NikPriceWeek2026

Slowly, John’s eyes trailed to meet Nikolai’s. They gazed - no, stared - at one another for a moment. John wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he didn’t know if it was from exhilaration or from fear and nervousness. The more he thought about it, the muddier the feelings became.

His heart began to thump even harder in his chest, hammering against his ribs as if it were trying to burst out of his chest entirely. His chest felt tight, and he was certain that the discomfort he felt was visible on his face. And yet, Nikolai just continued to look down at him with a soft expression, one that the captain couldn’t quite read. On the surface it was soft, no doubt there, but the longer he looked, the hungrier it got.

There was a stirring in John’s belly, a feeling that he only really felt when checking out a bird that had caught his attention, or when he was vividly fantasising in his head. The feeling was unfamiliar in relation to a man - and John didn’t know what to do. “... Stop that.” He grumbled, finally breaking eye contact. Nik’s smile faltered, and started to tug into a frown. “John…”

Price was conflicted, internally clashing with himself as various thoughts and horrid visions fought for dominance to be the one that John lingered on. On one hand, his body was eagerly responding to Nik’s gaze - to be looked at so tenderly stoked a flame in his belly, and he swore his boxers were starting to feel far too tight around his cock. No woman had ever looked at him like that. Usually they ogled him and his muscles like a hunk of meat. His hookups, his wife before the divorce, all the same - hungry, but not tender. Never tender. But Nik’s gaze? Yes, it was hungry, but it didn’t seem the same as the carnal, flesh seeking hunger that John was used to seeing. It was like the man was trying to visually savour him. He knew no woman had looked at him that way in recent years, but… Neither had any man. He wasn't quite sure how to take or process it in that moment.

"Are you alright, Captain?" Nik's voice broke John from his rapidly spiralling thoughts. "What?" A pause. "Yeah, fine." From the look on the Russian's face, Nikolai didn't believe John's words in the slightest. "Talk to me, John." "You're looking at me." "Well… Yes. There isn't much else to look at, and-" "It's the way you're looking at me." John shuffled as he spoke - or as much as he could, given the lack of space.

"What about it?" Nikolai asked, his voice slowly going softer as he spoke. The unsure demeanour of the man across from him was unusual, to say the least - he had never, in all his time of knowing the man, seen John look so meek.

John cleared his throat after a moment and shook his head, as if he were trying to shake out some thought or other. "Don't matter, let me try the door again…" Price reached behind him, behind his arm at an awkward and uncomfortable angle in an attempt to open the door, despite knowing almost for certain that it would be in vain. "Is it making you uncomfortable, John?" "Ye- no. No, it's fine. It's whatever." But still Price didn't meet Nik's eye.

Nikolai joined John in lapsing into silence for a moment, and he spent that time - as one may expect - looking at the man across from him. What could be causing this distress? He wasn't claustrophobic to Nik's knowledge, and it wasn't like the captain was unused to being in small or tight spaces with others. Was it him? No, it couldn't have been. They were very familiar with one another, a bond that bordered on intimacy at times - more like the one Price had with his Taskforce. "Talk to me, please." Nikolai implored, "What's going on in your head, hm?" "Dunno." Came the forced and grumbled reply. John shifted his weight on his feet, his hips shifting along with the movement, and it drew Nik's gaze to the man's crotch for the briefest of moments. He hadn't meant to look, but he could have sworn the other man was sporting a chub. He moved his gaze, trying not to think about it too much.

"John… You can look at me." "Nik…" "You're thinking about something. I'd like to know what it is - and listen, if you would like to share…" John hesitated at Nikolai's words, before he sighed and visibly forced himself to meet the Russian's eyes. "I will listen." Nik emphasised, "I am not going to judge you - you understand this, yes?" John nodded, slowly. "Good… Now, speak. Perhaps you can start with why you do not wish for me to look at you?"

Coaching a man who was clearly heavily repressed to open up was not what Nik had planned for his day, but he would try his best regardless of this fact. "I… We don't need to do this - no time-" John huffed, trying the door handle again. "John… Calm down… We have nothing but time…" Nikolai soothed, gently putting his hand on John's shoulder. "Whatever you say will remain between us, in this room. Alright?" John visibly considered it for a moment, and Nikolai waited on tenterhooks.

"No one looks at me like that." John's voice was quiet, as if he were hoping the words would be lost in his facial hair, rather than reaching Nik's ears. "Not the women I've been with, not Vicky, not even… Not even the gay fellas me an' the team bump into at the local… Makes me feel… I don't know, Nik!" Nikolai nodded slowly, paying attention to each and every word. He had no idea that John had been so isolated in his romantic affairs. "And I…" "Don't know what to do about it?" Nik supplied. "… Yeah…" "Well… What do you immediately think? What pops into your mind first?"

John went quiet again. Nikolai watched the captain's face carefully. "I… I like it." Once again there was that… Meekness, that Nik thought was most unusual. "But I just… I don't know, Nik. I've… I've never…" He cleared his throat, trying to get the words to dislodge from his throat. "I… Don't, with… Blokes." "Don't?" Nikolai asked, gently pressing for a clearer answer. "Or haven't?" "Don't. Haven't…" John sighed. "More haven't, I guess. I haven't with… Anyone, for a while." At the revelation, Nik let the words hang in the air for a few, quiet moments, taking the time to try and comprehend such a thing. "Would you be against it, then?"

John thought about the question; would he be? He honestly wasn't sure - he hadn't given it a thought in so long. He had tried to keep his eyes and desires focused solely on women since he was a teenager. He had overheard some rather unsavoury comments from his father, and in an effort to make the man proud, he had shoved any and all attraction he had to men deep down, locking it away. "I don't know." It was an honest answer - he didn't know how he'd react after so many years of actively avoiding anything remotely queer. "Would you like to… Try?" Nik offered. "No strings, no consequences. If you do not enjoy it, we will never speak of it again. Hm?"

Nik could see the gears turning in John's head, mulling and thinking it over - no doubt considering if this was going to be worth it. Eventually, there came the quiet "Yeah." The corner of Nik's mouth quirked up, "Would you like me to take the lead?" He asked - as if John taking the lead, in all his inexperience, was an option. Instead of a verbal answer, this time Nik received a subtle nod from the Brit.

He slid his hand over the underside of the other man's jaw, the tips of his fingers brushing against the coarse hair and stubble of John's beard. "Words, John." Nik prompted. "I need words. Do you want me to take the lead?" "I… Yeah.. Yeah, you take the lead…" Nik hummed in approval at John's acquiescence of power. "Good…" He started to lean down, lips inching closer to John's. "Tell me if it becomes too much for you…"

As soon as their lips touched, there were sparks. John's eyes widened - there was such love, care and life in the kiss. He couldn't remember the last time he was kissed with such affection, such… Love. He soon melted against Nik's lips, all thoughts and memories of the things his father had said and the looks he had been given in the past going out of the window, purged from his mind and replaced with sinful thoughts, thoughts about Nikolai.

He returned the kiss earnestly, giving into his own hunger. Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, tongues were shoved into mouths. John, hardly able to control himself, grabbed Nik's face and pulled the Russian closer, refusing to let him pull away too soon. Nik groaned into John's mouth, approving and relishing in the fact the other man had let some of his inhibitions go - even if only for a moment. Mindlessly, John's hips stuttered forward, seeking friction and euphoria. Nikolai didn't argue or try to stop him. In fact, the pilot only encouraged the behaviour, as his hand pawed and grabbed at the plush meat of John's ass, helping the man to find a steady, rocking rhythm.

The friction felt like nothing short of heaven, for both men. The captain could hardly help the whimpers that were flowing from his lips as his crotch rubbed against Nikolai's. His mind ran wild, even more so as Nik's kisses trailed over his chin and jaw, and down his neck. He felt the Russian's large hand tugging the collar of his shirt away from the skin of his neck, exposing it to his hungry mouth. John raised a hand to his own mouth, trying his best to stifle the staggered moans and pants that spilled and bubbled from his throat. Nik's mouth kept up its steady, attentive attack on John's neck, pressing open mouthed kisses and gentle nips to the skin. As the man's teeth grazed over a certain patch of skin near his collar, John's hips surged forward to rub his cock more insistently against Nik's crotch. "That's it…" Nik groaned against his lover's skin. "Yes… Good boy, keep- keep going…" He encouraged, lowly.

And John did just that, rutting against Nikolai with a fervour he hadn't felt in years. He was near enough mindless - like he was a horny teen all over again. He could hardly help or restrain himself, and Nikolai's approving sounds did nothing to help. Neither did the kneading of his rear, goading John on. He felt young again, both in libido and in sensitivity. He cock twitched against the restraints of his clothing with every thrust of his hips, and the friction he got from the fabric of his boxers was simply delicious.

It didn't take long for John's hand to fall away from his mouth, letting the ragged pants and broken moans be heard loud and clear by Nikolai. His shouldders heaved, and Nikolai continued to nip, and peck, and suck all over John's neck - at any skin he could get to. Soon enough, with a hitched breath, John's hips stilled. The biggest wave of euphoria the man had ever felt crashed through him, running up and down his spine, through his crotch, and out into each and every one of his limbs. He could feel a sticky warmth, outside of his body, make it's way down the front of the top of his thigh, soon soaked up by the fabric of his boxers.

"… Fuck." John groaned, his head falling back against the door as Nikolai slowed his hips. He was still rock hard, but the look on John's face was more than enough of a reward for the time being. He chuckled lightly, brushing a stray hair from John's brow. "Feel good, hm?" He asked, and was given a shaky, bliss-filled sigh in response. "Think I ruined my boxers…" "It's fine; no one will notice." "Of course they'll notice…" John huffed - though there was no bite to it. "It's probably gone through the front of my trousers…" "I have a feeling we weill be here a while… It will have time to dry." "… You are one dirty bastard, you know." Nikolai couldn't help but laugh at that. "Says the man who came in his boxers like a teenage boy." He pecked John's nose. "It will be fine. And as an apology, I will even clean them for you, hm? Save you the embarrassment." "Fine…" John gave in - as it was so easy to do with Nik. "But only because you're the cause of the mess. And don't think about making this a habit, either."

"Oh, dear Captain. Of course it will be."

Their relationship was simple in many ways, and yet… complicated, in others. They had been having sex for the last three months, give or take a week. It had started with a frantic tumble in an armoured vehicle after a close call. Like two boys fumbling around, all eager hands and teeth, too frantic to do much more than hump each other in the back seat, but the passion had been earnest, like a dam cracking open. Then they had fallen into bed after exfil, and again when Nik attended a meeting in New York, and again, and again. Each time John woke up in his arms the following morning, they ate breakfast, but there was no name put to what had happened.

John Price was not the kind of man to have friends with benefits. He was too proper. Good ol’ boy, as the sergeant said. Nik knew there was no one else (he had checked out of pure possessive jealousy) but John struggled with attachment. With wanting things. He had confessed to Nik he'd always known he ‘liked fellas’, but with the service how it was, he'd never felt safe enough to explore. Coming close to losing Nik had flicked something in his head; he had taken for granted that Nik would be there for him to work up to, and then, suddenly, he almost hadn't been. Such a confession gave Nik some hope that he wouldn't simply be discarded in another month. He just had to wait for John to navigate the tangle of overthinking and repression in his head. 

“Fink you could… uh, help me wind down fer the night?” 

Nik ended his opponent and locked his phone before the victory screen had even flashed up. There were more gratifying conquests to be had tonight. He cast it onto the coffee table and grabbed the half drunk bottle of whiskey they had been sharing to pour himself another glass, weighing up the offer and how he would accept. As Nik sat back, drink in hand, he crooked two fingers at John, whose whiskers twitched with mild chagrin before he rolled from his seat to claim what he wanted.

Nik savoured the first sip as he watched John swagger around the coffee table, pulling his cotton t-shirt over his head before casting it to the floor. There were no words in any of the eight languages Nik knew to fully encompass John's simple beauty; the curls of brown hair streaked with occasional red, the freckles and moles, the scars where he had defied all attempts to snuff him from existence, his craggy, roguish face with its scruffy beard and his mop of too-long hair fluffy from the shower; the crooked, imperfect canvas brimming with quiet power and confidence that was so unique that it stole Nik's breath away every time. Nik knew he was in love, and had resigned himself to waiting until John realised it too. Or was at least brave enough to allow himself to nurse the budding feelings into love.

Nik's palm slid over John's waist as he sank down to straddle his lap, replacing cool glass with warm lips as John leaned down for a kiss, greedy hands squeezing at Nik's shoulders and tits with a relieved sigh. John liked how solid Nik was, how he overspilled even John's big hands, defying their attempt to contain him. Nik was one thing in John’s world he couldn’t dominate; his authority, his accolades, his physical prowess, all fell short when faced with something he ached for, something he could not tame. 

Nik slid his fingers around the skin just above John's waistband to the small of his back, dipping his fingers down to the tender skin at the top of his cleft. Nik was just in the process of deciding how he wanted to break John down into a whimpering mess when John began to slide from his lap, kisses and nips leaving a track of tingling pleasure down his chest. 

John pressed his face into Nik's stomach with a soft moan, rubbing his face into the trail of fur leading down to his fly. His strong hands gripped at Nik's hips, sliding up his back only to rake his nails down as he squirmed between his legs. Nik stroked his hair, feeling the fluffy strands fall through his fingers, admiring the flush across John's shoulders as arousal warmed his skin. John drifted lower, his eyes lidded, and pushed his face against Nik's bulge, his tongue lolled out and rasped over the denim next to the zip, wordlessly pleading for what he wanted. Nik tilted his head as the sensation tickled through to his hardening cock, stroking down the back of John's neck to rake his nails forward through his beard to lift his chin. “Would you like a real taste, solnyshko?” 

John's pupils blew wide, glistening lips parted as he nodded down into Nik's palm. This would be his first time. Despite his eagerness, John’s inexperience sometimes made him hesitant to begin; he wanted so desperately to please, to do it right, but he didn't know how. For a man so used to being in control, to leading and being the best in everything he did - fighting, fucking - it often led to a kind of paralysis; wound tight and frustrated. Nik took pleasure in leading him past it.

Nik kept hold of John's chin, shifting him back just a little so that he could undo his button and fly. His head flopped back as he dipped his fingers beneath the firm denim, smoothing them down the hard length of his cock. He felt John's face push into his grip, adam’s apple bobbing at his fingertips. “Slowly,” Nik murmured, his voice sticky in his throat as his own heart picked up in anticipation. His cock drooled inside the confines of his boxers, throbbing beneath the glide of his own caress over the outside, while his thumb slid over John's lower lip and onto his tongue. “Mmm, John… khochu, chtob otsosal u menya.” 

John pressed forward again and Nik let him bury his face against his crotch, felt the press of his nose into his balls as he nuzzled, the hot puff of breath, the spreading warmth as he mouthed needily at the side of Nik's shaft with a low moan, wetting his underwear with his tongue. Nik stroked his bristled cheek with a spit slick thumb, relishing in the build up and the hunger as his cock tented the soft cotton. John pressed the flat of his tongue to the tip, tasting the precum soaking through, and Nik’s grip tightened on his chin with a low growl. 

John made a desperate noise, half way between a whine and a growl. “Nik, c’mon… show me, an’ ‘ll do it good, promise… please.” 

”You will have this, and later, I want your legs on my shoulders.”

”Yeah, whatever you want, luv, please…”

Nik watched those pleading blue eyes as he reached beneath the elastic of his boxers and smoothed a hand up his shaft from the base, easing it free of its prison. John’s tongue darted out over his lips, his nostrils flaring, knees shifting between Nik’s feet and Nik pumped his cock in one slow pull, easing his foreskin back over his glans. John didn’t need coaxing, his tongue slipped out again, hot breath panting over Nik’s wet slit as he waited. 

“I ya dam yego tebe... yesli budesh khoroshim mal'chikom,” Nik said softly. John nodded and Nik’s lips twitched into a dazed smile; he was perfect, so beautiful on his knees, his stern face softened with his blush, half embarrassed by his own wantonness. There was a soft edge of innocence to the way he waited for guidance, a man well into his prime and yet still inexperienced when it came to his desires. Nik stroked the underside of his cock against John’s tongue, groaning low in his throat at how good his thick cockhead looked against John’s pretty lips, how amazing the wet, sloppy heat of his tongue felt as it swirled against his frenulum without any prompting. Just pure need, and perhaps, Nik reasoned, remembering what he liked himself. John shivered in his grip, the tension tight across his shoulders, his fingers clawing into the couch cushions. 

“Relax, solnyshko…” John’s shoulders eased, his fingers splaying out either side of Nik’s hips, and Nik guided his tongue down the side as a reward. “Take your time, delay the gratification, breathe…"

John kissed a thick vein, tracing its path down Nik's cock; Nik's hips bucked when he became a little more confident and sucked the velvet skin into his mouth, working down to the plush give of Nik's balls where he nuzzled into the rich, musky scent. John yanked at his jeans suddenly, and Nik lifted his hips so that John could pull them down to his ankles. Despite the new level to his nakedness, he didn't feel vulnerable. It was the way John shivered and wriggled, subordinate to his lust, and therefore to Nik. Nik spread his thighs, John's beard rasping against the sensitive skin on the inside as John mouthed the weight of his sac with high, tight noises building in his throat. 

Nik let his head flop back against the couch as John worshipped his balls with sucking, greedy kisses and wet licks. They would be breeding his pretty hole later, leaving him stretched and wet, and Nik's toes curled in his boots at the thought of it. A long lap followed the seam from his taint to the base of his cock and he growled in dazed pleasure. “You are a natural, John… blyat… ah, mm. You are so beautiful, doing so well.”

John lapped back up the underside and pushed the tip of his tongue through Nik’s slit, sending swells of warm pleasure down his length with each indulgent pass. The intensity made Nik's thighs quake, and John pulled his cock head between his lips to use the flat of his tongue to add a little pressure, spreading Nik's slit a little more. He liked the taste, Nik realised, and groaned deep in his chest, pressing his head back against the couch at such sweet torture, hips rocking in little jerks with a desperate need to fuck. “Your mouth…” 

John moaned softly, eyes flickering, and finally swallowed him down; warm, wet heat enveloping Nik's aching shaft until his cockhead met the resistance of John's throat. His gag reflex tremored and Nik felt the first reluctant choke. “Slow, you are… perfect. Do not push yourself,” Nik gentled him and cupped his jaw in a loose hold, letting his lover slide up and down freely, experimenting with a gentle suckle, his tongue licking out as Nik’s cockhead pressed along the roof of his mouth. 

John continued to make low, lurid noises of enjoyment around the slurp of his mouth working, blue eyes rolling into his head before they closed, as Nik’s taste overwhelmed him, his lips stretching wide around his girth. He was sloppy, eager, and that’s what made it good. Not the masterful oral of a professional or experience, but the hungry, desperate need to please of a man only now finding sweet relief in his sexuality; his desire was primal, raw, he didn’t know what exactly he wanted to do, only that he wanted to do it, and as he found his confident he sucked Nik deeper, drooling with hunger.

“Da… da, detka, mmph.” Nik’s hand slid around the back of John’s head, fingers burying in his hair as John found a comfortable pace. Saliva and precum dripped down Nik’s shaft, matting in the dark curls at the base, his balls tight. He watched John with lidded eyes, the bliss on his face mirroring the swells of pleasure rolling through Nik's hips every time his cock sank into the warm, wet suction of John's mouth. 

John took him too deep a second time, pressing Nik's cock head against his gag reflex insistently. He spluttered and drew back, eyes watering, and Nik stroked a thumb across his cheek. “If you want to take me that deep, you must relax your throat, and take it… ah, John, take it slowly.”

John hummed and sucked Nik back into his mouth before he had even finished, a single tear sliding free, the look in those blue eyes almost petulant. He sank low again, teasing that same spot. The back of his throat jumped and twitched against Nik's glans but John didn't cough this time before he drew back. His head bobbed slowly, taking Nik as deep as he could go each time, easing his nose closer and closer to Nik's groin. Nik could feel John's throat sucking at him, trying to swallow him down, and groaned as each suck squeezed his tip. He was so close, the coil in his hips so tight. 

“Ah, da, da, John,” Nik groaned, fingers tightening in his hair, while his other hand moved to squeeze John's face, press to his throat, feeling his shaft slide in to the back of it as John swallowed. When John was a little more experienced, Nik would fuck his throat. He would lay his lover down on a bed naked and gently thrust into his mouth, make John take him down to the hilt just as he did when he spread his legs. Every part of this beautiful, scruffy, indomitable man would be his to claim, his to fuck and love and hold. 

Nik's heels pushed into the floor, hips lifting as he gave into his urge to thrust, easing himself back and forth across John's lips as he pressed to the back of his head. “Da, da… vot tak… prodolzhay…” Nik looked down the slope of his body to the mess of John's face, his beard and moustache soaked in pre and spit, blue eyes glistening with tears, tanned face flushed. Nik was too big for him to take on his first go, just as Nik had been too big for his pink little hole the first time he had spread his legs. He'd whined and growled at Nik then too, determined to take everything he was given, bratty, but completely overwhelmed by it as Nik had bottomed out.

He was overwhelmed now. Nik could see it in every line of his face, but it only served to intensify the orgasm as it curled through him; a slow, inevitable heat that uncurled gloriously down his limbs and emptied his balls down John's throat. Perhaps he should have warned John off, but there was something quite satisfying about watching his lover startle in those first few moments, and then give in to his baser needs as they roared to the fore; his tongue curled, and then he sucked at Nik’s twitching cock hungrily for every last drop, throat vibrating with a satisfied purr. 

Nik pulled him off as aftershocks of sensitivity began to spark through his groin. He leaned forward and pressed their mouths together, keeping his hold through John's momentary resistance. He moaned at the taste of himself in John's mouth, his claim so complete that even their kiss was consumed by it. When he sat back, his tongue brushing over his lips to savour every last trace, he admired the destruction of John's stern face, the way he looked dazed and satisfied. 

“Come,” Nik murmured, gathering John onto the sofa. John came without resistance, long legs stretching over the cushions as Nik laid them down and slid a hand into his jeans to fondle the straining erection that John had neglected to satisfy. "What made you want that tonight?"

"Dunno," John croaked. "Kept seein' it in yer flight suit an' wanted it in me mouth. Couldn't get it out my head."

"You were thinking of sucking my prick on the mission?"

"Only durin' the flight bits, an'... Ah, Nik, fuck..." John's back bowed as Nik tugged gently at his balls. The way he spread his legs even when Nik was stroking his cock made Nik's blood run hot. "Jus'... needed it...mng, needed you."

Nik smiled through the kiss he pressed to John's neck, teasing a little lower over his sac and down his taint, still groping him inside the confines of his trousers and revelling in the wanton way John rolled his hips into his hand. 

Price couldn't reply. In the next breath, Nik was kissing him, tongue licking into his mouth as his head was trapped against the wall. He dropped his hands down Nik's sides just as Nik took his waist, drawing their hips together as their kiss deepened, growing urgent as a soft keen broke briefly in the back of Nik's throat. When Price dragged his blunt nails up Nik's back, Nik arched, losing his dominant position, and Price seized the moment to push him against the foot of the bed.

Nik staggered and fell heavily, looking up through low lashes, curls of black hair obscuring a wry smirk. “I am not used to being pushed around, John.”

“Me either,” Price said, kicking off his boots and tugging his shirt over his head. “Guess there's a first time for everything.” He didn't miss the way Nik's eyes blew wide, admiring the sight of the broad, muscular body of the alpha he had chosen. Price was leaner than Nik, but the quiet power in the way he held himself was enough to make even an omega of Nik's stature want to present. Price crawled over Nik's legs, using his chest and a kiss, to push him onto his back, knees tucking between his thighs. Nik groaned, big hands cupping Price’s face, kneading at his beard as his body pushed up eagerly, pleading wordlessly for Price’s attention.

Price pressed his hips forward, rocking his hard bulge gently against the sensitive heat of Nik's cunt. Even the soft fleece of his sweatpants might be too much against him now, but Nik only moaned, lifting his feet from the bed, spreading his thighs with a little arch of the back to push into the friction. Price broke their kiss and nibbled Nik's jaw, lavishing hungry kisses down his neck, over his glands leaking heat pheromones and arousal.

“John, I am so wet for you… ya khochu chuvstvovat' tvoi prikosnoveniya i tvoi laski…” Nik breathed, powerful body writhing in the sheets, inflamed by the teasing promise of Price’s cock. But Price needed to taste him. His instincts demanded it. Before mating an omega in heat, an alpha needed to check they were ready; receptive, healthy and fertile. Everything needed for a successful breeding. It was bloody nonsense in their case, he burned with desire for Nik and Nik was a man who knew what he wanted and was used to getting it. But giving in, letting his alpha take a little control, it felt good as the scent of Nik's heat tugged at his primal core, and the thought of sliding his tongue into Nik's cunt made his mouth water.

Price worked slowly down his body, sucking, kissing, leaving a trail of tingling pleasure with his lips as Nik wriggled and bucked beneath him. When Price hooked his sweats, he lifted his rear to free them, one big hand buried in Price’s hair, firm and insistent. Price slipped off the foot of the bed, taking the last stitch of Nik's clothing with him and reached up to wrap his arms around Nik's strong thighs. Nik huffed as he was pulled lower, growling at being manhandled, but that snarl faded into a soft, broken whimper the moment Price's tongue pushed over the swollen bud of his cock and into his slit.

Price’s eyes rolled back as the sweet, intoxicating taste of slick filled his mouth. He worked his tongue slowly over Nik's folds, firm, broad strokes that made Nik pant, teasing the outside of his hole with little flicks that made it flutter, before sinking in. Price moaned; a coarse, drunken sound deep in his throat. Nik was perfect. The slight tang of sweat from where he had been restless in heat, the flood of musky pheromones, the way Nik's cunt spread around his tongue, already so wet and relaxed.

Nik arched, rough fingers scruffing John's hair, as John's tongue fucked lazily into him. It was just meant to be a taste to satiate the alpha purring in the back of John's head, but when Nik's legs began to quake, John decided this would be Nik's first orgasm. He curled his arm around his thigh, wetted his fingers, and tugged gently up and down his cock as he swirled his tongue through his labia to take it into his mouth. He slid his fingers into Nik's cunt, groaning at how eagerly it sucked on them as they curled and thrusted, finding the sweet spot that would make Nik’s mind go blank. Nik’s heels lifted off the bed, hips cocked towards Price’s mouth in beautiful surrender to the pleasure throbbing through him.

“John, John, John…” Nik half sobbed as he came, the flood of slick coating Price’s hand and filling his mouth as Nik hit a dizzying peak. His strong thighs tried to close but Price kept them open so he could lap in a slow, gentle rhythm over his cock to nurse those aftershocks. His cunt quivered and squeezed around the fingers inside it, but Price knew it wouldn't feel like enough. The frustrated growl confirmed it as Nik looked down his heaving tits to Price's face.

“Easy, sweet’eart,” Price rumbled, placing a final kiss on Nik's cock before working his way up his furry belly. “Let me enjoy ya. Long time since ‘ve ‘ad such a gorgeous omega.”

“You make a habit of bedding omegas in heat?” Nik asked thickly, a little bit of possessive jealousy edging his voice.

Price chuckled, licking around a pebbled nipple, making Nik hiss with sensitivity. It broke into a moan when Price kissed it deeply, open mouthed and firm, sucking the meat of his tit into his mouth, before drawing away. “Naw, yer special, Nik. Only omega I wan’ on my knot.”

The sweat clung to Nik's skin. He was gasping between breaths, hips squirming and bucking, as Price worked up his body. He was desperately ready for mating, his hands fisted in the sheets now as his lover finally made it to his neck. Price closed his mouth over Nik's gland as he scooped between one of his thighs to lift it over his forearm. His cock was rock hard, the tip dripping pre, and he rubbed it through Nik's folds, teasing him with promise. With his gland in an alpha’s mouth, Nik's body relaxed into submission, and Price thrust forward in a gentle roll of the hips to sink into him.

Nik moaned some garbled Russian at the ceiling, lifting his hips to slide himself further onto Price's cock. The wet heat of his cunt gripped Price perfectly, slick and eager, and Price growled, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he pressed his tip to Nik's cervix. Knowing that Nik's primal brain had chosen him for pups, had seen his body, his mind, his authority, and decided they were suitable for his future offspring, had triggered something deep and buried in the back of Price's head. It roiled and growled possessively, demanding.

He drew back and thrust forward in a single fluid movement, the wet sounds of their bodies joining, moving together, delicious beneath the low moan of his omega. “John… you are… so big, I…”

“Like it, love? Like how my cock stretches ya?” Price growled against Nik's neck.

“Da, hng… pizdat…”

John gathered his knees up the bed to widen his stance, fucking into his omega with agile rolls of the hips that let Nik enjoy the full length of him each time. The creak of the bed springs underpinned the wet slap of their hips, Nik wetter and wetter as his pleasure and relief mounted. Soon, Price could feel it soaking his balls, dripping into the bed sheets, and he was almost mindless with arousal at the thought of how much Nik wanted this, how much he was enjoying being fucked deep and raw.

Price’s cock throbbed inside the clutch of Nik's body, and Price sat up on his knees, lifting Nik's thighs out and up to his forearms just so he could watch his cock fuck into his cunt. He gripped just beneath Nik's hips to keep him at the right height, rolling forward until he sank right into the hilt before drawing back, his shaft glistening with milky slick and pre. “God yer fuckin’ gorgeous, look at ya takin’ me… so fuckin’ hungry for it.”

Price slowed as he felt Nik’s orgasm begin to build; the quiver in his legs, the way his moans tightened, became more urgent. Upright like this, Price was grinding against his sweet spot, and a little caress of Nik's cock would probably send him over again. Price drank in the sight of Nik on the precipice, his thick tits heaving, dusky nipples hard with arousal, dark hair stuck to his glistening skin, his muscular body ached as he fisted the sheets above his head. It was decadent, a display of pure wanton bliss as he was serviced by the thick alpha cock he had longed for.

Price leaned down, letting Nik's legs wrap his waist as he ground deep, circling his hips a little and making Nik choke on his moan as Price teased his cock. They kissed, Nik's mouth slack, his tongue licking against Price's in uncoordinated desperation. He came like that. Price felt it roll through Nik's body in a wave of quivering tension, cunt squeezing down on Price’s cock as it stayed deep inside him, rocking back and forth with a slow cadence. Nik moaned Price’s name, back arched, pushing his hips up as he shuddered through it.

“Wonder if I can get a third before I knot ya,” Price said breathlessly. His own climax prickled on the periphery, so desperately close, his body tight and glowing with arousal and desire. Nik was perfect. Why had it taken him so long? Why were they not mated with beautiful, dark-haired pups? Why was Nik not in his bed, spread out like this, every night? It was a crime.

Nik growled. “You are too cocky…”

Price yelped as Nik flipped him onto his back with an elegant surge of strength. He latched onto the thick thighs that bracketed his hips as Nik mounted him, still panting from his orgasm. He was so fuckin’ hard, and Nik so wet and eager, that he only slid through Nik's folds twice before his tip found purchase. Price moaned as he sank back into the glorious heat of Nik's body, nails digging into the meat of his legs. Nik looked bloody magnificent, the unruly mop on his head curling wildly in the heat, dark eyes wide and hungry as they gazed down his chest at his captured alpha. Price had never seen an omega like him, never wanted any other because no one else would ever compare. He knew he was done for.

Nik's head fell back as he rolled his hips, sliding Price over his sweet spot with a low moan of wanton bliss. He knew the angles that made him feel good, knew how to use an alpha for his pleasure, and Price was a willing tool for that purpose. He marvelled at the delicious vision of Nik's cunt rising and falling down the thick length of his shaft, gnawing at his lower lip, the visual and the physical pleasure melding together to make him giddy. He moaned, pushing his head back, lifting his arse a little to meet Nik's thrusts. “God, yer fuckin’ beautiful… gonna fuck you so full, Nik, yer gonna carry my pups. An’ they'll look… ahh, as beautiful as you. Just as fuckin’, mm, just as fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Even after two peaks, Nik was insatiable; wet, shaking with exhausted pleasure, but still desperately seeking. It wasn't just the pleasure he was after; his body feverish with heat, an ache at his core that could only be placated by an alpha’s knot. This one was always the most desperate; the first of the heat after so long in denial. When they mated again later, Nik would be more relaxed, perhaps more willing to let Price take the lead again, but now he was demanding, ravenous.

Slick pooled around the base of Price’s cock, dripping down his aching balls, high and tight from where he was so close to giving Nik what he wanted. Nik began to move faster, more urgently, his breathing ragged, growls and snarls becoming more frustrated as he chased and chased, the lurid, wet slap of skin as delicious as the desperate whimpers that occasionally broke through, almost distressed at how good it felt to be stretched so well. Price’s heels pushed into the mattress as Nik's slick cunt milked his cock greedily, his swelling knot sinking a little deeper each time Nik bounced against him.

“Fuck, Nik, fuck… fuck…” Price's toes curled, the pressure in his hips like a coiled spring. He didn't want it to end. Didn't want to give up the vision of Nik over him, wild, and dangerous, and feral with pleasure. He walked the tightrope, teetering on the brink, his legs, his arms, his chest throbbing with building pleasure fit to erupt out of his damn pores, Nik's name panting from spit-slick lips kissed and bitten red.

Nik fisted his hair and yanked his head back. Price was too gone to resist, exposing himself to the sharp teeth of his omega. If Nik ripped his throat out now, he would die a happy man. Instead, Nik licked a long strip from the hollow to the coarse line of his beard as he ground his hips down, barely lifting at all to keep Price buried deep inside him, his tip kissing against Nik's cervix. Nik shoved his face against the side of Price's head and growled, the bassy tremor of his voice burrowing right to Price’s primal core. “Give me my fucking pups, John.”

Price grabbed Nik's hips and pulled him down hard, his knot locking them together as his vision whited with the intensity of his orgasm. He could hear Nik’s ecstasy, a delirious “da, da, da” sobbed at the ceiling as he was filled with thick pulses of his chosen alpha’s seed, his powerful body trembling, completely slack with pleasure but for the tight grip of his cunt. Price could feel him squeezing, bearing down and relaxing instinctually through the heady euphoria of being bred. The omega lock kept his knot snug because the coupling had been willing and mutually pleasurable; Nik's body wanted to make sure the breeding took from such good stock.

When Nik curled down, shaking in the aftershocks still sparking through his body, Price lifted his knees to keep Nik’s hips tilted at a comfortable angle to avoid tugging his knot prematurely. Nik sank gratefully against Price’s chest, licking lazily at the pheromone-soaked sweat on his neck as strong arms encircled his back. Nik was blissed out, floating on a cloud of afterglow, sated and content that he had chosen a worthy mate, and Price knew he would claim him before his heat was up. The thought of any other alpha enjoying Nik's body, knotting him, made him want to tear throats out.

“You good?” Price croaked finally, stroking a hand down Nik's spine and feeling him shiver.

“Da…”

“You… uh, mean that? About the pups?”

Nik sat up a little, groaning softly as Price's knot shifted inside him. His back arched, his elbows tucked against John's sides. “I have… always wanted a family, John. And you were always my choice.”

Price flashed a half smile. They were getting on. Hell, he might not even be fertile enough to give Nik what he wanted. But a family? That sounded… nice. It wasn't like Nik couldn't afford it, even if Price's salary was woefully lacking. He reached up to stroke the stubble on Nik’s face, and Nik tilted into the caress with a soft purr. The gentle, ragged rumble of a contented omega. Price chuffed back instinctively, nuzzling his nose to Nik's before urging his head back so Price could nurse his gland. Nik's body squeezed him eagerly as Price sucked at his neck, a willingness to be claimed.

“‘d like that, love. But, wot about our work, no good havin’ pups if I got a bullet between the eyes tomorrow.”

Nik shifted, rubbing his stubbled jaw over Price's head and face, scenting him. “I will keep you safe. I will keep all of you safe.”

“All of us?”

Nik watched him with dark eyes and Price realised his balls were gonna be wrung dry more times than he had wagered. Nik was used to getting what he wanted, and if that was an entire litter of pups that all spoke a hundred languages and could rewire a nuke, then that was what he was gonna get.

“Right.”

When Price’s knot went down, his cock withdrew with a wet, gratifying slurp that made him want to sink his teeth into Nik's shoulder and rub his scent into his body hair. Nik relaxed onto his belly as Price left the bed to light up a cigar and pour himself some whiskey, standing by the open balcony doors to survey the ocean beyond. There were no other ships for miles. Just sprawling sea and sky. It would be a few days before landfall, and by then he would have Nik pregnant with their pups.

Just like that. Bloody hell. He was used to his life moving fast, but he hadn’t wagered finishing this operation with a mate, let alone one carrying his offspring. He chewed a little on his lower lip. Would be a decent father? Better than– fuck, the bar weren't exactly high. He tried to picture their faces in his head; blue eyes like his, or brown eyes like Nik. Would they have black hair? Or a messy brown streaked with red? They'd be smart. Hard not to be. Nik's genes would obliterate Price's in that regard, he reckoned. And Nik would look so good. His tits would be even bigger than they already were, and Price would kiss every stretch mark, earned like bars on a rank slide.

His cigar had burned down completely by the time there was a low growl from the bed, and a lot of shuffling. He glanced over his shoulder to see Nik on his knees, his back in a deep curve, chest on the bed, with his big hands kneading at the sheets. “Fuck…” Price breathed, his cock already at half chub just at the sight of his omega presenting.

His.

His jaw ached, teeth clacking together, and he chucked his cigar over the railing, returning to the bed. “Gonna make ya mine, sweet’eart.”

“Da…” Nik breathed, knees spreading, thick thighs flexing. All that brawn and power waiting to be worshipped as it should be. Nik could snap Price in half if he wanted to, but instead he was begging to be bred. Price couldn't help but drop his head and lick a long strip up his dripping cunt, the combined taste of their last coupling still lingering in a bitter, cloying tang that he swallowed down. “John, pozhaluysta…”

Price stepped onto the bed and draped himself over Nik's back, hard cock grinding against Nik's cunt in the first few searching thrusts, Price losing himself a little in the moment. Nik groaned, muttering something in desperate Russian, and then Price’s cock head finally found purchase. His knuckles pushed into the mattress, the other hand resting on Nik's hip, he snapped his hips forward and punched a high sound from Nik's chest. He wasn't as gentle this time, scruffing the back of Nik's neck to push him down when he tried to bow away from the intensity of the pleasure. Nik’s back tensed and relaxed, broad shoulders rippling and then dropping in final surrender to his first orgasm. Price ground in deep, whispering praise and filth by Nik's ear as he continued to pound into him even as his body shook, deep and hard.

The moment he sank his teeth onto Nik's gland, he expected to panic at the taste of his lover’s blood, but he only groaned as Nik locked around his knot. The flood of pheromones made his peak draw out, balls pulling tight as his omega’s body milked him. Claiming an omega as strong, as formidable, as Nik gave him a giddy rush of adrenalin. Not just claiming, but being wanted. Being seen as worthy. Nik could have anyone. Anyone. But he had chosen Price. Had demanded his damn pups.

Price swallowed his heat-rich blood, savouring it as much as the slick he planned to eat out of Nik later. It would change Price as much as Price’s bite would change Nik; no omega would look twice at him now. He was marked. Claimed by blood rite. The purr that rumbled from his chest could rival thunder at the thought of walking by other alphas and having Nik's scent roll off him.

When the aftershocks subsided, he curled an arm around Nik's chest and guided their bodies to the side. In the afterglow, he licked the wound closed, chuffing gently as Nik's tight keens subsided into a contented purr, a deep, rolling base that seemed to fill Price too.

“Mine,” Price murmured, nuzzling into Nik's black curls, damp with sweat.

“Da, John…” Nik said, his voice hoarse from crying his alpha’s name only moments before. He turned a little and John sat up, letting Nik lick his beard, his lips, into his open mouth to his tongue, tasting the evidence of his own claim. It melted into a deep, lingering kiss when Nik lapped at the roof of his mouth, Nik's body throbbing around Price's shaft in contented pleasure.

As Price drew closer to the door, the signal became clearer, so he kicked it open. The wind howled in, almost pushing him back into the hallway. The ceiling had caved in. The walls and windows were missing. What had once been offices with cubicles now a skeletal ribcage and steel and shattered brick, open to the stormy grey of a war torn sky. “Yankee Seven, this is Bravo Six. I copy. Over.”

Pizdet, John…

Nik dropped protocol for a moment, the relief audible in his voice even through the static.

Price dragged a heavy desk over the doorway as bullets drummed into the reinforced metal. “Sitrep?”

We’re circlin’ the building. Where are ya? Ghost.

“Fiftieth floor. Walls are all blown out.”

Rog. We see it.

“Got ultranationalists up my arse and not many floors to go.”

John, do you remember Abidjan?

Nik was flying close. Price could hear the rattle of gunfire and a grunt as his helo was forced back. They had to be firing at him from a lower floor to keep him away from the building.

Price scowled, blinking through the sweat running down his face as he studied the outskirts of the room. Yeah, he remembered Abidjan. Detachment of Kortac operatives chasing his tail through the streets and then onto the roof of an abandoned warehouse, his lungs burning, a through-and-through wound in his right arm. There was no way out then, and there were no exits now. This was it. ”’m no’ twenty-six ’nymore.”

You must trust me. I will catch you. Run, now.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Price clenched his teeth, screwed his eyes shut for a brief second, and then slid his M4 behind his back. There was a moment where his breath caught in his chest; the vacuum in the milliseconds before you made a decision that would end your life or save it. All he heard was his own breath out, a drop of sweat passing his eyebrow, a final bloody prayer to a god that had abandoned him long ago. He broke into a sprint.

He weaved between scorched furniture and mangled girders, the last remnants of a former life the office building would never return to. As he drew closer to the edge of the floor, the city sprawled out to the horizon, he could see the Black Hawk circling the corner of the building, her rotary blades thumping against the air as Nik banked hard.

The door behind him burst open and black shadows poured through. The bullets whizzed by his head and he heard them rattle over the helo’s nose, glass shattering, seconds before his feet left the edge of solid ground and found open air.

The street was nothing but a smudge of grey below him in the breathless second his body stretched over it, every muscle seized, overextended, and then his chest hit the edge of the helo’s floor. More bullets chipped off its armour as Nik tried to keep the helo stable, buying Price precious seconds.

Gravity snatched at Price’s legs and dragged him backwards as the helo tipped away from the building, his fingers and palms scrambling against the flatbed in search of something to grip—shit, shit, shit—and then a strong hand latched onto the back of his plate carrier to haul him in.

Simon left him gasping for breath as he skidded to the open door to lay down some cover fire for the rear rotary engine, and Price closed his eyes, allowing the familiar thump-thump of helo blades to ground him as the adrenaline made his limbs shake.

As it faded, the injuries began to filter in one by one. He had a stab wound in the back of his shoulder where a blade had snuck by his plate carrier, a gunshot soaking through his left thigh, a sprained wrist, maybe some broken fingers. There was something burning in his side, maybe shrapnel. Fuck knows.

”Where you broken?” Simon asked. He yanked Price’s shemagh off and velcro crackled as he pulled the plate carrier away more carefully, medkit open at his heel. Broad palms swept over Price's chest, searching the vital areas first.

”Few places, but s’fine. Not bleedin’ out, strapped a tourniquet around the leg.”

Simon nodded, but continued checking Price over anyway. Price let him do it. No point taking chances if the adrenaline could still be covering up serious damage. A few prods and pokes hurt more than others, and Simon muttered something about being lucky to still have his kidney.

Nik carried them out of the city limits, and then suddenly Price was watching the coast recede in their wake. “Nik, wos goin’ on?”

”Change of plan, captain. The sergeants are safe.”

Ghost looked at Price for confirmation. Price trusted Nik, Ghost trusted Price. There had never been a reason to distrust Nik in the last decade and a half of working together, and Price ducked his chin a nod. If they were deviating from the agreed plan, then there was a valid reason. Ghost returned to his vigil at the door, his rifle slanted over his thigh.

”Valiant Tower, Valiant Tower, this is Yankee Seven, inbound from bearing 060, range 12 nautical miles. Request landing instructions. Over.” Nik’s voice settled over Price’s mind like a weighted blanket. Safe.

Yankee Seven, this is Valiant Tower. Acknowledge radar contact. State package designation and verify authorisation code. Over.

”Package designation: Echo November. Authorisation follows; Delta Four, Kilo Seven, Zero Charlie. Confirm. Over.”

There was a pause and Price sat up slowly. His head was thumping, his rib cage felt like it had been cracked open by a crab knife. Why were they flying for an American aircraft carrier?

Copy, Yankee Seven. Echo November confirmed. Authorisation code matches for covert transit. How many aboard?

There was a strained grunt from the cockpit, and then… “Three souls. One pilot, two Package. All black. Silent and cold. Medical support… required.”

Understood. You are cleared inbound to Spot 2. Maintain 1,000 feet until five-mile call. Altimeter 29.92, winds 090 at 12. Keep chatter minimal. Tower out.

”Copy.”

Nik was pushing the helo hard. Price could feel the vibrations through its metal frame. There was no need. The enemy weren’t in pursuit and the carrier wasn’t about to steam off. Price latched onto one of the cables on the helo’s shell and hauled himself upright. They made record time and then Nik was soon chattering through the radio again.

”Valiant Tower, Yankee Seven, five miles, st… steady approach.”

Yankee Seven, enter left-hand pattern, descend five hundred feet. Report abeam. Spot 2 is dark and green.

“Copy.” Nik’s voice cracked and Price’s brow furrowed. “Valiant Tower, Yankee Seven, abeam, ready… ah, ready for final.”

Yankee Seven, cleared final to Spot 2. Deck secured. Package team is expected below deck on arrival. No further transmission required. You are eyes-only from here.

The helo banked sharply and then the concrete grey of the USS Valiant cut through the blue of the ocean. They descended steadily at first, and then the helo jerked unexpectedly, almost sending Ghost tumbling through the open door. Price rolled onto his hands and knees as her wheels touched down and the whirr of her engine began to fade. The customary click-click of Nik turning off switches, adjusting—parking, his beloved bird—were completely absent.

”Nik?”

Price growled through the pain as he climbed to his feet. He stumbled into the cockpit and found Nik looking grey, his eyes almost completely closed, as he slumped to the side. “Captain… ya ranen.” His voice was tight, breathing laboured. A grimace of pain crumpled Nik’s face, and then Price saw it in the next breath. A huge spread of red through the right side of his shirt. He had tried to pack it with gauze to stem the bleeding, but there was still a gathering puddle on the floor. The cockpit was riddled with holes, the first aid kit torn open on the passenger seat. “Fuck.”

Price had read once that a mother could lift a car off her baby, such was the strength of love for her child. There was no logic to her action, no pause to think about the impossibility of such a feat; it was a fiery, irrational, indomitable love that would stop at nothing. Price had thought it a bit farfetched at the time, that love–a mere feeling–could be such a strong driving force, but in that moment, he felt it. The roar of outrage through his entire body as death had the fuckin’ audacity to try to take something so precious from him; the fire of desperation as he watched Nikolai bleed out right before his eyes.

Battered and broken, Price hauled two hundred and forty-five pounds of Russian out of his pilot seat and across his shoulders and screamed for assistance, Nik's headset clattering to the floor. The landing spot was ‘dark’ as requested, but it didn’t take long for personnel to appear as Price bellowed bloody murder. The rest faded into a flurry of bodies and the thundering of his own heart in his ears.

Nik had said nothing. He hadn’t called Simon away from tending to Price. He had flown directly to an American aircraft carrier rather than risk landing in enemy territory, or dropping out of the sky due to blood loss. They would look up his identity and find nothing but digital wanted posters. Price and Ghost were at least traceable to the SAS, but Nik had more arrest warrants attached to his alias than Price had had hot dinners, and yet he’d flown directly into the waiting arms of the American government.

Price knew he got Nik to a stretcher before his vision edged in grey, his arms slipping from his broad torso, blood-slick fingers wrapping together in a loose bind. “Don’ you fuckin’ leave me…” he whispered. The fear clenched in his chest, a tight knot of pain and pressure, Nik's pulse so reedy under his grip. His knees buckled as the trauma sheers sliced through Nik’s shirt, booted feet skidding on metal, followed by his shoulder, and then… nothing.

…

Beep.

Beep. Ow, bollocks, that… fuck, that was quite somethin’.

Beep. “You awake?”

”Ghost?” Price's voice was muffled by an oxygen mask, and he pawed it down his chin with an irritable growl.

“Good,” Simon said. “They got the bits of office outta ya back, set ya fingers and wrist, an’ patched every’fin’ else up.”

”Nik?”

”Stable.” Simon jutted his chin towards the other side of the bed, and Price’s head flopped to the left. “They put you right next to him ‘cause yer kept cussin’ ‘em out whenever you were lucid.” He sounded more than a little amused.

Nik was surrounded by softly beeping machines. They had intubated him and taped it over his lips, shaved patches in his thick chest hair for the heart monitors, but there was definite colour to his skin. Thick bandages wrapped his torso to sit just beneath the heft of his pecs, and Price found himself marvelled a little at how dense Nik was. A physique you could really get a handle on. Not the bloody time, Jonathan.

“Bloody muppet…” Price murmured.

”They said he wouldn’t’ve survived the flight to aur original coordinates. Lost too much blood.” Simon paused, and sniffed. “Look, if ‘d known I woulda…”

”Naw, Simon. S’not on you. You both saved my arse today. F’ought ‘d ‘ad it this time. Must have nine lives.”

Simon huffed. “Gotta be dahn t’ three at the most by now.”

“Yeah…” Price looked back at Nik. His unbroken fingers twitched on the mattress, desperate to feel Nik’s hand if only to have more proof beyond the insentient machines that Nik was still here. As if sensing Price’s need, Simon rolled to his feet and walked around the foot of the bed to take Nik’s hand from where it had been tucked beneath the blankets to rest it carefully on Price’s bed. Price wasted no time in grasping it, feeling the warmth in his rough skin and the strong thrum of his pulse at the webbing of his thumb.

”Gettin’ sentimen’al, old man,” Simon said, but without judgement. “Cuppa?”

Price nodded. “Could murder one.”

”See if these yanks know how to make a half decent brew.”

”Wouldn’ ‘old ya breath.”

Simon grunted his acknowledgement before leaving Price and Nik to their privacy, not that Price could do much but shift a little in the bed and hold Nik’s hand a little tighter. “You wanker, I swear to fuckin’ Christ…” He felt the sting of tears before they fell. He’d seen Nik hurt before, plenty of times, but never that grey. Never so unexpectedly, clinging on by his fingernails. Too close. “When we get ‘ome, we’re gonna ‘ave a chat, love.”

The machines beeped. Nik's chest rose and fell peacefully. Price continued. “Ya done. ‘m puttin’ me foot down, y’hear? Gonna retire to me flat and be there when I get ‘ome, in yer slippers and dressing gown. Make me some’uv that goulash, read yer novels and play yer music.”

It was a fantasy. Nik would fight him on it. He wasn't ready to give up the mission, and grounding him would be as cruel as clipping the wings of a falcon. Nik belonged in the sky as much as Price belonged in the field. At least the wound would keep him on his perch for a little while, and Price could fuss over him plenty.

Each time this happened, Nik pushed the envelope a little further. Pushed himself a little further. They had always agreed that they did what needed to be done to secure the objective, no matter how dark or dirty. Blood painted their joint histories in a mural of violence and trauma that they would have to reckon with one day. It was part of the job and Nik knew that better than anyone.

For many years, Price hadn't hesitated, and Nik had followed loyally, putting his arse on the line and rescuing them from the fire whenever Price called. But each time it came to almost losing him, a stray bullet, a missile narrowly missing his helo, anything, Price realised there was a cost he wasn't prepared to pay for the greater good. Their luck would run out eventually and, selfishly, Price wasn't sure whether he would be able to recover if Nik was taken first.

By the time Simon returned, Price was asleep again, his fingers still laced through Nik's. Simon slumped into the plastic chair at his bedside and pulled his battered flip phone from his pocket to read the message from Gaz.

Tav is awake. Says you owe him a bacon sarnie and a shag. You owe me two bacon sarnies for being forced to send this text.

…

John wasn’t joking, he does look stunning. 

Nikolai has never seen him in full formals but he relished in watching him dress. He watched how meticulous John worked, shining shoes and his buttons. Running a lint roller over the thing several times, he took a long shower about an hour before Simon was due to pick them up.

Not only did he ask Simon to bring his uniform up he practically ordered him to attend the event too. 

‘You know it’s your job to shadow me at every event I'm invited to. You do want to make captain some day don’t you?’ John asked over the phone.

‘No.’ Simon’s voice came back making Nik chuckle. 

‘You’re coming Simon.’ John says in an authoritative tone that even makes Nik stiffen up, there was a sigh down the line. 

‘Only if I get paid.’ Simon says. 

‘Deal.’ John replied enthusiastically. 

“Last time I wore formals was when I got promoted.” John calls from the bedroom, snapping Nik out his head. He looks towards the open door but he can’t see John. A second later he emerges and Nik stands up. 

“Chert voz'mi.” Nik curses under his breath. He really is magnificent. It doesn’t help that the uniform is ever so slightly too tight on him. Nik strides over to him, wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him close. His cock twitches in his pants as he runs his hands up the rough beige uniform. 

“Christ.” John says getting a breath in between Nik’s needy mouth and tongue. “You’ll mess my hair.”

“I don’t care.” Nik says breaking from the kiss looking at John and his cheeks turning red. “I’ll suck you off right here, right now.” 

John scoffs. 

Nikolai drops to his knees and looks up at John. John’s mouth is tipped open as Nik reaches down to unclip his belt. 

“We’ll be late.” John says breathlessly, but he’s not stopping him. Nik can feel his cock hardening as he pulls John’s pants and boxers down taking his cock in his hand. 

“Lieutenant Riley won’t mind.” Nik says before locking his mouth around John’s tip. His hands come to Nikolai’s hair running his fingers through it. 

“You clearly haven’t spent enough time with Lieutenant Riley.” John chuckles before moaning out and pressing Nik’s head deep on his cock. Nik moans gagging on his cock as John twitches in his mouth hitting the back of his throat. 

“Fuck, Nik.” John moans lets his head go and Nik pulls his head back a little. He smiles as best as he can, he loves John like this. Desperate but happy, enjoying himself and making Nik gag on his cock which he is always happy to do. 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for uniforms.” John says between pants. Nik’s mouth fills with saliva as he takes John deeper and deeper with each thrust. John starts moving his hips in time with Nik too, his breathing picking up and his legs trembling. 

Nik squeezes his thighs and feels John flex under his hands. It makes his own cock throb in his pants. He can feel the wet spot of precum he hopes is just in his boxers. He has to return this suit. He reaches down with one of his hands to unzip his trousers and reaches in to pull his cock out. 

He moans with relief giving himself a few tugs and letting John’s cock slam into the back of his throat. He can’t stop though grinding his hips into his fist a few times while he swirls his tongue around John’s head letting the salty taste of his precum linger on his tongue. 

He wants to tell John how hot he looks, with the colourful badges and the shiny brass buttons. How the perfectly straight trousers and jacket tickles something in the back of his brain. It makes him proud too, proud that the man he loves gets to wear a uniform like this. Something that shows off not only him but his history, his achievements. 

It’s so fucking hot, his cock twitches in his fist a steady stream of precum rolls down his fingers. Then there’s John with his breathy moans and panting, his hand gripping Nik’s hair and forcing him to take his cock all the way. 

“Fuck, Nik. You’re mouths so fuckin’ perfect.” John grunts, Nik hums for him and his cock pulsates. Nik tries to pull his head back but John doesn’t let him, holding his head with two hands as he thrusts his hips, once, twice, then he comes deep down Nik’s throat. 

Fuck he feel’s good, he tastes good Nik could happaly do this for hours. He almost misses his own cock pulse as he comes over John’s perfectly shined boots. John gently pulls Nik’s head off him and bends down to kiss him, he’ll be getting saliva all over his beard. Wait till he finds out about his boots. 

“Bloody hell Nik, you’re-” The words catch in his throat. “Perfect. You’re perfect.” 

Nik smiles and looks down at his boots, John looks too and chuckles. Nik tucks himself back in his pants and reaches into his pocket and pulls out tissue, he uses it to wipe the cum off his boots. John pulls his trousers and boxers back up. When Nik’s done he stands up checking them both to see if they’ve leaked on their clothes. 

John’s fingers pull Nik’s chin up slightly so they’re eye to eye. He kisses him again, this time longer and deeper running his hands up and down his hands. 

“You know I might just have a thing for you in that suit.” John says his cheeks flushed red. 

“Da? It’s a shame it’s rented.” Nik says smiling. John smiles too, he grabs Nik’s hands and squeezes them. 

“I love you Nikolai.” John says, it makes Nik’s heart flutter and his smile grows bigger, he brings one of his hands up to cup John’s face. 

“I love you too.” Nik replies before leaning down to kiss him again. This time they’re interrupted by a car horn. John sighs when he breaks from the kiss squeezing Nik’s hand. 

“You look amazing.” Nik says, John blushes reaching over to pick up his hat. 

“Thank you.” He kisses Nik quickly on the cheek. “C’mon, lets go.” 

“Why did you invite Simon?” Nik asks suddenly, John frowns at him then heads for the door.

“He’s an officer, part of his duties.” John says, Nik hum, he doesn’t quite believe him. 

“And the real reason?” Nik asks. John chuckles stopping at the door and putting his hat on. 

“There’s no way I’m getting through this without a few glasses of whisky. We needed a designated driver-” He opens the door waving at Simon. “-Ghost doesn’t drink.” 

“Ha, you’re funny John.” Nik slaps him on the shoulder. John frowns looking back over at Simon.

“What do you know, Nik?” John asks. 

“I think that's a story Ghost has to tell you.” Nik chuckles, dropping his hand off his shoulder and waiving at Simon before heading out to the car. 

He hears John tutting behind him as he closes the door.

Price opened the top reverently. This one felt less… private. It was part of their story that they shared, for the most part. Price found Nik's tags first, wrapping the chain around his fingers, he lifted the cool metal to his lips and kissed Nik's given name. He smiled at his own sentimentality - old fool - and thanked whatever existed above his head that he'd never been handed those tags with a pitying glance. He placed them aside on the mattress and picked up his service record next.

It was falling to pieces. The old boy had enlisted before they had digitised everything, which meant his little book was handwritten with a mugshot of a young, austere-looking Russian in the bottom corner. Price traced the faded insignia and ink, and then touched the deep frown on the handsome face of a Nikolai he had never met. The man he had found in that bar, and then convinced as they strolled around St James Park, had been broken and jaded; he had all but given up hope, his clash of morals and loyalty tearing his heart and soul to pieces. This one had no such conflict. His gaze was steady, his expression stern, close-cropped hair neat, jaw clean. 

Price leafed through the delicate pages. He found notes on Nik's training - no surprises there, he knew Nik had trained initially with jets before transferring his specialism - and some medical notes. A broken arm during training, if Price wasn't mistaken. In the middle were a set of blue rank slides. There were two light blue stripes running parallel down the middle, and three stars in a triangle. “Well, bloody hell…”

“Is everything okay?”

Price startled, almost dropping the damn box on the floor, and slapped a hand to his chest. Nik stood in the bedroom door, a big looming shadow in the darkness of the summer storm. “Christ, Nik. You tryin’ t’ finish me off?” 

Nik smiled apologetically and held out Price’s walking stick as a peace offering. “You left your stick in the garden…”

There were still some rainy streaks on the brass handle where Nik had used some kitchen towel to dry it off. Price smiled crookedly and patted the mattress next to him. “Cheers, luv. C’mere, you’ve caught me snoopin’, might as well translate some of this fer me.” 

Nik placed the walking stick down by one of the tall chest of drawers by the door and settled down at Price’s side. He placed a hand on the mattress at Price’s back and leaned in close to inspect the contents. “Ah, my time in the military…” His gaze drifted briefly to the other box, and Price saw a slight tightness around his eyes. 

“I ain’t looked, Nik. I… if you want t’ show me, then…”

“I have no secrets from you. What’s mine is yours, including the… ugly parts.”

“Ugly? You gotta be takin’ the piss, look at this Russian stallion right here,” Price said, grinning as he flicked back to Nik's mug shot. “Stick so far up his arse ‘m surprised yer such a wuss about receivin’.” 

“John…” Nik said, somewhat bashful. 

“And this? Rank says, uh… pol… kovnik, polkovnik. That's a colonel. So I shoulda been salutin’ you fer the last twenty-five years.” 

Nik grinned. “I prefer your other methods of deference.” 

Price elbowed Nik gently and closed his service record. He slotted it back into the box and pulled out a small envelope. It was frail, wrapping the photographs rather than holding them, and Price peeled them out carefully. They were just as Price expected; group photos of Nik's squadrons, and smaller tactical flights. There was Nik next to a Sukhoi, with a cluster of engineers, and another in combat fatigues in a jungle; a desert exercise, some aerial photographs, Nik by a helo, Nik in the cockpit of something big. Endless bread crumbs of Nik's life before Price met him. 

The young man in the photographs was a shadow of the one sitting next to him; he was handsome, strong, but there was something missing. A spark that made Nik… well, Nik . The last photograph in the box was an officer in uniform. “Fuck me…” Price breathed, tracing his thumb down the image’s brocaded chest. “If I'd seen ya in that, woulda shagged ya there and then.” 

“You never saw me in uniform? When you were… planning your approach?”

“Naw, only in your jacket and jeans when you were outside the embassy. Didn't want to get too close when yer position was vulnerable.”

Those few days of reconnaissance had been intense. Price couldn't remember his exact movements, but he remembered how he had felt vividly. It had been his first big solo mission and it wasn't even on enemy soil. They had trusted him to secure an asset, alive, where no one else had succeeded. Turned out it would be the man that teased him gently out of the closet and put a bloody ring on his finger. Back then, Nik had been a formidable adversary; clever, dangerous, volatile. Now, he was both Price's bulwark, and the warmest, gentlest, most loving softie Price had ever known. The old adage was true; the prickliest shells had the softest centres. 

Nik took the photograph, tapping his forefinger against the corner, and then glanced at the wardrobe. “I wonder if it still fits…”

Price's eyes widened and he followed Nik's eye line. “Bloody ‘ell, you still got it?”

Nik nodded and rolled to his feet with a soft groan. The first few steps were a little stiff as he rolled his shoulders, but he was soon pushing the hangers aside with the squeak of metal on metal. He pulled out a hefty suit bag and threw it onto the bed with a clatter of hangers. As the zip hissed down, Price drank in the sight of navy blue wool and golden brocade. “Mm, fuck, bet ya’d look stunnin’, luv.” 

Nik considered Price with a curious expression, his lower lip rolled between his teeth. “I would be willing to try it on if you would wear yours.”

Price's eyebrow leapt up. “You saw me in it plenty.”

“Da. But I never got to, what to say, enjoy it properly.”

“Oh-ho, ya kinky bastard, I see…”

“You suggested it first.” Nik flicked his chin towards the photograph peeking outside the box where he'd left it. “I may not be as handsome anymore, but…”

Price stood, a little awkward due to the stiffness in his leg, and took Nik's chin. “Naw, ‘m not havin’ that. Yer bloody gorgeous, Nikolai. Put the fuckin’ uniform on, I wanna see it.” 

Nik leaned down the short distance to kiss Price’s lips. It was tender, lingering, one of Nik's big hands scooping into the curve of Price's back to hold him close. When Nik drew away, he brushed their noses together. “I will, but I wish to see the captain again.”

“‘Course. Gimme a bit. Reckon my beret’s buried at the back somewhere.” 

Nik nodded and let Price free to rummage through the closet. After Price had half disappeared into the wardrobe, Nik left the bedroom with his uniform and disappeared into the bathroom to change. Price pulled out his dress uniform, nose wrinkling at the starchy scent of wool, and found his beret after turning over a few vacuum packed shirts. A lot of his old kit had been returned to stores when he had retired; it was still serviceable and in date. But the parts that were a little sentimental had followed him north. He ran his fingers over the buttons on his jacket and hummed quietly. 

Price didn't miss it often. He was too content, too relieved to have survived it all to retire. But sometimes he missed the discipline and routine, the sense of purpose, the importance of it all. The service was so deeply wound into his being that it was no surprise that pulling on the uniform felt good. Not replacing a weight that had lifted, but returning to a place once called home; rich with memory. 

The trousers were a tad snug at the waist, but fastened well enough, and his tunic sat well over the chest and shoulders still. He gathered his ribbons and his medals, fastened his lanyard and clicked his belt into place. His shoes were still buffed to a decent level from when he put them away, but he used the leg of his pajamas from beneath his pillow to brush some dust off. When he looked in the mirror, the reflection that gazed back didn't look at all shabby, well, apart from the scruff; he could do with a shave. The last accent was the beret, and he smoothed its slope down the side of his head with a flat palm before adjusting it properly. It'd do. If all went to plan, it would be on the floor in about ten minutes anyway. 

There was a soft knock at the door, and Price looked up just as Nik stepped back across the threshold into their bedroom. “Jesus wept…” Price breathed. 

Nik's uniform was immaculate, and he carried himself with a military bearing that Price had never quite seen in full swagger before. His heart fluttered earnestly in his chest as he paused to take it all in before stepping towards him. Nik’s double-breasted tunic, cut from deep blue wool, bore all the insignias of his squadron and rank. The fabric was of the highest quality, subtly textured, tailored to perfection, hugging his torso and emphasising his broad chest. Price smoothed his hands up it as Nik breathed out, lower lip rolling between his teeth as his fingers reached Nik’s shoulders.

His epaulettes were edged in thick silver braid, with three gold stars set against a dark blue field, marking his seniority. A silver thread ran along the edge of each shoulder strap, matching the embossed silver buttons down the very centre of his tunic. His collar bore the Air Force’s distinctive embroidered wings and sword insignia, finely stitched in metallic thread, symbols of command and flight mastery. Price ran his fingertips over it, following the intricacies of the embroidery tight at Nik’s throat. He glanced up to Nik’s eyes, seeking permission, and Nik dipped his chin in the faintest nod; Price popped his button and worked open his shirt underneath until he could lean forward to press his nose into the hollow of Nik’s throat, breathing in his natural scent and the starchy musk of the uniform. 

Eyes closed, Price continued to explore Nik’s uniform with curious hands. Over the left of his chest, a tight formation of ribbons displayed years of merit: campaign decorations, service awards, flight qualifications, and honours from both Russian and allied commands. Below them, a gold pilot's badge, smooth and polished; a winged insignia crowned with a star, signifying his elite status as a senior aviator. No surprises there. Price couldn't name a single aircraft that surpassed Nik's expertise.

Price drew back to look down Nik’s body. The tunic was secured with a wide leather belt; black, high-shine, with a square silver buckle engraved with the two-headed eagle. Trousers of matching dark blue tapered neatly into tall, jet-black parade boots, polished to a mirror sheen. A ceremonial officer’s cap sat under his arm; round, with a dark crown, silver piping, and a large metal cockade bearing the Air Force emblem. The visor was lacquered black and trimmed with a double row of silver oak leaves; a distinction reserved for senior officers.

Price followed the line of Nik’s trousers to the buffed boots on his feet. Boots, not shoes. The toe was broader and the laces set differently. Price felt the warm swell of arousal build in his hips, the heat trickling down his spine to pool as a building pressure demanding release. Nik was stunning. The warm, affable gent was still in there, hidden in the depths of the earnest brown eyes that watched Price for approval, but the way he carried himself, the presence of his rank, of all that command, made Price weak at the fucking knees.

“Well?” Nik asked, shifting his cap from beneath his arm and onto his head. In another life, Nik would have been his senior. Price wouldn't have been in the rooms or the meetings at Nik's side, but receiving orders from him once they were decided. And yet, all these years, Nik had served him loyally, without hesitation.

“Ya must've been the youngest colonel they had.”

Nik nodded. “I was… gifted,” he said, smiling lopsidedly. “Or so they said.” Nik was studying Price with a lusty bloody look, dark eyes dragging over his uniform like they were trying to consume it. 

“Maybe the crusty ol’ bastards jus’ wanted to see you in that more often. Fuck me, Nikolai, you… dunno we'ver to salute or what.”

Nik reached up with gloved hands to cup Price’s face, and Price kissed the thumb that stroked over his lower lip. “I would not be against a little… roleplay.”

“At your service, sir,” Price croaked. He felt hot under the wool, his skin prickling with want and heat. Nik took him by the chin and kissed him, tongue licking into his mouth as a strong arm wrapped his waist to hold him up. The other hand cupped his backside, squeezing possessively. Price’s legs wobbled, his hands lifting to press his fingers up Nik's wool tunic. His thumb caught on those silver buttons, turning them just slightly with each pass, he popped a few more to expose more of Nik’s chest, pulling it down by the lapels in a decadent display of his partner’s stunning pelt and firm build.

Nik drew away, dusting a few light kisses on Price's lips. “Then service me, captain. I want you on your knees.” Nik hesitated for a moment and Price realised quickly why.

“S’fine,” he whispered. “Not hurtin’ t’day.” 

The concern melted away and Nik straightened, walking by Price to take a seat on the edge of the bed. He threw a pillow onto the rug and jutted his chin at it. “I do not issue orders more than once.”

“Sir,” Price acknowledged, back straightening as his heels met briefly. He stepped between Nik’s legs and used his thigh as support to sink down to his knees. The silver buttons of Nik's tunic hovered before his eyes and Price licked his lips, glancing up at Nik with imploring eyes. 

Nik took his chin and guided his face to those buttons. Price moaned low in his throat as his face pressed to the thick wool, his lower lip dragging over the sharp edge of a badge as Nik brought him to the cusp of where his tunic split open over his chest. Price’s tongue traced the ridges and dips of the embossed coat of arms on his first silver button, each breath shivering out of his chest as his hands gripped Nik's strong thighs. A shudder of want ran down his spine, bunching in his belly, and his hips jerked forward into nothing as Nik popped each button Price kissed until he reached his belt. 

The smell of the wool, of Nik's sweat beneath it, the subtlety of his authority weighing down, was making Price ache. As he sank lower down his body, Price’s mind seemed to be settling deeper into a soft haze, his thoughts fading out as he tuned in to the pulse of his body’s need. He felt Nik's boot stroke up the inside of his thigh, and gasped when it pressed to the bulge of his cock desperately pushing out against his trousers. Nik’s hand slid around the back of his neck, his forefinger stroking the line beneath his beret. “Such a good soldier, so eager to please.”

Price moaned softly as Nik's polished steel toe cap stroked back and forth over his crotch. The pressure was a perfect tease. Price buried his face against Nik’s chest, chin rested on the cool buckle of his belt. “Sir, please…” 

“My boots could do with servicing,” Nik murmured, leather-clad thumb rasping over the stubble on John’s cheek to press between his lips. Price felt a dizzy haze settle over his mind as he spread his knees a little wider and slipped from Nik’s grip to run his mouth over Nik’s belt to the full dome of his crotch. Nik was hard and Price pushed his face against him with a low moan. “Ah ah, later.” Nik pushed down on Price’s beret and Price sank onto his hands, lowering his mouth to the tight laces and buffed leather of Nik’s boot.

The laces were coarse against his lips, his tongue, the taste bitter, but the arousal gripped up Price’s spine with each pass as he worked down to kiss the toe. He looked up through his lashes to see Nik gazing down at him with dark eyes, his legs spread and his erection tenting the front of his trousers. His hands set behind him, thrusting his gorgeous bloody tits out of his tunic. “Pizdat… you are so beautiful on your knees. That’s it, good boy.” 

Price’s entire body throbbed under the praise and he ran his nose over the criss-cross of Nik’s laces, arching his back and spreading his knees to try and ease the tightness in his groin. His hips rocked against the air and a low whine gathered in the back of his throat, his shirt sticking to his skin underneath his tunic.

”Nik…”

”Did I give permission for you to use my first name, captain?”

”No, sir. Sorry, sir.” Price’s breath fogged the buffed leather as his eyes closed. “Please… ‘m so… I need…”

”Hmm, perhaps a little relief,” Nik murmured, lifting his hands from the mattress to reach for Price. He guided him up slowly, first by the chin, before his hand dropped to Price’s collar to draw out the length of his tie and wrap it around his fist. “Hump my boot like a good war dog.”

Price’s next breath stuck in his throat as he felt the toe of Nik’s boot return to his crotch. It pressed up gently, adding the slightest pressure to the curve of his balls and shaft, tantalising. Nik’s grip of his tie kept his back arched, and his hands scrambled for purchase on Nik’s thighs, then his hips. Tension coiled in the base of his spine, his heart hammering, each breath wrestling free of his chest as he stared up at Nik. 

He felt off kilter. Like was on the brink of free falling out of a Hercules without a parachute, a yawning fall stretching out beneath him with a brutal, devastating impact the inevitable end. Tears prickled at his eyes, his pride chafing at the bit, and Nik shushed him gently. “Breathe, solnyshko. Let go. I have you.” Nik kept Price's tie as he opened the buckle of his belt, easing the last silver buttons open to reveal the plush of his belly, and cupped the back of Price's head to guide him close. Price's face pressed to warm, furred skin, and he felt the sudden panic melt away. Nik's scent, the firmness of his body, grounded him, and Price opened his mouth to suck a kiss into Nik's belly, his taste filling his mouth and cloying in his throat. His shoulders relaxed, and his hips rolled forward, rutting his cock in a smooth glide over Nik's boot. A deep throb of pleasure rolled up his body and he moaned loudly, wantonly.

It wasn't just the sensation. It was the act. Absolute, shameless submission at the literal feet of authority. Nik cradled him against his body, an anchor that let Price explore a deep, dark desire that he couldn't really define. Something kindled by the sight of Nik in uniform and coaxed forward by the low, authoritative growl of Nik's command. 

Price rocked his hips again, rubbing Nik's toe over his balls and shaft, easing himself into a lazy rhythm that stoked his arousal higher; good, but never quite enough to push him over into an orgasm. He shuffled forward and mounted Nik's boot properly, nails scratching at the old laces to try and draw it closer, sitting in the curve of it as he humped the firm leather, desperately edging himself. Nik still had his tie loosely wrapped around his palm, but his fingers were buried in Price’s epaulette, nails scratching at his hairline and neck. Price arched into it, looking up with hazy eyes as his tongue lolled out against Nik's belly.

Nik was breathing heavily, the large swell of his tits heaving out of his tunic, defying the embroidered lapels, the rank and insignia that tried to contain them. Bursting out of his bloody uniform because he'd never needed it to wield command, not of soldiers, not of arms deals, and not of Price. Nik blinked down at him slowly, basking in the glow of his arousal, the delayed gratification. “What do you need, John?” Nik asked, his accent slurring on Price's name like it was treacle on his tongue. 

Price pressed his hips hard against the laces of Nik's boot. “Wanna fuck yer tits, luv. Fuck… ‘m so close…” 

Nik's lips twitched into a faint smile, and he leaned back, dragging Price up with a renewed grip on his tie. His cap fell off as Price staggered, legs like jelly as he was drawn onto the bed; his torso dropped to Nik's belly as he scrambled at his belt and fly to free his aching cock. It was slick against his palm as he pulled it free of his boxers, hot and wet as it pressed into the fur of Nik's belly before he could shuffle into place, his balls tight and high. “Da, John… da… ” Nik cooed, releasing John's toe to hold him behind the knees, then the ankles, and finally his hips. 

Price groaned as his prick slid into the valley at the centre of Nik's chest, his foreskin rolling back over his glans, precum dribbling into the curls of dense black. It was a dominant position, but Price wasn't in control; Nik's big palms on his hip, the low growl of his voice, were Price's tethers to the world, and without them he would be adrift. Nik pressed his tits together, tensed them, and Price rutted forward, fisting the bed sheets above Nik's head, whining, growling, mumbling bloody nonsense as he thrust forward. 

The medals and buttons clattered, the whisper of expensive wool, the creak of their bed springs, and Nik's low rumble - “da, John, da, da…” - egged him on even through the burning at the base of his spine, in his thighs. He looked down the slope of his uniform, a uniform he had worn to salute the fucking queen, to his ruddy cock, hard and dribbling, as it thrust through Nik's beautiful bloody tits, with those dark eyes watching him like he was god's gift. The feel of Nik's firm body between his thighs, the brush of his fur, how his dusky nipples pebbled with arousal. God, fuck, Nik was beautiful; feral, untamable, puppeting Price's pleasure even pinned beneath his body. Price's orgasm moved through him like the thunder rolling through the skies outside, building in the crescendo of his moans. His hips quaked in Nik's grip, fists shaking in the blankets, as he came hard, painting Nik's chin and collar bones in milky white.

Nik kissed the side of his face, muttering soft praise in Russian, or what Price assumed was Russian, because his mind was floating somewhere on cloud nine and all he heard was the soft purr in his ear. The world had been muffled by the rain, but now the edges had softened completely; the edges of his vision hazy, a glow pulsing at his core.

His body flopped like a rag doll when Nik moved him onto the bed, blue eyes blinking slowly at the bruised sky through the open window as Nik turned him onto his stomach, his hips lifted on a pillow. He vaguely heard the rattle of the bedside cabinet, the clatter of Nik's belt, and then moments later, he felt the slow, luxurious burn of Nik's thick cock sinking into him. He took Nik to the hilt in one slow thrust, body yielding effortlessly, so relaxed from his climax. The heavy weight of Nik's balls pressed against his as Nik growled in possessive triumph. Nik leaned over his back, buried his face against Price's brocaded collar, and fucked him slow and deep, and all Price could do was surrender to it, panting gasps breaking from his chest as each thrust sent shocks of pleasure through his oversensitive body. 

Price might have come again, the pleasure mounting to a scorching peak, squeezing around Nik's cock as it throbbed inside him; the lurid, wet sound as his hole sucked at it eagerly, desperate to have Nik grinding deep, taking his ownership. When Nik's hips shuddered, Price used his last iota of sentiment to cock his hips up to take Nik's cock deep, groaning softly as the heat of Nik's cum spread through his hips. It was a heady one, Nik's powerful body shaking over Price's back as he moaned into Price's neck. When Nik pulled out and flopped down by his side, Price felt the warmth dribble down the inside of his thigh, and his toes curled in his shoes with a deep satisfaction. 

They weren’t having a large ceremony, or even a large reception. It was just their family and close trusted friends. John’s parents, Laswell and her new wife — Nikolai had taken to calling them ‘the Kates’ — Kamarov, Yegor, Iwan and his family, and Eilene and her boy Luke. Barely twenty people in all. They’d just be having the small ceremony, then back to their house for celebrations after. It was certainly big enough to house everyone, and the kids could go off to their rooms if they needed a quiet moment. 

Traditions weren’t necessarily adhered to leading up to it. Neither of them believed in the ‘bad luck’ surrounding seeing your intended prior to the wedding, so they’d spent the night sleeping in each other's arms. They’d be getting dressed in separate rooms though, wanting a quiet, intimate ‘first look’ moment between them. Nor were they jittery, nervous. They’d been through far worse, finally becoming husbands would be a walk in the park compared to everything else. The kids had spent the night at Nanny and Grandad Mac’s, and the service wasn’t set to be until 2pm, so they could enjoy their morning together. Ordinarily, Nik knew John would’ve looked for any excuse to pounce him, but they were perfectly content lazing there for now. 

Their body clock had them up early, as per usual. They were used to having to care for little babies and toddlers every morning — not that either of them minded. Going a little sleepless of a morning was nothing new to them, it came with their work. Still, not being bothered by kids sprinting in and bouncing on them was a novelty. Nik, for once, is able to roll over upon waking up naturally to keep himself curled up against John, burying his head into his neck to block out the sunlight daring to attempt to wake him up. He receives a small noise from John, feeling his hand come up to soothingly rub his back, hoping to calm his ire towards the sun then. It doesn’t take long for Nik to slip back into a peaceful sleep then, a smile dancing on his lips as he drifts off. 

Awakening a few hours later, Nik finds himself alone. His momentary confusion is relieved upon hearing the shower going. Still, then he’s annoyed John had the audacity to abandon him to shower and not invite him. The cheek! Did the man even know his very soon to be husband?! 

The thought alone washes away any faux-outrage Nik had, giving way to a wide smile. He flops himself back against the back, sighing happily as he closes his eyes again, happy to doze off whilst waiting for John. They’d be married in — Nik cracks open an eye to glance at the clock — two hours! Years of waiting, the day was finally here. Now it was just an agonising two hours that Nik could sense would pass at a snail’s pace, even with them needing to get ready and drive to the venue. It would be worth it in the end. More than worth it. Being able to be the husband of John Price, actually be Nikolai Price, would be worth all the waiting in the world. 

Having the duvet pulled away from, Nik can’t help the indignant noise that leaves him, despite letting it happen. “You need a shower, mister,” came a voice from somewhere above him, making Nik smile. “I’ll get Katya on the phone to call you Stinky Papa to get you up.” 

Nik just pouts his lips for a kiss. “I am in need of a kiss to wake me up, luchik.” The moment he feels John’s lips pressed to his, he opens his eyes long enough to coordinate wrapping his arms around John to pull him down. Luckily, the other man wasn’t in his own uniform yet, still being wrapped in a towel. It’s John’s turn to let out an indignant noise then as he’s dragged, but laughs all the same. “Should’ve known, you cheeky bastard.” 

Nik lets him up then with a kiss to the side of his head, getting up himself to head through to the bathroom, pressing a kiss to the side of John’s head as he does. Being thorough with washing himself once he’s in the shower, he starts humming to himself. A familiar song, one he remembers hearing thirteen years ago to the day in Berlin. He knows John hears him, as well as recognises the song, because he hears “you sap!” being shouted at him through the bathroom door, causing him to start laughing and lose his place in the song. 

He emerges a while later, drying the last remnants off and placing his towel in the laundry basket as he heads through to their room. He’d won the battle of being able to get changed in there, John having relegated himself to changing in the spare room across the hallway. Nik could hear him in there now, cursing the buttons, making sure to quietly laugh so John didn’t hear him. He knew the laugh would come back to bite him on the arse when it came to getting his own on. 

Looking at himself in the mirror after finally getting all the buttons to play nice, his tie to sit right, along with his jacket, he doesn’t quite know what to think of himself. It’s been years since he’s worn this, and he feels as though he’s got a complete stranger staring back at him. He sees his younger self there, grinning widely. For a moment Nik thinks he’s just smiling because he’s in his dress uniform, he’s so proud to be all dressed up, but no. He remembers being a little disillusioned back then — it’s why he was convinced to at least just see what the Ultranationalists were doing, by his old. . . friend — but still proud to be in uniform. No. He’s proud to see the man he’ll become more than anything. He’ll have a family. A home. A place to belong. And now, a husband. The thought of his younger self actually seeing him makes tears breach Nik’s eyes, frantically wiping them away as he hears John knocking on the door. 

“Come on, I’ve waited long enough to see ya in that thing.” His demand makes Nik laugh, wiping away any evidence of tears then as he goes to the door. He can hear John taking in a sharp breath in anticipation, deciding to make him wait a moment longer, pulling open the door after a beat has passed before John decides to rip it from its hinges to get a good look at him. 

He knows that despite that deep intake of air, John’s breath is still taken away. Looking Nik up and down, he bites his lip, grinning up at him once he looks back up at his face. “Even better than your usual uniform.” 

Stepping back, he gives Nik a little twirl then, showing off the rest of his own uniform. “What do you think? Still suits me?” Nik answers by wrapping his arms around John’s waist, pulling him into a deep kiss. Knowing not to get carried away, he pulls back after a moment, smiling widely at him. “As handsome as ever, solnyshko.” 

Ripped from their sweet moment, they hear a car horn outside, making Nikolai laugh. Of course Yegor refuses to get out and just knock on the door. Linking their hands together, they make their way downstairs, John making sure to grab his keys for later. Stepping outside, letting John close and lock the front door, Nik spreads his arms out to show off to Yegor. Yegor just shrugs, “you could look better,” but his words are said with a grin. He jerks his head to the car, indicating for them to get in, but Nik turns around to look up at the house one last time. 

The air hit him harder than expected when he stepped out of the car, cold, damp October wind biting through the holes in his jacket.

He pulled it tighter and waved off the driver behind the wheel. “I’m good walkin’ from here. Thanks.”

The city pulsed faintly ahead, Hereford’s hum cracked open for one night of glitter and noise.

Halloween.

He hadn’t realized. Or maybe he had and just hadn’t cared.

Now, as he stepped onto the cracked sidewalk and started walking, he noticed the orange flicker in windows. Paper bats. Kids’ voices laughing down side streets. A couple students stumbled past in cheap vampire capes, high on sugar or something stronger. One of them bumped him.

“Sorry, mate—oi, nice costume!”

John let himself smile a bit and kept walking.

His boots scuffed through a pile of dead leaves. Somewhere to the left, a fake skeleton rattled in the breeze.

He could feel it building. It wasn’t just the cold, there was something else. The kind of ache that settled into your lungs and lived there.

He passed a butcher’s shop with a fogged-up window. On the glass someone had smeared a handprint in fake blood. John stared at it for a second too long.

A flash—

Real blood.

Nik’s hand over his.

“Stay awake, John. Just stay.”

Smoke. Screams. The sound of mortar fire hitting too close.

A pair of fingers brushing his temple like a blessing.

“There you are.”

He blinked, and the sound came back, laughter, high and shrill. A girl in a ghost sheet ran across the pavement, trailing streamers behind her to catch her friends.

He kept walking, shoulders hunched and hands in his coat.

The cold pressed in deeper. October chill soaking through the seams. He welcomed it. It felt realer than the noise or the pounding in his chest.

Another block. Another glimpse.

Nik’s coat around his shoulders.

The smell of fur and tobacco.

“You’re not breathing right. Let me help.”

A kiss. Or was it a prayer?

He stopped just outside the corner market. A street performer was dressed like Dracula, playing a mournful fiddle.

John’s fingers twitched.

He couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Firelight.

A barn.

Rain on the roof.

Nik, kneeling beside him, voice barely a whisper.

“Tell me to stop.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

John stumbled forward.

He didn’t cry, probably couldn’t if he wanted to, but his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. His chest squeezed like something ancient had wrapped hands around his ribs and was pulling, pulling, pulling.

The pub ahead had a chalkboard sign.

“🎃 HALLOWEEN QUIZ NIGHT🎃

PRIZE: BOTTLE OF RUM + VOUCHER FOR TWO”

John stared at it.

Nik had said once, long ago, “You owe me a drink.”

And John had smiled, leaned in across a dirt road in France, and whispered:

“First round’s on me, Colonel.”

He kept walking past the blinking lights, the drunk laughter, the hollow decorations, the masks.

Because all of them felt fake and the memories flooding his chest felt realer than anything he’d ever known.

By the time he turned onto their street, he was trembling.

The field hospital.

The barn.

The river.

The cabin in the snow.

The blindfold. The rope. The way his name sounded in the Russian’s voice.

“I have missed you, John.”

“I’ll find you again.”

He stopped halfway down the block.

Looked up at their flat. The windows were lit. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk while the wind howled around him and the sound of Halloween thudded through the street behind him and he remembered everything.

He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, just beneath the streetlamp. The mist caught in the glow, swirling like breath made visible.

He looked down the street. Pumpkins flickered on stoops. A kid in a werewolf costume howled behind a fence. The distant thump of music bled through brick walls.

Life, as he had always known it, was right in front of him.

He turned back toward the streetlamp and tilted his head up into the light like it might bless him. The wind stirred the collar of his coat. The mist kissed at his lashes.

He saw a fishing rod. A blanket by the river. “He looks like a Gregory.” Sunlight in Nik’s eyes. A kiss to the back of his hand. 

“You’ve always been like this?”

“Only since I met you.”

He saw an alleyway. A kiss stolen between the bricks. Nik’s knees on the cobblestone.

“Let me have this.”

His own hand on the back of Nik’s neck. A heartbeat against his ribs.

He saw a battlefield. A tent. A winter storm. A man holding him like he’d prayed for this one moment. A voice, broken with joy: “You’re alive.”

John swallowed hard and his fingers flexed at his sides.

The wind howled. The streetlamp flickered.

And he whispered, like the name had been buried in his chest for centuries and had finally fought its way free, “Nik…”

On legs that felt to weak and thin to be his, John moved.

He made his way up the stairs. Stopped at their door long enough for the pattern of the wood to burn in his eyes. 

The lock stuck, like it always did when it was damp.

John's knuckles were white where he gripped the key. His other hand braced against the doorframe, shoulders shaking with something between cold and collapse. His breath fogged in the light, chest rising in shallow, unsteady pulls.

He gave it one more heartbeat, two, then he turned the key. The door gave way to warmth.

Soft light spilled from the kitchen. The smell of black tea and something faintly sweet. A low hum echoed from the speaker tucked behind the bookshelves, Russian probably, but John couldn’t hear it. Nik liked putting on old ballads when he cooked.

The world inside was still.

“Nik?” John croaked, barely more than breath.

Nik stepped into view, kitchen towel still in one hand, sleeves pushed up, collar open and chest hairs peeking out, hair pulled back in a tiny knot, barefoot on the hardwood.

He froze the moment he saw John.

And smiled. “You’re home.” His voice was low, surprised but gentle. Just relieved, as if John’s return was both inevitable and sacred.

John stood in the doorway, a bit damp in the October air, throat too tight to answer. His eyes swept over him and saw him.

Saw him.

Not just the now, not just the man who kept tea hot and knives sharp and flew in with impossible timing. But everything.

His Nik.

His immortal.

Kievan warrior. Russian captain. Ghost of war and time.

The man who knelt in mud to tend his wounds.

Who spoke his name like a vow.

Who had loved him through every incarnation, without ever asking anything in return.

Nik stepped forward, towel forgotten. And John moved one staggering step, then another. He dropped his bag. The strap slid from his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Nik’s arms were around him before he fully registered it, strong, certain, and familiar. One hand splayed across John’s back, the other rose instinctively to cradle the base of his skull.

John folded into him like gravity had finally won.

He buried his face against Nik’s neck, pressed there like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

Nik didn’t ask. He just held him. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid, and his breath stirred the hair behind John’s ear. His hands stayed anchored to John. One palm on his neck, the other cupped against his ribs. A thousand years of stillness wrapped around him like a home rebuilt from memory.

John trembled. It felt right in a way that nothing else ever had.

His fingers curled into the back of Nik’s shirt. He turned his face slightly, inhaled the scent of cedar and tea and the faint trace of motor oil that always clung to his skin. The ache behind his ribs swelled.

He didn’t mean to speak, or for it to sound so broken, but it fell out anyway.

“I missed you.”

Nik went very still. He didn’t ask what he meant. Just whispered, low and sure, lips brushing the edge of John’s hairline: “I missed you too.”

John’s eyes closed. His hands clung tighter. The warmth of the room. The quiet hum of a faraway Russian song. The press of Nik’s chest against his. 

Nik didn’t let go as he closed the front door behind them, or as John toed off his boots with uncoordinated motions. Not as the war peeled off his skin piece by piece and left him bare in the quiet warmth of home.

Nik just held him step by step.

Eventually, when John’s legs threatened to give out, Nik guided him to the couch. He sat first. His back to the cushions, arms open. And John followed without a word.

He curled against Nik’s side, head on his shoulder, one leg tucked under him, the other stretched over Nik’s thigh. Nik adjusted them both a bit then pressed a kiss to John’s hair and pulled the soft wool blanket over them both with practiced ease.

The room was low-lit, one lamp on in the corner. The old Russian song had ended; now it was just the quiet creak of settling furniture, the faint hiss of the kettle left on standby.

Nik’s thumb rubbed a slow arc along John’s upper arm. 

“You’re wired,” he said gently.

John didn’t answer at first. His eyes were half-lidded, watching Nik’s pulse at his throat like it told time better than any clock.

Nik waited patiently, thumb brushing over and over again at John’s arm.

Eventually, John said, voice low and rough, “The mission was rough.”

Nik nodded slowly. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

John’s throat worked. His hand curled into the hem of Nik’s shirt. “All I could think about,” he murmured, “was getting back to you.”

Nik’s hand paused, just for a second, then resumed its slow rhythm.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly. “You’ve got me.”

John pressed closer.

He wanted to, badly, but he didn’t say I remembered the war with you in 1759.

Didn’t say I thought I watched you die once in a ruined village in France.

Didn’t say I loved you on a riverbank in another life and swore I'd find you again. 

He just breathed in the scent of him. Felt the heat of him. Let Nik’s heartbeat under his ear remind him that this was real.

“I wanted you,” John whispered.

Nik smiled against his hair. “Then I’m glad I am here.”

Later, Nik fetched tea. He moved carefully, not wanting to disturb the moment but knowing John would need it. The kettle was still hot. He picked the same mugs they always used.

When he returned, John hadn’t moved much. Just blinked at him with those deep, blue eyes that looked, somehow, older than they had this morning.

Nik didn’t comment. Just handed him the mug, brushed his thumb along John’s wrist before letting go.

They drank in silence. 

John’s hand slid across the couch cushion between them.

“You’re done, John.” Those words rippled through Price’s mind for weeks, now he sat in a large, somber house in Herefordshire, England. His eyes had lost a hint of light. All it took was one good gunshot between his shoulder and chest to take him out of service while everyone else continued to trek on in their careers. Without the military, he didn’t know what he was good for. He had Nikolai, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was becoming more of a burden to everybody due to becoming so… Useless. 

From resilient, respected captain to just another civilian with chronic pain, what could he do? 

John stood, walking toward the bathroom where  a line of pills sat, everything from PTSD and Depression medication to opioids for his shoulder. Reaching out, his fingers grasped the bottle of Vicodin, popping off the lid and taking three pills. The label read one every twelve hours but he couldn’t begin to care when the agonizing stab cut into his ability to sleep. 

He nimbly strolled into the kitchen, whisking up the bottle of scotch off the counter before popping the lid off. The liquor burned sliding down his throat.

The whiskey wrapped his mind, tendrils sucking inhibition straight from his mind as his body numbed the pain further.

John tipsily stumbled toward the closet, his dress uniform hanging up, awards decorating the left side pocket, whilst his former rank adorning the shoulders of the uniform. A graceless hand drifted over the fabric as he took a step back. He’d always thought he’d go out in battle, a bullet to the head or 

something akin. Being non-fatally shot and put into an early retirement even after serving two decades was the worst way John thought it could play out.

Next to it sat a pile of nylon rope, the braided strands calling to John with a haunting voice, urging him to give in to those deeper thoughts. He stumbled back, falling onto the bed and running his hands over his face, fingers raking through the tight, rough hairs of his beard. 

A part of John began to crack, god he loved Nikolai so madly but he couldn’t live being so fruitless anymore. Nikolai wasn’t going to be home for another few hours, and when John realized that, he began to speed through the thoughts that Nikolai deserved more, better. All those happy memories were weighed down further by the idea seeding in his mind that he was just going to burden his lover for the rest of his days with chronic pain and a cabinet flooded with pills.

Slowly the captain rose up, heading back to the tendrils of nylon rope residing in the closet. He lifted it up, feeling the material slide between his fingers.

The house felt quieter than ever, John’s mind silencing the noise as his blue, lightless eyes bore into the cord. His hands began to work, unhurried, practiced, tying a slipped overhand knot as he pulled on the tension, being sure it would fit snugly around his neck.

He started for the garage. It’d leave the least pain for the people around him. Pausing at the counter, John grabbed a pen and paper, laying the rope across the back of a chair as he sat down. The tip of the pen touched the paper, starting to jot down ‘To Whom It May Concern.”

Price followed it by spilling his guts all over the paper, the first paragraph an apology to Nikolai for everything. For becoming someone he had to take care of because John couldn’t care for himself. The next went out to the core 141, Simon, Kyle, and Johnny. He knew they would grieve, he could picture the funeral. But he also assumed it would be a relief for them to know he wouldn’t have to live with that jabbing pain that nagged as he wrote. 

Once John reached his apology to Laswell, uncharacteristically tears began to break the waterline of his eyes. Anguish stained the paper as his words grew looser along the lines. 

The lines came to an end, John’s thoughts finalizing on his death. He neatly folded the paper, tucking it under the edge of Nikolai’s favorite drink. When he stood up again, taking the nylon rope in his hand, he solidified his thoughts, hardening his expression and heading into the garage. His lifeless blue gaze analyzed the entire roof, locating the securist sites to loop the other end of his nylon noose. 

Breath escaped John as he yanked a chair over to where he’d do it. The captain climbed up and secured the cord, slowly pulling down to the head of the noose, slipping his head through the loop. He stood there, taking in a breath, his eyes squeezing shut. 

Cold air nipped at John’s fingers as his hands stilled at his sides. He stepped off, the chair falling away. The wood splintered across the ground. Tension filled the rope as it held John’s body up. Strangling the air from his lungs. God, it hurt. It burned to breathe in. He choked, gasped but their air never came. A hint of regret started to bloom. He didn’t want this. He just hoped the pain would erode.

It's too late now. Blotches of black dots started speckling over John’s vision, the last thing he was aware of was a concerned, “Beloved?” echoing from the kitchen.

Nikolai ran into the garage to see John’s dangling body. Chills snaked down his spine as he gripped one of the chairs in the corner, pulling it over. Scraping filled their air as Nikolai placed it beneath him and pulled John onto it, his body trying to collapse. 

The noose was slid off. John’s body crumpled limply into Nikolai’s arms. 

“Beloved… John… What did you do?” Concern was spilled over his words as he kneeled on the floor with an unconscious John. Nikolai dialed 999. 

Fingers ran around John’s body checking for a pulse. Nothing was to be found, so Nikolai began chest compressions. A voice crackled through the phone, and Nikolai didn’t even hesitate to drop the full address along with the mention of John’s suicide attempt. 

The response received from the emergency hotline operator was that an ambulance and an engine were en route to their location immediately. 

Chilled air began to flood the garage from the open door that led to the house. It nipped at Nikolai’s neck, but he paid no mind. Time ran for what felt like forever, but the firefighters followed by paramedics rushed in behind the Russian. Relieving him of chest compressions. 

The commanding lieutenant for the fire department came up behind Nikolai. They were around John’s age, ginger hair with white streaks. A piece of paper sat between their fingers folded as they looked up into Nikolai’s gaze. 

“This note, I think it was for you and your friends.” The words were soft, flooded with compassion

In the background, Paramedics loaded John onto a stretcher, catching the Lieutenant’s and Nikolai’s attention.

“You mind opening up the garage, sir?” The Lieutenant requested while heading over to aid with the stretcher.

Nikolai nodded. He rushed to the panel on the garage’s wall, clicking a few buttons. Creeking filled the air as the door lifted. Allowing the fire department to rush John out.

The lieutenant appeared beside Nikolai. “You can ride in the back of the ambulance.” And then they headed off. Nikolai on the other hand, rushed toward the backside of the ambulance and followed the second paramedic into the back, sitting beside them as he leaned against the stretcher with worry. 

“Please, John…” Begging filled the cabin of the ambulance as the paramedic sustained John, keeping him breathing. 

Angry red marks marred the Captain’s neck, causing Nikolai to flinch. The hardest part of serving was the suicides and attempts. He just didn’t think John would be one of those damned few. 

Hours would pass after they made it to the ER. Nikolai sat beside John’s hospital bed in the ICU. He propped his head against the curve of John’s chest. The throbbing of John’s heart, a strong thrum against his ribcage set a reminder. John wasn’t dead. 

Brown eyes clenched shut, eventually letting Nikolai drift off to sleep. Fingers interlocked with John’s.

Groans emitted from John, stirring Nikolai from his slumber. “Darling?” His deep Russian accent filled the hospital room as John’s free hand came to rest in Nikolai’s hair. Black flocks of hair tangled within John’s weak fingers. A soft squeeze indicated Nikolai’s joy more than words. 

“Nik…” The name came out raspy, something so somber and gentle. John was here, alive. For once after he’d been forced into retirement. John looked happy.

That joy wasn’t related to the situation at hand, but to the commitment of Nikolai who was sitting at his side in the moment.

Hospital air nipped at the two. Bumps rose on Nikolai’s skin, seeing as he forgot his jacket in the mess of the paramedics and firefighters. John went to offer Nikolai his blanket before he was shot down.

“No, John, you need that so much more than I do.” The words hit John harder than that chair that had splintered against the floor. He mattered. He was worth more than he felt. Even as a civilian. He held value. A value not instilled by the military but by Nikolai’s love for John. 

John weakly raised his hand from Nikolai’s head. Flagging down a nurse. They scurried into the room, looking to John with a considerate gaze.

“What can I do for you?” They questioned, awaiting John.

“Can you get my boyfriend a blanket?” 

The nurse gave a nod, strolling 

As the words escaped John, Nikolai gazed at him like he'd torn the stars from the sky and rewrote their positions. Yes, John and Nikolai were something non-platonic. But it wasn’t ever given a name, not until what John had just said in the moment. 

“Boyfriend?” The words were foreign to Nikolai’s lips, it was always partner or lover but never something as solid as boyfriend.

John’s hand drug over his face, a hint of rosey red caressing the curve of his cheeks. “Do you not like that, luv?” He queried, even in a hospital bed, he cared about what Nikolai thought. 

Internally that sparked a small ember of annoyance in Nikolai, it wouldn’t be anger or hate, though, he just didn’t understand entirely why. 

Why did John try to take his own life over retirement? Then, Nikolai remembered all the bottles lining the shelves of their bathroom. The opioids, the antipsychotics, it all gave him a startling realization. Every bottle was a damn burden in the eyes of his beloved. 

Each bottle represented a flaw in John, whether physical or psychological, it was one more reason for John to let go and relieve everyone and himself of carrying that weight.

John’s eyes met with Nikolai, that vast incandescent ocean boring into Nikolai’s soul, reading it like a book. Silence and tension hung between them as they maintained one another's gaze until John spoke up.

“I couldn’t take it, luv…”

“I know.”

“Am I too much to deal with?”

“Nyte, you are nothing to deal with at all, I’d carry the world like Atlas if it meant seeing you smile.”

Tears began to flood John’s gaze. Swimming in his eyes once more. There was an attempt to push it down. To toughen up, even now, but… Nikolai’s hand came down to reside on John’s shoulder, grounding him. Tethering him to something at this moment. Then followed the flood. Salty tears drizzling down John’s cheeks in a stunned silence. Nikolai’s hand rose, the backside of his index wiping off the tears as he leaned in and planted a kiss on John’s temple.

The nurse returned in the moment, gently resting the blanket by the edge of John’s bed. They turned away and left the two to their own devices, not wanting to intrude on the heartfelt moment much longer. 

Nikolai took up the blanket. It was thrown over his shoulders as he kept his lips against John’s temple and whispered a mess of compliments for him and him alone. “I love you… Don’t ever try this again. I can’t live without you, handsome, you know that? Da?” THe thickness of his compliments managed to break a smile across John’s lips. Tenderness held within the aged Captain’s reddened eyes. “Damn you, Nik..” He chuckled, pulling the Russian’s hand up toward his chest. 

The rumble of Nikolai’s chuckle drummed against the inside of his ribcage.

“Maybe it’s time for me to retire to, da? So it can finally be us?”

“Luv, ye’ don’t have to-”