NikPriceWeek2026

When Price's hand landed on his knee, something in Nikolai's chest ached with how little that small gesture asked of him and how much it gave him.

The cemetery was small; grass overgrown, cicadas droning steady through the heat. Nikolai's feet knew the path, memory carrying him to a plain headstone half-shaded by a shrub he should have trimmed years ago.

He took Price's hand. Held it tighter than he meant to.

He crouched, brushed dirt from the stone, and for a moment just looked at the name carved there, at the dates that never got any easier to read no matter how many years passed. He spoke low, in Russian, the words arriving easily despite everything else in him feeling anything but.

“S dnem rozhdeniya, Mama.”

He felt Price watching him. Didn't know what to do with being watched… so gently, so surprisingly gently. It occurred to him, crouched there, that this was the most of himself he'd ever handed anyone. And Price was still here.

Then he heard footsteps, and his whole body went cold.

He knew before he even turned. Knew by the particular quality of the quiet that had settled, some old instinct in him recognizing that presence. His stomach dropped. Every worst version of this moment flooded in at once: Price recoiling, Price reaching for a weapon, Price looking at him after this with a distant sort of betrayal. He'd known this was a risk the second he decided to bring him. Had run through every possible scenario and every possible response.

He stood and turned. Then made himself breathe and made himself keep hold of Price's hand.

"Volodya," he said, and was almost surprised by how steady it came out.

Vladimir stopped a few feet off, glanced sharply at Price—a warning maybe, or just acknowledgement—before his eyes came back to Nikolai, and something in his face eased.

"Sasha," Vladimir said quietly.

Nikolai's chest tightened at the sound of it. That name, only ever from his little brother. Hearing it now, with Price standing here, felt like standing in front of both of them with nothing left to hide behind. As split open as the universe could make him, guts and soul for the world to see. He didn't dare look at Price. He stood between them, frozen, like stressed glass before it cracks, some suspended second where everything could still shatter.

Vladimir crossed the last few feet and pulled him into a brief embrace. Nikolai felt Price's hand slip from his for those few seconds, and he mourned the loss even that briefly, terrified letting go now meant letting go for good.

But when he stepped back, Price's hand found his again without needing to look for it.

Relief hit him so hard it nearly buckled his knees.

They said little after that—a few words exchanged, the same pattern of every year, variations of Nikolai’s worry; of Vladimir's ache. Then they stood together at the stone, and Nikolai closed his eyes. Started reciting the bedside prayer she'd taught them both, and heard his brother's voice join his partway through. For those few lines, it didn't matter what either of them had become since the last time her voice had guided theirs.

He felt Price's hand tighten around his.

Nikolai's whole chest seized around the fear of what that meant. He didn't dare open his eyes to check. Just held on, matched the grip, refused to be the one who let go first.

He finished the words, then felt Price's other hand settle against his arm.

He opened his eyes. Vladimir was already stepping back, unhurried but never one to linger. He touched two fingers briefly to the headstone, said something quiet, and turned, walking back toward the tree line without looking back.

Nikolai watched him go until he disappeared entirely. Then, finally, he made himself look at Price.

Price was looking back at him, no distance in his face, no recoil, nothing shuttered or changed. Just quiet… understanding maybe, like whatever Nikolai had feared losing in this moment had simply never been on the table to begin with.

"Still here," Price said.

The ground seemed to tilt, just slightly. His breath came out in a long, shuddering rush. His knees felt suddenly weak, the world swimming at the edges.

Price's arm came around him before he fully registered swaying. "I've got you. Easy."

Nikolai didn't manage words. Just breathed, unsteady, let himself be guided as they made their slow way back toward the car, Price's hand never leaving his the whole way.

He got the car door open, sank into the seat, and tipped his head, closed his eyes, chest still heaving.

Price crouched by the open door, one hand still wrapped around his, the other resting light against his knee. And just… stayed there patiently, until Nikolai's breathing evened out.

Finally, Nikolai managed to open his eyes. He looked down at Price, still kneeling there. Words still did not manage to come.

Price's eyebrow went up, and something shifted behind his eyes, decision to play along, apparently, because he crossed the kitchen and dropped onto a stool. Up close, damp and half-dressed, he smelled like soap and something warm, and Nikolai had to work not to stare too obviously.

"Dunno." Price said. "Got any recommendations?"

"I recommend whatever suits the customer." Nikolai kept his voice light, though his pulse had picked up, a little rush coursing through his body.

"That so." Price leaned forward on his elbows, gaze trialing slow and deliberate down the length of him, down his throat, collar, the roll of his sleeves. "What suits a man who doesn't know what he wants yet?"

"Something strong.” Nikolai's grin was uncharacteristically bashful. “To loosen the decision-making."

Price laughed and it tangled something low in Nikolai's stomach. "Careful. Man could get the wrong idea, service like this."

"Only… the idea I intend to give." He felt heat climb up the back of his neck at his own audacity, not unfamiliar, of course not. But the thrill of it, being so openly watched under whatever game they were playing, was. He turned his eyes down, busying himself pouring something that didn't need so much attention.

And thus was the strange part. Price wasn't doing anything Nikolai hadn't seen before, not really—the charm, the low drawl, the attention that could fill a room. Thick and heavy when he chose it to be. Nik had just never had it aimed at him quite like this, quite this deliberately, like he was someone worth the effort of seducing rather than someone Price already had, as steady as the stars every night.

He found himself flustered in a way he hadn't been in a long, long time. Hyperaware of the damp collarbone across the counter, the towel slung low enough to expose the trail of thick fur that disappeared below it, the easy confidence of a man clearly used to getting exactly what he wanted. His face had gone warm—properly pink, he could feel it—and when Price's eyes caught the color rising in his cheeks, his mouth curved, utterly pleased, like a predator with a meal worth savoring.

"You're blushing," Price said, delighted.

"I am not." Nikolai absolutely was, and knew it.

"You are. Look at you." Price reached across the counter, fingers grazing over Nikolai's wrist, thumb tracing the inside of it where his pulse had picked up embarrassingly fast. "What time do you get off, bartender?"

Nikolai's breath caught properly this time. "Depends on the tip, I suppose," he managed, voice thinner than he wanted it to be.

Price stood then, rounding the counter, and Nikolai found himself backed against the counter's edge. Up close, Price was warm from the shower, skin damp under Nikolai's hands where they'd landed against his sides.

"Maybe I take you out back," Price murmured, mouth just shy of his ear, hand finding his waist, fingers spread wide. "Show you a proper tip."

"I don't know if the other patrons would appreciate that." The protest came out thin and breathless, his hands curling into Price's damp skin.

"Don't much care what the other patrons think." Price's mouth found his jaw, open-mouthed kisses planted one after the other and Nikolai tipped his head back to give him better access automatically, a soft sound catching in his throat before he could stop it. One of Nik's hands came up to Price’s head.

"This is—highly unprofessional," Nikolai managed, though with no real protest in it, his fingers tightening in Price's hair.

"Mm. Terribly." Price didn't sound sorry at all. He got both hands under Nikolai's thighs and lifted with a heave, placing Nikolai straight up onto the counter, settling between his legs after, palms sliding slowly up his sides, pushing his shirt up to expose the delectable sight beneath it. Nikolai's breath left him in a rush, heat pooling low in his gut, his face still burning under the attention.

"John—" he started, some last thread of the game trying to hold.

"Not here to talk business." Price's mouth moved down his throat, tasting the heat gathered there, and Nikolai gave up on the protest entirely, head falling back against the cabinet, hands sliding into his damp hair to hold him close.

"Best tip you'll get all night," Price murmured against his skin, and Nikolai laughed, breathless, one hand still tangled in his hair.

“You are filthy.”

Price hummed at him, still kissing over Nik's stomach. “Mmm, I contain multitudes.”

Then Price sank down onto his knees right there in the kitchen, hands trailing down Nikolai's thighs as he went, gaze tipped up at him with that same charm, dark and certain. Nikolai's breath left him in a rush at the sight of it—this composed, commanding man completely willing to kneel, just for him, cheeks still burning, thighs trembling slightly where Price's hands held them apart.

Price's hands found the button of his trousers, taking his time despite everything about the moment that begged for speed, like he intended to draw this out just to watch Nikolai come further undone. He mouthed along the crease of his hip first, over fabric, and Nikolai's hips twitched forward before he could stop them, an embarrassed little sound catching in his throat.

"Eager," Price said, pleased, glancing up at him through his lashes.

"Shut up," Nikolai managed, though there was no heat, just want, thick and obvious in his voice.

Price huffed a laugh against him, low, and finally, finally got his trousers open, and Nikolai's head fell back against the cabinet with a soft thud, hand tightening in Price's hair, aching for more than the slow torment Price seemed intent on giving him. The counter was cold at his back, his skin burning everywhere Price touched,

"John," he breathed, less protest now than plea.

Price looked up at him once more, hand firm around the base of his cock now, until finally taking his leaking tip into his mouth.

Nikolai felt it, as Price sucked him down, practiced throat opening around him, that he wouldn't last long. But how Price managed to get him so flustered and worked up he'd have to work out later. For now, his mind was swimming in bliss. Hips rocking up despite Price's hand holding tight.

He risked a glance down, the sight of him, mouth stretched, cheeks flushed around him, buried to the hilt. Price caught his gaze through wet lashes and pulled off with a smirk.

“Don't worry, Nikolai, we've got all night and plenty to drink.” Price's words were like honey, thick and warm, and hitting exactly where Nik needed.

The wet suck along his balls made Nikolai groan. Then Price kissed his way along the vein that throbbed underneath Nik's length, teasing until he took Nikolai down again. He worked with fervour earning each whine and breathless moan.

Nik's hand tightened in his hair. And before Nik could pull off, mumbling out some warning or protest, Price buried his nose in Nikolai's curls, swallowing down each hot burst of cum.

The sight, the feeling, all of it, made Nikolai's vision pulse and his mind spin. He couldn't fill his lungs, couldn't feel his toes. Just the heat of Price’s throat as he slowly came down.

Price pulled off slowly, mercifully, and rested his head on Nik's knee, pressing the smallest kisses there.

“Alright?” Price asked, voice rough.

Nikolai managed a nod, still finding his breath. “More than alright.”

Price smiled. The hand still resting in his hair tugged, and he leaned up enough to meet Nikolai half way, pressing their lips together. Nikolai could taste the salt of sweat and cum on Price’s lips. If he was younger, he might have already been hard again.

Nikolai smiled, clarity returning to him, mixing with the satisfaction of his orgasm. "So… about that tip."

He tilted his head, glancing down at the tented towel around Price's waist.

Price huffed a laugh against his knee, still not quite pulling all the way back, content to stay right there a moment longer. "Think you got a rather generous one, didn't you?"

"Mm. Best service I've had." Nikolai's fingers combed slowly through his hair, still a little unsteady. "Not sure that's how tipping usually works, though."

"Didn't say I followed the rules." Price pressed one more kiss to his knee, then straightened slowly, hands trailing back up Nikolai's sides as he rose, soft touches for touch's sake, easy and unhurried. He gathered Nikolai's face between his palms, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. "You alright? Really."

"Really." Nikolai leaned into the touch, some of the heat in his chest turning quieter, closer to the ordinary kind of warmth he felt around Price. "Best customer I've ever had, I think."

"High praise from a professional." Price kissed him again. He tugged Nikolai's shirt back down where it had ridden up, smoothed a hand over his side once more.

Nikolai caught his wrist before he could pull away entirely, held it there against his ribs. "Stay a moment."

"Wasn't planning on going anywhere." Price settled back against the counter beside him instead, shoulder to shoulder, and Nikolai let his head drop to rest against him.

Hands. That was what he could feel, he could feel the hands, worming their way up his skin. One latched onto his jaw, the other…

“Fuck, get off of me, you—“ Nikolai kicked out, foot making contact with something, at the very least. He knew it did, because he could feel the hands tighten around him. 

Stop fighting it, mal’chik-pidor, you want this, the voice purred. He could hear a faint jeer.

“GET OFF OF ME!” his throat was hoarse as he shouted. The door was locked, he’d locked it himself, there was no point in checking, there was no escaping and there would be nobody that would come to help, to find him, nobody will ever come for you, do you understand? You piece of shit, Sasha, I will drop you right here, and I will not think twice.

He kicked harder, just enough for the hands to loosen.

As he rolled over, though, he met something else. A girl, no older than six, staring at him. Cold, hands shaking, stained with red. He felt his feet move before realising he was the one moving them towards her. He felt the words slip past his lips, first, and then he heard shouting. From his side, not from her, intervening as you always do.

His head whipped around, and he scowled, spitting out a dismissive line before turning back to focus on his opportunity. One step, then another, then anoth—

For a moment he was the bullet, piercing through the back of his chest, sending him staggering forwards, blood sputtering from his mouth. Then he was the victim, feeling the searing pain coursing through him as his world began to edge in grey. Gasping out a ‘how could you’ with a final spurt of that sickly crimson liquid. Smiling, just slightly, as he saw the girl’s face contort in horror.

He was the aggressor, gun dropped limply to his side as he watched the man drop dead. His hands trembled, just slightly. The man beneath him’s hands were on his belt buckle, already halfway to undoing it. His head had a gaping cavity where he had been shot point-blank; torn open, dripping with blood, desecrated. He looked up, weapon falling from his hands, to meet the girl’s eyes.

She sprinted, and for a moment he was her, heart racing as she tried to wipe the blood from her shirt, one foot after another, over and over and over as her heart pounded in tandem. If she closed her eyes, he was sure he would feel his hands on him once more. So instead, one foot and then the other, she fled. The dust was in her eyes, and maybe that was the reason she didn’t focus on where she was running.

She just ran, and ran, and ran, until she heard a click.

He looked down, with just enough time left to watch as her body disintegrated.

Nikolai woke just as the scream formed in his throat. He choked on it, spluttering as he tried to breathe.

John would have had some exercises for this. Five things you can see, one thing you can feel, one hand you can feel. Something like that.

The lights were off. He couldn’t see shit. Nonetheless, he tried to form the list, ignoring the way his heart was palpitating. The shadows the curtains cast as they blew from the open window, the man next to him, whom he was previously sprawled over, the half-finished Mi-17 model on their bedside unit, the tablets John had gotten when his insomnia hit its worst, the door just about ajar.

The door. He slipped out from under the covers, making his way to it. One hand slipped into the gap, pulling it toward himself until it was wide enough for him to slip through in silence.

What could he feel? As he passed through the house, head hung low, the question returned to him.

Cold was the easy answer. It was edging on winter, he was clearly a little unwell, and thoughts about Russia never really came with the warm and fuzzies. Tired was a close second. He’d barely slept, been up almost every night with the same damn dream, and organising trips and dinners wasn’t the most energising of activities. Guilty, maybe. He wasn’t sure why he felt that one, but he felt the same pit in his stomach now, that same weight on his shoulders (god, he was nailing the clichés), that he felt after every op.

He didn’t know. His head was too fuzzy for it to be worth differentiating, anyway. He made his way to the kitchen, turning the light on for just a second so he could locate the kettle, his mug, and some sugar. He turned it off immediately after, eyes squeezed shut to protect them from the burn of the light.

Nikolai found all three things in the darkness, aided by the mental map he had formed moments earlier, and brewed his tea in silence. He left a teabag in his mug, normally; these occurrences had grown too frequent and he had long learned that there was no point in trying to get back to sleep.

He watched the kettle; the blue light at the base meant it was the only thing he could really see, anyway. He watched each bubble gradually rise off the heating element, to the line at which the water stopped. Watched as the minute ticked by, until his water finished boiling.

He dumped the water into his mug, letting some of it slosh over the edge. Nik failed to wince as the boiling water hit his hand, instead apathetically wiping it clean.

A healthy amount of sugar was added (the majority of the bag), before he trudged outside, teabag still in.

He settled onto a chair, closing the glass door behind him, and waited.

It was cold, but the wind was more bracing than whipping. The winter hadn’t really begun, and save for a few turned-off lights, there was no mark of it yet. The trees were mostly bare, he supposed, but even that—

“Nik? Nikolai? Nik, fuck’s sake, want you in bed. ‘s cold.”

Nikolai shook his head, silently, hands wrapping the mug of cold tea. He sat on the patio, staring out into space. The tiny folding chair he was perched on barely survived beneath his bulk. Before him lay a sky dappled with spots carved out by stars, little scars on its surface.

There were similar scars marking Nikolai’s back.

The picture of the sky was split, bare branches cutting through it to better frame the stars. They glittered nonetheless. As the wind whistled, contorting the tree’s branches to bend and twist (which created new images), one would have expected a shiver. None came. Only the hollow stare out towards something beyond the stars remained.

“Nik?”

John stepped out, beyond the threshold of the sliding door. He shivered, but continued, certain, before reaching Nikolai’s side to lay a rough hand onto his shoulder.

“Yer bloody scary, luv. All alright?”

He flinched away from the touch, before letting out an affirmative grunt. He stayed static, however.

“Right, so you don’t seem alright, and I’d rather not wake up to you being dead tomorrow, so yer gonna talk. Whot’s up?”

Nikolai shook his head again, before finally breaking his silence.

“Nothing. I am fine. Go back to sleep, solnyshko.”

“Can’t sleep without you wit’ me, Nik. So you talk.”

“…it is not something you would understand,” he muttered. He tapped his fingers across the mug, in order, before returning to silence.

“Try me.”

“…I am thinking about before.” Nikolai swallowed the sick feeling building in his throat.

“Whot about it?”

“…did I ever tell you what made me leave?”

“Yeah, realised they were scum. Whot of it?”

“Nyet, what… prompted that.”

John paused, turning to look at the sky as he considered the question properly. Now that he thought about it, …no. Nikolai had told him almost every story, how he realised he was gay, his first time flying, why he fell in love with John, his last moments with his family, but not this. John shook his head, before realising that Nikolai still hadn’t looked away from the same spot right ahead of him. “No, Nik, you ain’t.”

“…When I joined, they said I was the best they had. They said I was… I was… I would be special, da?”

John circled around to crouch in front of him, and nodded.

“Have you heard of dedovshchina?”

John paused to run the word through his mind. After a few moments of silence, made to stretch on by the quiet creaking of the tree above them, he nodded..

“Yeah, uh, hazing, right?”

“Different. Worse. It is, um, number one fear for people enlisting, now.”

“..right.”

“It was… awful, John, the things they did to me, to… to other people, I was at the better end of it, but even then, they… I…”

Nik took a tentative sip of the tea, lip curling slightly in distaste as he drank. The bitter taste (the sugar had mostly settled to the bottom of the Sports Direct mug he clutched) was less of a comfort than he had hoped.

John watched him, hand lifting to land onto Nik’s knee. “Go on.”

“…that was not the worst of it. I survived, they said I was ‘special’, you know this. I went on ‘special missions’, I did the work that… that you do not put in a report, John. There was a girl.”

“…”

“She was… I think she was six. Maybe older, but she was so unwell-looking I could not be sure. She was alone, and I was with a comrade. …his name was Sasha, and we were together, because we matched, da? In name. We were friends, or as close to it as.. as anyone could be in that environment. And he, he… he was one of the worst, with the hazing. One of the cruellest. He…” Nik paused, waved his hand, and shook his head, changing his course of speech, “The girl, understandably, was scared, as… as anybody would be, after all, these two men, armed men were the only people around. …he, Sasha, said it was a ‘good opportunity’.”

Nik’s grip tightened on the mug. He stared at the liquid, rather than making any eye contact with Price.

“…he, uhm, I am sure you can imagine what he tried to do. He was… higher ranking, than me, and, and, I could not give him orders, and I told him to stop, and he would not listen, but my gun— well he, uhm, he did listen to that, and…” he tried for a tight smile, for a slight bit of humour, but his efforts were fruitless, “…she broke down sobbing. His blood, it was on her, on the floor, and this man, this man was dead.”

“First person I killed like that,” Nikolai added after a brief pause. He looked away from his drink, instead focusing on the stars, for a moment. 

He wondered vaguely whether those above judged him too.

“She ran. And ran, and ran, and…”

John patted Nikolai’s hand, in silence, as he fumbled for his words yet again.

“I told them he had died by mistake. I did not mention the girl to them. I could not. A week later, I was stationed in London, where I… met you.”

“And that’s why you left?”

“Da.”

Nikolai melted off of the chair. 

His mug slipped from his grip, falling just off the edge of the patio to land in the grass. Nik, on the other hand, was bundled into John’s arms as his face pressed into the other man’s chest. John ran a hand through the slightly greasy strands at the nape of Nikolai’s neck and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

He sighed, smiling weakly as John’s lips touched his head. “…I— every time I think of her, I…” John rubbed at the base of the neck, and eventually he found the words to continue. “Every time, I wonder what would happen if I was not there. If whoever had taken my place would have intervened. If he would have gone through with it.”

“…Jesus fuck, Nik.”

Nikolai hugged him tightly, pushing his head further into the crook of John’s neck. He breathed in, deep.

“…every day I think about her. About him. What he did to her, and what he did to… to me, and, and, he was my friend, John, and I killed him. …and I am scared being close to you I will end up hurting you too. I know how you look at the things I do.”

He pulled away, then, just enough to meet John’s eyes. His own were slightly red, glossy where tears had formed without falling. John’s were just pitying.

John clutched Nik’s shoulders to properly look at him, his lips moving swiftly into an even deeper frown.

“…I’m glad you did what you did.” He didn’t make an effort to answer Nikolai’s thoughts, instead squeezing his shoulders tightly.

“….that is not the end of it.”

“Wot?”

“When she… she… ran off, we were… we had been setting up these mines, da? As this was where they would put reinforcements, and… and…”

He swallowed thickly.

“I cannot help but… sometimes, I think, uhm, I think… I think if I had let him do it she would have lived. And then I do not know which… which is worse. I know what.. what he would have done, I have felt it, but…” Nikolai sighed, “it is different.”

“It’s,” John agreed.

“…Bloody cold out here,” John mumbled when Nikolai didn’t continue. He chose not to press — Nik was verging on tears and trembling in the man’s arms as it stood — he had no interest in making him feel even worse.

“I would rather sit a while longer,” Nikolai eventually said. He didn’t move, remaining wrapped into the other man’s warmth.

“Martin Hall, got picked up by a nomad clan a few days ago. They caught him trespassing on their camp and thought he was a threat.”

“What clan?” Simon asks, interrupting John. 

“The Raffen’s.” 

“While they were questioning him they took a data shard, client wants it back.” John says as the bartender brings him another whisky on the rocks. Simon takes the shard out and tries to hand it to John who waves his hand away. 

“I’ll have to bring Johnny.” Simon says, John nods taking a sip of his drink. 

“Bring who you like, pay’s still the same.” John shrugs.

“What about extraction?” Simon asks, leaning back against the sofa. 

“I can help with that. I’ll get you a chopper but don’t expect anything fancy.”

Simon scoffs. “I never do.” 

…

Summer means the heat in the Badlands is stifling. Dust and sand swirls as Nik brings in the chopper to land. John leans out the door looking around for any sign of Simon or Johnny, maybe they’re still held up, this is the rendezvous point though. 

John sighs rubbing his shoulder then running his hand up his neck to press against his shard port. He needs to get it checked out. It's been irritating him for days now, he just never has the time. 

“Got a good ripper you could see about that.” Nikolai says.

“I’m good.” John replies looking into the front of the chopper at him. Nik looks cheerful and is clearly not affected by the heat as he flicks a switch on his console and the noise from the engine changes. Nikolai used to be a scav, almost every ripper he knows used to be one too. Ex-scav rippers are not always known for being gentle. 

“Well, if you change your mind let me know. She’s good I promise.” NIk chuckles. John smiles at him then turns as he hears the rumble of bikes in the distance and sees a trail of sand and dust heading towards the chopper. 

“There here.” John announces and Nik nods, turning his attention back to the controls. John squints bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the hot sun and zooms his vision to see them tearing across the wasteland. Only he doesn’t see two people, he sees three.

“What the hell.”

“What?” Nik asks but John doesn’t get time to respond as the bikes make it to the chopper. John watches as Simon steps off the bike and grabs the third person by his arm and pulls him over. He looks like he’s seen better days, there’s a massive gash on his forehead and his clothes are caked in a thick layer of dust. 

“Who’s that?” John asks helping Simon get him into the chopper. Simon opens his mouth to speak when a deep droning noise fills the air. Everyone looks up just as they’ve managed to get the mystery man into the chopper. 

“Shit!” John calls as he sees the massive drones cutting across the same path Johnny and Simon took to get to the chopper. 

“We need to move, there are more incoming!” Nik calls. Johnny and Simon climb in and Nik has only just managed to make it off the ground when the sounds of bullets ring out. Nik curses in Russian and the chopper jolts before picking up speed and flying away. It drones continue to follow though, John can’t stick his head out and risk looking at them while they’re actively firing. 

Simon has bent down by a laptop and he plugs himself in muttering to himself about something. Clearly the job didn’t go as planned. Suddenly the chopper drops in altitude so quickly that John’s stomach drops.

“NIK!” John screams as they barrel towards the ground. “MacTavish, make yourself useful and get on that gun!”

“You never said anything about Militech!” Nikolai shouts back as flairs fire out the chopper. Nik straightens out and they start to climb again. John hears the explosion of one of the drones. Militech? What do they have to do with all this and why are they after them? 

“Ghost?” John asks, looking at Simon typing on a laptop.

“Working on it.” He replies. “Their ICE is thick.” 

“I can help.” The man they came out with says, flicking his eyes between John and Simon. 

“Who are you?” John asks, raising his weapon at the man, he stays in place holding one hand up, the other grabbing onto anything he can while the chopper turns again. 

“He said he was just some guy!” Johnny shouts over the fire of the mounted weapon, there’s the sound of scraping metal and a crash as another drone is shot out the sky. 

“John! We’re reaching the border!” Nikolai says, John turns to look out the front of the chopper, he can see the red hologram of the city limit lit up by a haze of dust and sand. If they go past they’ll be shot down. 

“Got it!” Simon announces and John leans out the chopper just in time to see the last two drones drop out the sky. 

“Militech will be on us, we need to lay low for a while!” John shouts over the roar of the engine. 

“I know a place.” Nik says, John turns to him and sees a smile on his face. 

…

“What is this place?” Johnny asks as they all hop out the chopper outside of what looks like an abandoned factory deep in the badlands. 

“Used to be an old scav chop house. It’s been abandoned for years.” Nik shrugs as he jumps out last closing the doors and activating the camo screen. “No one should bother us for the night.” 

John nods and they all walk into the surprisingly still furnished factory. John can see the scars the scavs have left behind and it makes a chill run up his spine. Johnny and Simon have untied the man now and sit him down on a chair. John’s still angry though. If he knew this job was going to involve militech he would have done things differently. 

“What the hell is on this shard?” John asks annoyed, Simon hands him it and he slots it in behind his ear. He waits a few seconds for it to be scanned before he sees the data flood his vision. 

“Fuck. This a black market sales shard. It’s all stolen militech equipment.” John takes the shard out, handing it to Simon who does the same swearing as he sees the same thing John was just looking at. He turns his attention back to the man and Johnny steps closer. 

“What did The Raffen’s want with you?”

“They wanted me to crack the shard, find out where the stash was being held.” He explains. It makes sense and John hums. Now the question is was that really militech after them or just someone with militech drones. Simon unslots the shard and hands it back to John. 

“Could you do it?” John asks him. The man nods. 

“I just didn’t get time to finish before you rescued me.” “Good.” John hands the shard back to Simon. “Find the stash, seems like the job’s not over yet.” John turns on his heels and heads for the door. When he makes it outside the sun has already set, he can see Night City’s lights and holograms in the distance lighting up the sky in unnatural shades of colour. 

He sees the shimmer of Nik’s chopper hidden from most people by the camo covering. 

He walks around in frustration looking for something to take his anger out on. He spots a bottle kicking it with a grunt before hearing the door he just left out close behind him. He turns quickly to see Nik then sighs. He doesn’t really want to talk to anyone right now but at least it’s Nik and not Simon. 

“Easy, John. It’s not your fault.” Nik says, stepping up next to him. 

“I booked the gig, I’m responsible for their safety.” John says, he feels the weight of the guilt. Simon could have died, they all could have died. Nik reaches out and grabs John’s arm, Nik turns to face him. His hand runs up John’s arm, Nik looks sympathetic at him. John barely even has time to register Nik pulling him closer, his hands running up to John’s shoulders. 

John’s hands find Nik’s waist and he squeezes, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh. 

“It’s not your fault, John.” Nik says his eyes flicking down to John’s lips, he’s not thinking, his mind for once is blank all he can imagine is Nik’s lips on his and he doesn’t have to imagine much longer. Within a second Nik is kissing him. For a brief few seconds there is no militech, no shard or dodgy job. Just Nikolai and him standing in the warm summer breeze. 

John closes his eyes and sinks into the kiss. Nik presses his tongue into John’s mouth his fingers ghost over his shard slot then he cups John’s face tilting it up slightly so he can kiss him deeper. Their tongues drag against each other and Nik moans in John’s mouth who feverishly laps him up. John doesn’t want it to end, he wants to stay in this perfect moment with Nik but he breaks from the kiss pressing his forehead against Johns. 

“It’s not your fault, malýsh.” Nik says in a low voice. “You have access to my chopper. Why don’t you go lie down, I’ll send Johnny to get you when they’ve cracked the shard.” John sighs, he could use a rest. Before he can regret it he nods, pulling his forehead away from Nik. 

“Join me.” John says suddenly. Nik smiles and grabs John’s hand. 

“Okay, but only because you asked kaptain.”

He acquired that particular scar during their second week of retirement. Almost five years ago, in early October, they had just moved into their new home the week before. Price was making coffee using the cheap pour over filter, he had bought more than a decade ago. Buying a nice espresso machine was on their ever-growing retirement to-do list but Nik hadn´t decided on a model yet and so had to make do with simple filter coffee.

They were up at 05:30, their bodies not yet adjusted to their new, more relaxed schedule.  Nik was rummaging around in the fridge, while Price poured hot water from the kettle into the filter, that was balanced rather precariously on the only of Price´s mugs, that could handle what Nik deemed an acceptable amount of coffee.

Nik hummed quietly as he hunted for eggs to scramble, Price listened to him as he put the kettle on again to prepare his tea. The autumn sun hadn`t risen yet, the morning was calm, domestic and mundane in the best way possible. Price knew he should be content, but there was a thrum under his skin, he was yet to shake, telling him he couldn´t rest, he should get going, there’s things to do.

“You think we'll get bored?”

Nik looked up from where he'd been cracking eggs into a bowl and instead of answering, he walked to the sink to wash his hands and then took the kettle out of Price’s hands, placing it on the counter.  Nik wrapped his hands around Price's thighs, and the retired major followed the kettle onto the counter as Nik hoisted him up and stepped between his legs. He started kissing Price, working his way down from Price`s lips to his neck and then his collarbone, his hands slowly stroking Price`s back. Any worry, or ruminating thought temporarily disappeared from Price´s brain.

Their spell was abruptly broken, when Nik knocked over the coffee filter and hot grinds and water spilt over Prices left thigh.

Cursing loudly Price disappeared into the bathroom. He stepped out of his boxers and into the shower to rinse the burn with cold water. Nik followed him into the shower, worriedly looking at the angry red burn on Price's thigh.

Price had long held the hypothesis that something wasn`t quite right with his brain and found his theory confirmed as he felt himself growing hard. Oh, for fucks sake. He was standing in their half-renovated bathroom, getting splattered by ice-cold water, with a fist sized burn on his thigh and apparently that got him going?

He started laughing and asked, “This remind you of something?” “Yeah. Our first time.”

Price had been injured then, too. Though his injuries had been a bit more dramatic than a simple burn. Nik, who had been the one to pull Price out of the rubble of a training exercise gone wrong, had insisted on helping him shower, once he had been cleared by the doctors. With the adrenalin still coursing through their veins, hands shaking after that near miss, a last wall between them had finally crumbled. They had kissed and held onto each other under the warm spray of the shower, their spell only broken, when the hot water had run out.

In their little cottage no one was there to interrupt. No meeting, no urgent call, no recruit needing help, no business deal demaning Nik´s attention and so, after sufficiently cooling the burn, Nik towelled of his partner and carried him to the bedroom to finish, what he started in their kitchen.

 “You with me, John?” pulls Price back from his trip down memory lane. “And did you get bored?” Nik asks, seemingly having followed Price´s train of thought to the question the major asked five years ago, before they were so rudely interrupted by spilt coffee.

Price thinks about that incident, the hikes they've been on, beaches Nik has taken him to, one memorable morning run that ended with them sheltering (and kissing) under a lilac bush, while they waited for a thunderstorm to pass. He remembers days spent reading, evenings at the pub, warm kisses, a row on how to best sort dirty laundry, that ended with him getting bent over and fucked against the washing machine and the first time Nik made soup for him when he got sick.