get the mic back. Instead, you turn to help Tiffany clean up the flowers. The rest of the crew whisper in confusion. What do they do now?

As you father up the bent stems, you feel heat on your nape. You peek over and notice how everyone is watching you. Even Tiffany stops tidying to look at you.

You frown and ignore them as best as you can. You didn't ask for any of this. As nice as it is for him to want to make up for Penelope's behaviour, it's the worst thing Napoleon could have done. Especially for you.

“Hey, I'm here, I'm here!” The guest, Peter Parker rushes in, his shirt button unevenly and his hair askew. He stops short and looks around. “What happened here?”

Simple mission. Plenty of coverage in a jungle, even nicer knowing your Captain will be regaling ridiculous tales from his youth while you keep your eye on the scope of your rifle.

Target had been dabbling in some curious chemicals, perhaps edging on dangerous. All you were focused on was ensuring the head-shot would be clear and clean, quick— easy.

You chewed mindlessly slow on a piece of gum, letting it pop and crackle between your teeth. Oral fixation, that’s what Soap told you with a mocking laugh a few days ago. You were more concerned with quitting smoking, a nasty habit your mother would’ve said. But right now, your nerves were like a live wire. The scent of Price’s cigar was suffocating your senses, wrapping them up in a tight hold.

The gum was a small distraction, though you knew for the moment it wouldn’t save your ass for the entire mission. It wouldn’t sate the desire of a cigarette, tongue laving against the filter and nicotine hitting your taste buds.

Price took a long drag of his cigar, the burned tip hissing softly in the quiet night of the jungle, aside from the occasional caw of a bird and bug rasping. A muscle tensed in your jaw.

Where was this fucking mad scientist of a bastard anyways?

“Bloody hell,” Price muttered under his breath, smoke wafting from between his lips. “Be here all fucking night at this rate…”

Though, you enjoyed missions with the man given his dry humor and ability to flow with conversation— you really didn’t want to spend all fucking night smelling nicotine with no way of actually smoking it.

You grunted in response to his statement, silently agreeing with his negative sentiment. From your peripheral, his mustache twitched and he too was watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Awfully quiet, Sergeant.” Price observed.

“Focused, Captain. S’all.” You mentally grimaced at the defensiveness that twinged your tone. Price’s eyes flickered with intrigue, taking immediate notice. He didn’t say it out loud, but he was simply cataloging your irritation. He plucked a flower from a bush, pursing his lips as he studied it absentmindedly. It’s soft cream petals bouncing with every slight movement as he slowly rolled the stem between his fingers. His eyes peered at the center of it, a mix of colors that bled between fuchsia and baby pink.

“Don’t see these back in London…” He mumbled to himself, sniffing the floor. The fuchsia pollen speckled his nose.

“Believe those would be an invasive species if in London, Captain. Looks tropical; fitting for the environment.” Your logic made sense, to which he nodded his head slightly in understanding.

“Shame, s’lovely flower. Wonder what it is.” With a sigh and a pop of your gum, you tilted your head away from your scope and towards the flower to peer at it with him. With an arched brow and narrowed eyes, you spoke.

“Don’t believe I’ve ever seen one like this before…” You mumbled.

“Neither ‘ave I. Thinking of taking it back to Base, perhaps look online and see if I can find out what it is. Smells good though.” Price lifted the flower just a fraction, as if offering for you to catch a whiff of it. The idea of having a break from being suffocated by cigar smoke and the gnawing ache of nicotine was too good to pass up. You leaned your head down, sniffing it—

Then jerked your head back, sneezing into your arm.

Price dipped his head down swiftly, shoulders shaking with mirth as he muffled his chortles against his bicep.

Fucking prick.

You shot him an irritated look, sniffing before huffing.

“That wasn’t funny.” You narrowed your eyes at him as he lifted his head, a big grin stretching across his face as his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“It was fucking hilarious, Sergeant.”

Time ticked by, conversation ebbed and flowed. It was nice, for the most part. Though, you couldn't shake the scent of that god forsaken flower. You tried forcing a sneeze, rubbing your nose against a handkerchief the Captain offered- that fucking pollen was stubborn and cruel. By the time Price lit his second cigar, something that piqued your interest given the fact he seemed to be lighting up so soon after his first, a bead of sweat rolled down your temple.

Warmth was blossoming in rapid succession. Your face felt hot, the nape of your neck slick with sweat, every nook and cranny was wet. Christ, you knew a mission in the jungle wouldn't be pretty but something about this just didn't seem quite right.

What worried you was how fidgety the Captain seemed to be getting. How he kept fidgeting with his Zippo lighter, the metal clicking softly but in a urgent pace of some kind. How he'd sniff, then clear his throat, rub the back of his neck and muttered a string of curses under his breath.

"You alright, Captain?" A simple question, lightly laced with concern.

"Mm, as ol'right as I'll be in this bloody hell hole." He responded gruffly, irritated as all get out. Couldn't blame him, he was probably as uncomfortable as you. If not more.

"Figured it'd be cooler in the evenings." You muttered to yourself. It made sense for a jungle to be hot during the day, but at night? Weather index said it'd be cooler.

"Should be, was chilly a moment ago..." Price shifted with a grunt, carefully tugging at his shemagh in a useless attempt to ease up the warmth. "Fucks sake-" He hissed under his breath, finally yanking it off. "Fuckin' boiling."

That earned the older man a huff of amusement from you. And a heated look from him. A deep crease between his brows, sweat trickling from his hairline and down the curve of his nose. He looked right pissed. You finally lifted your gaze from the scope, meeting his.

He looked like a disheveled mess, one that made you blink and fully turn your head to look at him.

"Jesus fuck, Captain. You look like shit." The words tumbled from your lips as you shifted to sit up. His pupils blew wide, the black practically eclipsing those steely blues as he groaned. He leaned forward, gloved hand grasping your jaw as he leaned down. His breath came out in short, rapid pants.

"And you, love, look bloody amazing."

Lips smashed, teeth clacked in a feral, gnarling kiss that seemed to seal a fate neither one of you could ignore. Heat surged down your spine, core aching with a desperate need that felt so wrong but so fucking good.

Your hand grasped the front of his tactical vest as your lips parted to suck in a much needed breath before his tongue filled the gap and explored unknown territory. Every touch felt electric, soothing the ache just barely. His hand on your jaw tightened, keeping you there, keeping you where he wanted you as he devoured your mouth. His other hand grasped your hip, dragging you close. Your other hand gripped the meat of his thigh, tight with need but caution.

The caution was short lived once he had his gloves off, laying forgotten on the dirt as he broke the kiss. Price made quick work of your belt and the zipper of your pants, experienced one might say, urgent another would say.

"Been fuckin' eyeing you for months," He rasped out, his hand slipping past the waist band of your pants and into your panties. Fore finger and middle finding your aching clit with ease as he rubbed it in tight circles, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. "Always so sure of yourself, always so bloody perfect. Lads have been bettin' on who might get a taste of you, I never fuckin' put a bet in-" He groaned low and needy, fingers dipping lower to your slick and desperate core before sliding inside. He could feel it, you knew, he could feel how fucking wet and desperate you were with how your walls clenched as if trying to suck those thick fingers back in. "Too much respect for a fine woman- god damnit, didn't want it like this-"

Your hand tightened on his vest, a moan falling from you as you tugged him close just enough you could feel his hot breath on your skin. "Been waitin' for your move, Captain-" You gasped out, hips rolling against his hand. A low growl rumbled from him, pleased, you were sure given the flicker of approval in his eyes.

His hand slipped away from you in a fluid movement, his own belt and pants shoved. Price grabbed your hips, yanking you close before pulling off your boots and pants. He sneered at your underwear, as if the fabric was the target of the forgotten mission at hand before ripping the fabric.

"Fuck- John!" You scolded the man. "I'll buy you a new pair, love. Right now, I could give zero fucks about some underwear." He snarled out before spitting on your cunt. He gave his cock a few strokes, the movement drawing your eyes to it. Christ, he was girthy. A cock like that would split you open and still have you mewling in delight at the sheer heft of it. The tip was angry red, a bead of precum forming and slicking his fist as he gave the shaft a few tugs before lining the tip up with your begging hole.

Breath was stolen from you as he eased inside, stretching walls that hadn't been fucked good in a long while let alone by an experienced cock like his. His hands cupped the back of your knees, folding you just right with a deep groan of approval. You sputtered, fingers grasping at the dirt beneath you for purchase, something just to ground you as your mouth fell open in silent awe of just how good it felt.

This should be wrong, should be wrong on so many levels. The man was older than you, old enough to be your own father, he was a fucking Captain- your Captain. But instead, every instinct inside you was screaming, 'yes, more, yes, yes, yes!'.

The conflict inside your head was quickly snuffed out like a flame once he was fully seated inside you, tip nudging against your cervix and veins pulsing along your walls with every throb his cock gave.

"O-Oh my god-" You gasped out the words, eyes glued to the sight where you and him connected. It felt good, deliciously good. His mouth parted, a shaky breath escaping him.

"M-My god-" He grunted out, hips drawing back just to leave the tip inside before slamming back in. You tossed your head back against the earth, choking out a cry of pleasure. This was that ache, this was that blistering desire. He groaned, weight pinning you down as he set a brutal rhythm. The sounds of your slick, wet coupling seemed to drown out the cawing of birds and chirps of night bugs. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning along skin as one hand fisted your hair and tilted it back while he laid hot, open mouthed kisses on your throat.

"Mm, should've fucked you - oh fuck- months ago-" He babbled sinful poetry, words that would make even the nastiest of sailors blush. "Dreamt of bending you over my fucking desk, taking this sweet cunt, filling you up-" You gasped, eyes rolling back as the heat in your body began reaching a fever pitch, the filth of his words making your walls clench around him. "Mm, yeah, that's right, love- keep fucking doing that and I'll fill this gorgeous cunt up-"

You keened, hands at what you could of him, breaths coming out in ragged gasps for air. You felt molten hot, senses overwhelmed by just him. The scent of his cigars on his breath, after shave and musk, sweat- all uniquely him in a way. The same scent that would welcome you just by stepping into his office, hell, the same scent that lingered on your clothes after missions or while he walked with you down the halls of Base. A knot tightened in your lower belly, drawing tight and taut.

"J-John- John, please- Oh, fuck- I'm gonna-" You tried to warn him, you truly did. Your body shuddered, back arching off the earth and against his as your toes curled in sweet relief. The knot in your stomach finally snapped like a wire, your orgasm coating his cock as you cried out his name in a broken prayer. Price cursed, his hips snapping forward and grinding before spilling his load inside.

"A-Ah, shit, it's ol'right, love- I know, I know, feels good, so fucking good-" He growled low, eyes fluttering shut as his hips continued to grind lazily while his cock pumped rope after thick rope of cum inside your womb. The sheer amount spilled out around his cock, dribbling down between your bodies to the dirt beneath you both. You felt, warm- not the warm that made you aching and suffocating, but the type of warm that felt gooey and content. Your head felt like soft cotton, a tear of pleasure running down your cheek as you shuddered and twitched beneath him, trying to form words between gasps of breath.

Price's hand untangled from your hair, cupping your cheek as he lifted his head. He watched with a fond expression while his thumb traced the skin along your cheek. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, gentle, almost reverent. A stark comparison to the brutal fucking.

"... You broken, love?"

The words felt like someone snapping their fingers in your face, dragging you back from sweet, soft cotton land to reality. Blinking a few times, you swallowed.

"N-No, still here." You mumbled out hoarsely. Price chuckled, low and deep, his nose skating along your jaw before pausing by your ear.

You felt a tap on your shoulder. You jumped, not waiting for anybody. You turned your head, seeing your tall friend in front of you. You were surprised about this. Ari didn't stop talking about the fact that he would do the contest to show how many women would want to sleep with him. He had been saying it since the beginning of the week, which was breaking your heart. You were used to Ari and his conquests or girlfriends. You had met so many of them that you wondered if he would ever find the one. Was the bigger the number, the easiest he would find someone? You never understood it. You knew that despite his big stature and his shananigans; he was a big softie dreaming of having a family. You just got used to him trying to find the love of his life in his sheets.

"Why are you not on stage?"

"They wanted me to wear a tee shirt."

You looked at him strangely.

"It's called a wet tee-shirt contest, not a wet torso contest."

"True, true, but did you see this." He gestures to his abdomen. "This should not be hidden."

"Of course not. You would have no chance if women had to talk to you."

He pushes softly your shoulder.

"Hey, that's mean."

"That's literally what you are saying."

"No, it's not."

"Then a tee-shirt should not bother you."

"No, but that means less women."

"You are improbable."

He kisses the top of your head.

"But you still love me."

"Unfortunately."

You took his hand, trying to go closer to the stage.

"Come on, I want to watch."

Ari followed you, gripping your hand bit tighter, which you did not realise.

All the contestants were finally in front of you. None of them would ever be as sexy as Ari, but some had big potential. You doubt that any of them needed a contest to find someone, especially if it was for a night.

"Who do you think is going to win?"

You looked again, and all of them could win, but you thought that one would appeal more to the majority of women.

"The third one."

Ari looked at the men. He huffed.

"Mister blondie with no hair? Come on, I could beat him. He looks like a baby with too many muscles."

You looked at your best friend, the new image in your head.

"Thank you for the visual. And you are not participating. Who knows if you would have beat him."

"I could."

Always according to you, but you would not give him the satisfaction tonight.

"Maybe."

Ari looked at your profile.

"You think he is hotter than me?"

You kept your eyes on the contestants.

"I think the women population is very interested in him."

"Come on."

You were now looking at him.

"You asked me who I think will win, not who will be my future husband. I don't understand why you get offended. We both know someone like him would never be interested in someone like me."

Something in Ari's heart got rid open. How could you even think that someone like this blond wannaby would not be interested in you?

"Why not?"

"Because he looks like he is the reincarnation of a Greek God, and I am me."

"You are going to have to explain it to me like if I am a kid."

You were starting to get annoyed.

"Ari..."

"What? No, I am sorry, I don't understand why he would not want you of all people."

You were the best friend he never had, the woman who kept him awake so many nights; the goddess that he thinks you are. Why would someone not want you?

You fully turned towards Ari. You were not even annoyed anymore. You were furious that you had to explain to him when he was one of the reasons that you would think like this. Ari and you had been friends since you were four years old. You did everything together. Even in high school, when he became popular, he stayed your friend. If you were not here with him, if someone was mean to you or was saying something depreciative, he was there to protect you. It was the same at university. You decided to go in the one that had the best of both of what you wanted to do in life. Ari insisted on it. He could never be far away from you, but has he ever wanted to date you? No, you were his friend. You would never be more than that for him.

"Because I look like this, I hate doing sports. He probably has as many women as you throwing themselves at him, so he would never pick an interest in me. And he would think that my job is boring or that I am boring for that matter."

Ari looked at you, really look at you. For the first time, something clicked. He would have never thought that you could see yourself with those eyes. You always seemed so strong, not letting what society think be a bother to you or so, he thought. No, you were not a fitness model or in the "normal" size. You had curves, and that's true that you were the heavier side of curvy, but he still thought that you looked beautiful. When you were laughing, your eyes had sparkles of happiness, but it's when you were vulnerable to him that he felt the luckiest in the world because you were trusting him with your secrets.

"He would be the luckiest man on Earth to be with you."

"Ari, don't. You don't believe that."

"Of course I do."

"And that's why all your hookups and girlfriends look like me? I don't think so."

For the first time, he understood you. You were always telling him that you thought that he had too much biceps and that you were interested in the more regular body type, not the one that woman would lust for, not that you thought that regular man could not be lust for but not like most women were turning their head or looking at him when he was in a room or walking in the street. The truth was that you never thought someone like him could love someone like you.

Without thinking, he touches your cheeks, leaning towards you. You can see it coming, but you don't understand what he is doing. His lips touch yours, and without thinking, you open your mouth to let him enter. You feel him, taste him, and you can't believe that it's him. You let yourself get lost in the kiss. Finally, received what you always wanted.

When you finally stop, you get angry.

"Why would you ever do that? I... you..., do you hate me?"

Ari stepped back at your fury.

"I love you. God, I have loved you for like forever, but you always made me think that you wouldn't want me, so I settled for being your best friend, but now, I don't know. Maybe you actually like me, or maybe I just misread things."

"My heart is not a game, Ari. You... you can't do that."

You leave, making a difficult exit in the sea of women, not wanting to make a scene and hurt that he would play with your emotions. Even if Ari was taller, it was difficult for him to follow you, women trying to get their simingly innocent touch and telling him that they could be there for him if he wanted you.

Ari looked for you for a slipt second before seeing you walking on the beach, your rainbow dress being unmistakabl ometimes, you could walk really fast when you wanted to. He stops you. The noise from the bar and the contest had faded. It was just the two of you. When he turns you to look at him, he sees that you cried. He knew how easy it could be sometimes as you always have been sensitive. He dries your cheeks with his fingers. You try to stop him by taking his wrists, but he does not.

He bores his eyes into yours, lifting your chin so you can not look away from him.

"If I thought your heart was a game, I would have played with it a long time ago. I never said anything about the fact that every time that I see you, my heart beats faster. Every time that I see you, I feel the happiest that I ever be. Everytime that I think about you, I think of your generosity, of your laugh, of the way your eyes gets bigger when you are engrossed in something you love, Everytime I think of you, I think of how much I wish you could be mine so I could shower you with gifts, words of affirmation, hugs but mostly love. I have been in love with you since we were fifteen. I never thought you could see me that way. I always thought you wanted someone more "regular," not the attraction type, because this is what you always told me. You told me that you did not want the attention. I am realising just now that it was the way of protecting yourself from the rejection. But how could I ever reject you? I should have made you understand what you meant to me a long time ago. I am sorry. I am so sorry that I didn't understand that I was hurting you. I am sorry that I did not understand that you thought you were not good enough. I should have shown you that you were good enough for whoever you want to be with. You are more than enough for me."

He carresses your cheek, tears rolling again on them.

"And for the record, all these women that I have been with, I wanted them to make me forget about you and help me move on. How could I have done that with someone looking or being like you? Not that it helped."

"Ari... I..."

"I would never lie to you about something like this. Not when you are the one who always had my heart."

You do not know what to say. It was unexpected. You had been friends since you were children. You always felt safe with him, but you never thought he could love you this way. All the words do not sink yet into you. You still have trouble believing that it was true. He was about to say something when you finally decided to tell him the truth. If he was telling his, you could tell him. If he lied to you, your friendship would be over soon enough.

"I love you too."

You look at him, tears still in your eyes. You tried to blink them away, but your emotions would not let you.

"I always had, I always will."

He leans again towards you. His index brushes your lips before asking with his eyes for permission to kiss you. You nod. He does not wait to kiss you again. His hands find your hips to push you against him before they circle you. He would not let you get away from him. After a long time, he puts his forehead against yours.

"I will always will too. Always have, always will."

Ari almost asked you if you were still thinking of a country wedding in a barn next to a pond full of frogs but decided that it might be a bit too soon to talk about your wedding. He knew that he would ask you very soon. He knew that he would not be able to wait to call you his wife. You always had been his soulmate. There was a reason he was more in your apartment than his. He was always more comfortable next to you. You always joked that maybe he should move in, and that would avoid a lot of costs. He always wanted to say yes.