Hyperfixating

“John, in the past six months your team alone has made up almost forty percent of overall med bay visits. I’m not saying your team isn’t fit, I just think you should hire a team medic.” 

This isn’t the first time the idea has been brought up to Price during his and Laswell’s debriefings in his office. His hands run over his face, racking through his mutton chops before laying them down on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. “I know you guys can take care of yourselves on base and out there on the field but come on John, you guys need someone. You need someone to help you.”

Price wasn’t fond of asking for help but it was starting to get on his nerves with how much Laswell was bringing this up. “I already said no, Laswell.” His annoyance makes his words come out gruffier than usual. Laswell rolls her eyes and rests her back against the chair posted on the other side of his desk. “How about I choose for you? If you hate them then you’ll never hear me talk about it again.” 

The sigh that rolls through Price’s chest is the only sound that radiates through the small room for a couple seconds. He hasn’t had the time to finish the mountain of paperwork on his desk along with the daily training regime for the team, along with all the meetings he’s been dragging his feet to day in and day out. Maybe some help would be nice. Did that mean he was unfit in his role? His eyes come up from the papers on his desk to Laswell’s. Her eyes seem to read his mind and her eyes get softer trying to voice her thoughts.

He was good at his job, getting help wouldn’t be a bad thing, he deserved it. The bags under his eyes and stiff shoulders were a tell tale sign of how much he worked, an extra set of hands wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

“Fine. You pick ‘em.” 

..............................

You were an experienced medic, having been stationed in multiple locations, saved a multitude of civilians and soldiers. You were proud of your work. Moving around so much, feeling like you were being tugged in one direction to the other was getting quite exhausting. Once the rumor of a job opening as a team medic passed through your small base you hesitated for a small moment, you had no idea what team, where, but you knew it would be good to get some fresh air and maybe to have a new place to find stable ground for a foreseeable amount of time. It took months of rigorous interviews and paperwork but they chose you. Laswell, chose you. You had asked her why the captain of the team didn’t pick you, asking why they weren’t present for any of the interviews if you were going to be working with them. She had only hinted that they seemed to be a close friend of hers who needed the extra hand and didn’t have the time to pick someone themselves, so she was doing them a solid.

You had always liked the idea of helping someone, that's why the idea of being a medic, a doctor, was one you had had since you were a child. One that you worked very hard to make a reality, so the thought that whoever it was that you were going to work for really needed you made you even sounder in the idea of taking the new opportunity. 

Duffel bags are still packed and laying on the floor of your new living quarters, hands on your hips and eyes trailing around the four walls, all the way to the small bed and desk. This would have to do. Since the process of getting here had taken so long you wanted to jump right into introductions. You hadn’t heard a single thing about the team, 141. Cute name, you thought.

Unpacking and making the room somewhat livable for your needs was going to have to wait, changing into your scrubs and grabbing the four manilla folders you made your way to the medical wing on base. Laswell had helped you set up one on one meetings with the team so you could go over their medical files. Military medics, especially ones who didn’t work with the team directly and personally were always known to look over things and forget to file symptoms and problems properly so you wanted to make sure you went over some things. You wanted to do your job properly. 

First up was Kyle Garrick. 

As you walked towards the curtain which separated your little appointment room for your little meet and greets you noticed the feet underneath the small sliver of space made by the floor and the bottom of the curtain. He’s early, 15 minutes early to be exact. That earns a check in your book.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach out a hand to pull the curtain to the side and take a quick step inside before pulling it back to its place behind you. “You must be Kyle.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

You greet the soldier with a kind smile, moving to place the folders in your arm on the small side table in the corner before pulling out the rolling stool from underneath and taking a seat, scooting yourself a little closer to the cot located in the middle of the room, closer to Kyle who is seated right on top. 

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, makes me feel older than what I really am.” You say with a small chuckle. He doesn’t seem to be much older than you, a little younger than the other members in 141, you presume. Your eyes make their way from his eyes down to his shoulders, then to his arms, hands interlocked in his lap, all the way down to his legs and feet. “You can call me Gaz then, that's what everyone calls me around here anyway.” You file the nickname into the back of your mind. 

You splutter out a greeting, a more friend like one at least, your name and medic title. “I already went through your medical history and you seem to be pretty healthy or at least your file is a lot lighter than some I’ve seen.” You mentally flinch when you realize that it might come off as you think he’s inexperienced in his field, new to the military, although his age hints at him being quite the opposite. But Gaz smiles, “Means I’m good at my job. Don’t get hurt too often, at least I try not to.” Oh thank God, you think, he didn’t take it that way.

“Well then, I guess me and you are gonna get along just fine then.” You chuckle. “Is there anything you wanna tell me though? Anything like trouble sleeping? Appetite problems? Joint Pain? It doesn't seem like you’ve complained about anything, ever. At least according to your records.”

A deep hum can be heard coming from his chest as he seems to run through his own mind, trying to come up with anything he would deem reasonable enough to complain about, at least to a doctor. As he’s doing so you take note of his clothes, the medical wing is set up like most hospitals, AC blasting, it’s cold, sure, but not enough to be bundled up for. Your eyes focus on his shoes, more specifically his socks, they’re not the military issued kind. They seem to be wool socks, which is odd, not something you see that often. Maybe his feet get cold, at least to a level that he takes an extra precaution to keep them warm. 

While you’re finishing reeling in your thoughts after noticing your observation, Gaz finally finishes rummaging through his mind for anything to tell. “I don’t have anything I think is worth complaining to you, Doc. I mean if complaining about the food on base to you can actually change anything then that's about it.” A deep chuckle makes its way out of his throat. You smile.

“Can I see your fingers?”

The odd question makes Gaz raise a brow but he pulls his hands from his lap and lays them out to the space between you and him, palms up. You take a soft hold of his fingers, wrapping yours around them almost like you would grip onto a handle of something. They’re oddly cold. You take note of it in your mind and move his hand to be palm down so you can take a look at his fingernails, softly running your thumbs over them.

Gaz stays silent, watching you as you bring them level to your eyes as you take note of the very subtle vertical lines that run through his nails. You let a slight hum almost like an aha moment and Gaz is very confused. “What is it?” The question comes out with a slightly worried tone. 

“Do you get cold easily, Gaz?” 

“I don’t think I get any colder than the average guy, why?” 

You finally drop the hold you had on his hands and scoot to the desk, opening a drawer to quickly take a pair of gloves out and slip them on before scooting back to your previous position near him.

“You wear wool socks, which aren't really military issued so I’m guessing your feet get cold easily and your fingers too. Your fingernails also show symptoms of an iron deficiency. Is it alright if I check your eyes and gums?” You always try to explain the best way you can, talking slower than you normally would- trying to come off as understanding as possible. He gives you a nod of approval before shifting closer to the edge of the bed so you can do your little investigation. 

You take a hold of his face, placing your thumbs underneath his eyes before pulling down his water line to get a good look underneath. The spot is oddly void of red, a classic sign of anemia. You move on to do the same with his mouth, pulling on his bottom lip to look at his gums which are a pale pink- not the exact color that they should be.. 

Retracting your hands and pulling the gloves off you scoot to the manilla folder, pulling out a pen from your scrub pocket to jot some things down. “I think you’re anemic, an iron deficiency, nothing too serious since it doesn’t seem to affect your work but I’m gonna order a blood test to confirm and to see if it’s just a dietary issue or if you need a supplement to get you to normal.”

Gaz is kind of taken aback. He felt fine, or at least he thought he did. Sure, his feet and hands got cold but he had trekked through waist high levels of snow and water. The soldier thinks of how he gets winded when moving from one sparring match to the next. Was that what that was? “You got that because of my socks?” 

Shit, you’re good. 

---------------------

Next was Johnny MacTavish, or “soap” at least that's what the red mess -doctor handwriting, right next to his real name on his file read. You had stayed in the curtain enclosed room after Gaz had left, writing out a referral for the blood test you had mentioned when you heard the slight squeaking of boots on the shiny floors headed right your way before they stopped right on the other side of the curtain. You looked up right as they were pulled aside and a friendly face greeted you, and a mohawk- which surprised you. 

“You must be the new Doc, names Soap.” He greets you and steps inside, extending a hand to shake yours. You take it, giving him a light shake before introducing yourself and directing him to sit on the cot. Soap’s introduction didn’t seem rushed yet happened all before you could even stand up from your seat. It somehow exuded this confident aura off him, which somehow in your mind explains the haircut for you. 

“I see here that you're a demolition expert?” To be frank, when you had read that in his file while going over all the men’s information, and seen all his med bay visits you knew he would be the one that would take up most of your time. You had seen first hand the aftermath of the explosions his people have dealt with. On enemies and on your very own. The thought and images are quickly pushed to the back of your mind. 

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, it's deeper and louder than Gaz’s. “You are the second person to call me ma’am today, please just call me anything else.” 

“My bad, Sorry, Doc.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m guessing you also know that your file says that you frequently find yourself in the medical wing.” Soap winces, a hand coming to rub the back of the neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of comes with the job. But, hey! We’ve got you now, so no worries.” 

Yep, you had your work cut out for you on this one. “I guess you do, can’t wait to see what you get yourself into that I have to bandage you up for.” 

Soap enjoys your replies, the banter settles nice under his skin. His smile doesn’t seem to fade, maybe slightly but never fully gone. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been at this a couple years you know about the annual hearing tests you should be taking.” 

His smile drops instantly. “What.”

“You did know that all personnel that deal with explosives regularly are supposed to be given a hearing test once a year while for others it’s every 3, right?” 

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, past your rib cage right near your spine as you watch him gape at you- like he’s grappling to find the words that he clearly doesn’t have. “I’m pulling your leg, your file doesn’t have anything on them either so I'm guessing you never had them.” Soap lets out a sigh before shrugging, flashing you a sheepish smile. 

You chuckle, “Alright, I’m gonna have you do one for me and let's just hope to God you’re not deaf yet.” That earns a chuckle from him, again. He was a lot more talkative than Gaz yet around the same level of openness. Thank god it seems like you got a good team, no weirdos so far. 

“Can I ask you one thing, lass?” Your eyes dart up from your folder where you were jotting down your notes. “Yeah, of course.”

“How fast does hair that's been burned off, by let's say- an explosion- take to grow back?”

Oh boy.

………………………………..

It had taken a while to finish up with Soap, he had too many questions for his own good. But the interaction puts a smile on your face at the thought. Your next patient was already waiting outside, Soap greets him right on the other side of the curtain before he comes in.

“You must be Ghost.” 

You had heard of him before, small whispers of a skull masked man who never showed his face. To be honest with yourself, it wasn’t quite unfamiliar to have a soldier that preferred to cover their face most times, so the thought of it that wasn’t unsettling to you in the least. Even as his huge frame slips past the curtain before moving to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of the bed. You suppress a frown, he’s purposely distancing himself from you- normal in his case, you try to tell yourself. There's a long moment of silence where you’re at least expecting him to somewhat introduce himself but it doesn’t come. Alright then.

You introduce yourself instead, trying to get rid of the silence. “Did you know that most of your files are almost completely redacted?” His eyes finally meet yours after making their way across the room. “Yeah, I know.” 

There's silence again, this isn’t gonna be easy.

Ever since you were a kid you had always been able to read people, their eyes, their hands, the way they walked. You look at his eyes and the skin around them, at least the small amount you could see through the baklava he wore. They move down to his neck and shoulders, they’re stiff- almost painfully so. Then onto his crossed arms. 

“So, how often do you get nightmares?”

Even Though you can’t see his face you know he’s surprised. “Excuse me?”

You give him a soft smile, “Your eyelids are kind of droopy, you have serious under eye bags, both indicative of an inadequate sleep schedule and your right shoulder is higher than your right even though you're standing straight which tells me you sleep on your side very often. It's actually an effect from what we call a sleeping soldier position. You lay on your side, one arm under your head and the other most likely holding onto some kind of weapon.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, it almost seems like he’s sizing you up. Trying to guess if you’re serious, if you’re being condescending in some way but Ghost can’t seem to find anything behind your eyes except kindness. It almost scares him more than what he was expecting. You know you're right, you’ve worked with dozens of cases of PTSD, diagnosing it and treating it. “What have you tried in order to help?” 

You almost think he’s not going to answer you, that he’s just going to storm out of the room and somehow you’d lose your job before you even got the chance to do anything about it.

 “I don't know how to fix it.” It’s a quiet, muttered reply. You almost miss it. 

Ghost feels like he’s out of his comfort zone, sure soldiers had nightmares and maybe he had had them when on a mission, sleeping just a few feet away from his teammates but you were new and somehow could see through him. “Does your captain know?” You hoped the answer was yes because then it meant you wouldn’t have to tell his superiors about his personal problems and you could just help him without anyone having to know and judge him which is what you guess is making him uneasy. “Price knows.” You nod- they seem to be the closest in age on the team so you guess they’ve known each other for at least a decent amount of time, knowing things about each other that only a close friend would. “Then I can help, I don’t have to tell the captain unless he asks and neither do you.” 

“No drugs.” Ghost had lost hope on ever truly resolving his problems when he lied awake at night thinking about it. Drugs would be written down, stored and used against him. He’ll be seen as an unstable soldier- a sick man. 

“I can do that.” You offer him a small smile, at least you’re getting somewhere- doing your job.

Soap might not be the one to worry about, you thought.

—----------------------

You let out a quiet sign to yourself, the back to back meetings have had you cramped inside the room for hours. The team seems to be a good one, funny and kind, thank god. The last meeting was with the captain. You were nervous even though he had hand picked the three men you had met earlier so he couldn’t be too far off in comparison. But the thought that you were going to be working with him and he hadn't been involved in choosing you was gnawing at you. If he hated you or thought he didn’t need you he could have your bags packed in an hour tops. You try to take a deep breath, he couldn’t be that mean- none of the boys seemed to warn you about him so that means he had to be nice or else they would complain about him somehow. 

The thoughts in your mind seem to be clouding your senses, you barely hear the steps coming towards the curtain and how they come to a halt right before the fabric is slowly pushed to the side. 

Still lost in your thoughts and sitting in the stool, it seems like you’ve been glued to the whole day at the desk that's been housing all the manilla folders, referrals, and notes you’ve been working with for hours on end- you don’t hear the steps get closer and the figure who they belong to standing just slightly past the threshold. Price knows he should probably make himself known, maybe clear his throat or rustle the curtains so you know he’s here. 

He plans to, or at least that's what he tells himself, he can’t help taking your form in, your back to him- legs crossed, seated, elbow resting on the desk, chin in your hand. He gulps, he hasn’t seen your face but somehow he knows that you’re beautiful. He would bet money on it without you even having to turn around. Surprisingly, it's the very gulp that makes him let out a small cough that finally has you turning your head to face him. A part of him wants to back out of the room and call Laswell, curse her out for this idea of hers but that thought seems to slip out of his mind as your eyes meet his. 

You’re quick to stand up, wiping your hands off on your thighs before reaching one out for a greeting. “Shit, so sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. You must be the captain.” Price takes your hand but his eyes don’t leave your face- that smile that he can already feel is going to get him in a load of trouble and gives you his own. “It’s alright, love.” You try to hide the sharp inhale you seemed to have involuntarily made when the name hits your ears. 

His hands are calloused, not in a way that scratches you but feels sturdy, warm, somewhat comforting. The grasp he has of your hand lasts a little longer than what anyone would deem normal and you stutter out a soft command for him to take a seat on the cot. 

Price does as you say and lets go of your hand before taking a seat, interlocking his hands in his lap. You take the time to turn and rearrange your papers, trying to get your breathing under control, of course no one mentioned he's handsome. Fuck.

“I hope my men haven’t given you a hard time so far.” You finally turn around after hearing his voice, it matches his face- handsome, charming. “ No, they're nicer than I expected.” That makes Price raise a brow, questioning what you mean by that and you catch on. “Gaz doesn’t like talking so much, Ghost is an enigma of his own, and well soap is one hell of a character.” You chuckle while taking a seat on the stool once again and scooting over til you’re a few feet away from him.

To be completely honest, Price had almost forgotten about the deal he made with Laswell. She had come by to drop your file at his desk- for him to look over- but in reality, he had forgotten. He feels what he thinks is guilt eating at him in his chest. He had been adamant for so long on not needing a team medic, that they were a waste of time and money- yet here you were, nice, beautiful and he didn’t hate you one bit. 

“Well, Gaz is called Gaz for that very reason and well Simon is Simon, and soap- well he’s most likely the reason you’re here.” Soap had been the sole reason for 141’s increased med bay visits which is what had tipped off Laswell to initiate the month long debate of hiring someone. 

“I’m glad you did, it doesn’t seem like you guys have been keeping up with protocol.” 

“What do you mean, love?” Concern is laced into his words, the thought of his men not getting adequate help makes the knot in his chest grow tighter. 

“I’m having Gaz checked for anemia since he’s got some of the tell tale signs. Soap hasn’t had a hearing test in over five years and Ghost has a severe case of insomnia.” You know that not a lot of teams have the opportunity to have a team medic, often resorting to rotating med bay doctors who aren't very keen on prevention and treating for mundane things. The look of guilt spread across the captain's face, his brows furrowing and lips taut. “It’s not your fault, I’m here now so I’ll be taking care of you guys and I’ll be trying my best, captain.” 

Your words seem to settle the man down but you can tell he still seems anxious over his men. You place your hands on your knees, “Let’s worry about you right now.” You offer him a kind smile before standing up from your seat and taking a few steps forward before coming to a complete stop when you're standing right in between his spread knees. Your hands are held up a few inches from his face, silently asking for permission. Price pushes the feeling of apprehension to the back of his mind before tilting his chin slightly up, granting you to do so. 

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin. 

“No.” You don’t know if it's in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder that's laid out on the desk. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.” 

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes, scooting back to him. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barely a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain. 

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. I'm gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?” 

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

 “Cigars?” 

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shiny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment. 

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his. 

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking- even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face. 

“It's not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it in case of anything.” 

“Alright, love.” 

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” His eyes wander around the room, taking note of the fluorescent lights and sketchy wallpaper with a not too fond look on his face. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, it's small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.” 

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, that's it.” You can tell he’s thinking, trying to take you in- read you. 

Price decides he likes it, likes you.

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Price's reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too. 

“Deluxe package?” 

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.” 

You both break out into a chorus of light laughter and quiet chuckles. The room doesn’t seem so small and suffocating like you had thought a mere thirty minutes ago and that pit in your stomach has seemed to all but dissipate. You finish going over some more of his medical records, confirming some information and filling in some gaps before you realize that it's been over an hour and the day is coming to a close. It doesn’t even hit you until Price brings it to your attention by looking down at his watch. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ve probably kept you here for longer than you planned.” You say with an apologetic smile, nervousness etched into your words. “It’s alright, love.” 

The boys were most likely waiting for him in his office for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Your eyes seemed to have glued him to the cot and your voice lulling him into a daze. Maybe having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

He stands- you follow him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, captain.” You hadn’t had time to take him in when he first came into the room. He’s tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a nice strong set of thighs you have to force your eyes off of. 

“John.” You raise a brow, lost in thought from seeing him in his full form. “You can call me John.” His smile is warm and it's almost like the warmth of it radiates onto you and you feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck. 

“Okay, John.” 

“It was nice meeting you, love.” Price gives you one last kind smile, the crows feet along the edges of his eyes come out at the gesture as he walks towards the curtain before pushing it aside and stepping out. The curtains don't go back to their previous place. You watch him as he walks away until he’s out of eyesight and you finally feel like you can catch your breath. Fuck, your captain is hot. 

---------------------

Since Gaz’s incident you had been practically glued to his hip. The first two weeks were spent with you taking his vitals, changing his bandages and administering fluids and antibiotics. There were also plenty of bathroom trips and it was actually quite endearing when you found out that the soldier was pee shy. You had almost forgotten about the mundane tasks of being a doctor but you found yourself enjoying it- funny enough. 

The hours you spent by his bedside had brought you two closer. Soap had come by two days after the accident to check in on him, offering an abundant amount of conversation while Ghost had come in the dead of night almost a week after. You had almost missed him but caught his shadow through the curtain of the individual medical room. Gaz was asleep during his visit but you guessed that's what Ghost intended. 

“I heard you were the one who used the gauze to slow the bleeding.” Your voice was soft, trying not to break the calmness that covered the small room. Ghost’s eyes flickered to your form peeking out from the curtains. “It saved his life, I hope you know that.” You didn’t wait for any reaction, you would’ve been there all night if so. You left, careful to not jostle the curtains too much. Ghost felt his shoulders slouch just the tiniest bit from your words. 

You had been updating Price on Gaz’s recovery with small notes you’ve been dropping by his desk along with a fresh mug of coffee, timing it for when you knew he'd be out. You had a fear about leaving Gaz in the medical wing, he was a grown man- a soldier- but maybe you were too nervous to run into the captain- alone. Not after the last time you were left alone with him.

During the third week of treatment you had given Gaz a new round of antibiotics due to a few symptoms of an infection taking over Gaz’s wound and unsurprisingly it got Price out of his office and into the medical ward to visit him.

You didn’t want to admit you were avoiding him. Dreams had been plaguing you every night of what could’ve and maybe should’ve happened that night. His hand pulling you in, his lips on yours. You could still feel the ghost of his hands when you laid down at night. 

Safe to say after the infection passed Gaz was allowed to leave the med bay and go back to his own room, coming back for a few appointments to check up on him. You had given him a strict six week minimum of leave before he could even start to train to get back out on the field. 

It was a gloomy sentence to serve him but Gaz took it with his head held high and a very kind thank you for what you had done for him. “I’d do it again, trust me” you had told him with a soft smile. 

Now with him out of the med bay and somewhat safe on his own, you found yourself back to your usual routine. Unfortunately, due to your adventurous save the doctors have seemed to gang up on you somewhat. It wasn’t blatantly obvious, you had spent the first few days trying to convince yourself that you were overthinking it. Hushed whispers that came to a halt as soon as you walked into the med bay, side eyes that seemed to follow you, opinions and directions given with just that certain tone. You knew it wasn’t your imagination when your favorite mug was fully intact on top of the trash bin in the small staff room connected to the med bay. It took a few minutes to hit you, then another few minutes to pick it out, clean it in the sink and bring it back to your room. 

You took it with your head held high, but it was slowly dragging you down. It took a little longer for you to fall asleep at night, it made your thoughts run a little too fast, it was like a rock was sitting on your chest every time you walked in there. Then came the extra workload, paperwork was going missing as soon as you handed it in, meaning you had to redo it all over again. Equipment you were told was in one place was in a completely different place. You were tired of it. 

The exhaustion was setting in from the work and the conflict, your shoulders sagging as you got your stuff together to head towards Price’s office. He wanted to discuss how everyone was doing, especially Gaz after everyone had some time to calm down since the mission. The walk to his office is quiet, everyone either in the rec room or off base doing God knows what. 

You knock softly against his door and hear a quiet “come in”. The door is awfully squeaky but you close it behind you, “Take a seat, love. I just need to finish this up quick.” You give him a nod and take a seat on the small couch he has situated along the wall, manilla folders on the coffee table, you practically melt into the cushions. After a sigh, you reach for your hair, taking out the claw clip you put it in that morning and running your finigers through your hair, kneading you scalp where you can feel a headache coming on. 

Price has been behind on paperwork since he got back from the mission, between Gaz’s injury, checking in on the guys and his all consuming thoughts of you, he has been busy. But even with that he can’t help but watch you now, all but forgetting what he was writing a few seconds ago. He has never seen you with your hair down, it makes you look softer. 

You’re exhausted. Price can see it in your shoulders, you’re basically staring at the wall paper with eyes fluttering shut when your fingers hit a tense spot on your temple. He fiddled with the pen in his hand for a few seconds, fuck it. The paperwork can wait.

The sound of his pen hitting his desk and the rustle of paper is what brings you out of your daze. Your eyes find his, with his hands interlocked, elbows resting on the desk. He’s the most underdressed you’ve seen so far. No tactical vest that shows off his tiny waist, just jeans and a shirt, but you still catch his drop leg holster from where you’re sitting.

“You alright, love?” You give him a small nod. As soon as this meeting is over you’re going to absolutely knock out in your room, a nice warm shower, a soft blanket waiting for you and a new candle ready to be lit. Let’s just get through this quickly. 

Price doesn’t fully trust the nod you give him, you’ve never been this quiet, this small, but he tucks it into the back of his head and blames it on the tiredness you must be feeling. You already grabbed the manilla folders, opening up to who is going to take up most of the conversation. Gaz. 

“I discharged Gaz from the med bay. He’s going to stop by once a week for check ups, his infection is mostly gone but he still has to finish up the antibiotics I’ve been giving him and he should be good. Once we hit six weeks I can see about getting him back to training before he goes out again.” John hasn’t taken his eyes off your figure during your entire spiel. Your eyes have been locked with him since your first words, you lick your lips and look down to the folder in your lap. “Due to his previous anemia and the blood loss from the injury I will be a little stricter with his iron supplement… I also might see if I can get some steak for you guys.” Your voice trails off towards the end. When you finally look back up at Price he has a small smile on his lips. 

“This part of the deluxe package you were talking about?” He chuckles. You have to fight the heat that is creeping up your chest and neck. “It’ll be a free trial, so you can cancel it when the steaks turn out to be shit.” It’s your turn to let out a chuckle but you feel yourself not as troubled as before. You both haven’t talked about the last time you two were alone but something tells you he didn’t think of it as a bad thing. You clear your throat and move on to Soap. 

“Soap is okay for now, his hearing test says he is only a point below normal so it’s nothing we need to worry about yet but I did force him to move to headphones instead of earbuds for daily use. Umm, he also requested some medicinal hair growth because apparently his beard hasn’t grown back since he last burnt it off. I am a little iffy on giving it to him, feel like it’s kind of deserved if you ask me.” This was supposed to be quick but shit if you didn’t like making the captain laugh. It’s well needed, for both of you. 

Price laughs, hard, “Don’t give it to him, it’s probably not in the budget and he can go without a full beard for a bit.” You choke back the giggle while you take your pen from your scrub top and scribble down in the folder. “ Maybe he’s just jealous of your facial hair, Cap.” 

“Mine?” He runs his hand against his mutton chops. Fuck me, I wonder what they feel like. You sit up a little straighter at the dirty thought, girl get your shit together. “I don’t think there’s anything to be jealous about a couple white hairs.” 

“Nothing wrong with a little salt and pepper.” Why the fuck would you say that.

“Salt and pepper?” His eyes have you frozen in your seat. 

“Yeah… like white hairs? Salt and pepper… that's what people call it sometimes, it’s cute.”

“My white hairs are cute?” Oh my God, how the fuck did we even get here. 

“No… just you.” I’m too tired for this, what the actual fuck am I doing. 

“Ain’t ever been called cute.”

“Handsom, then.” Fuck it, we ball.

It took a lot to make Captain John Price speechless but you, with your hair down, with warm cheeks in his office was enough to get him there. He coughs to try and hide the way he knows his cheeks are reddening. We need to move on, for both our sakes. You take the cue and move onto Simon.

“Simon is also doing great, his sleep has gotten better but since Gaz he has slipped back a little. Nothing a little bit of time won’t solve.”  You wish you had more to say, it would help your previous word disappear but you know they won’t. Price remembers everything.

“And what about you Cap? Have you been sleeping a little better?” Ever since you started this job, Price has only ever complained about one thing. His sleep, which was usually due to a bad back or neck which you helped out with once and then never again. He was supposed to come back and see you up until the last mission. “I’m alright for now. I’ll let you know if that changes, love.” He stands up from his desk and moves over to the cabinet on the other side of the room where he opens up a bottle of whiskey and pours it into a cup. “And what about you?”

You’re surprised by the question, I probably look like shit and that's why he’s asking. “I’m alright, just tired… exhausted actually.” You give a soft chuckle at the end, hoping it lessens the weight of what your words truly mean and how you feel finally saying it out loud. 

John turns to look at you with the glass in his hand, his other now in his front pocket. His eyes bore down on you. “Are the guys bugging you?”

“No! God, no. They’re sweethearts.” You close the folders and put them back on the coffee table in front of you, rubbing your hands on your thighs. “Is someone on base causing you any trouble?” Price doesn’t seem to be letting up, you’ve been here for months, taking everything in stride so it had to be someone or something making you extra tired then normal. 

“It’s nothing.” You try to give him a small smile, thinking about that hot shower that is still waiting for you after this. “It’s something, love.” God, he had to stop with the nickname, it was making you feel light headed. “I will be alright, John. Promise.” He takes a second to rake his eyes up and down your form before moving to take a seat on the other side of the couch. 

“Listen, I know the guys and I can be a little tough to work with, intimidating some would say. So, thank you, for everything. Especially with Gaz, I know you went out of your way- more than you usually do.” He’s staring at the glass in his hand instead of at you.

You know this means a lot to him, thanking you. “You’re welcome.” You whisper. 

“I really like working with you guys, and you’re a good Captain.” You added, he looked tense and what you said wasn’t a lie. If he wouldn’t come to you for any medical reason you could at least help him with words of kindness. Price turns his head just the tiniest bit to smile at you. 

You stifled a yawn, covering your mouth with your hand, “Sorry… I should head out before I fall asleep here.” You move to grab your stuff before Price’s hand comes out to cover your hand. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it , but if there is anything, you can come to me.” 

You glide your eyes from his hand on top of yours to his face where he seems to be trying to speak through his eyes. Anything or anyone. 

You use your free hand to trap his, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. “I know I can, John.” I need to get the fuck out of here. You finish getting your stuff together before heading to the door, throwing out a small Goodnight before closing it behind you.

The walk back to your room is slower, and even quieter somehow. Is he like that with everyone? So caring? Charming? Fucking handsome? And why the fuck did I say that? I called him handsome. I called the captain of my team, handsome. Fucking shit. 

You round the corner, head swarming when you collide with someone. The force makes you take a step back to see the doctor who tore you a new one about using that extra epi on Gaz. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He all but spits out.

“My job, actually.” You clutch the folders to your chest, praying that this will be short and you can finally get to your room. 

“Surprising, I thought you just did whatever you wanted, actually.” He crosses his arms and looks you up and down. “By the way, your report got lost again. Need you to rewrite it and hand it in by 8am tomorrow.” 

“I have rewritten that report twice already, if you guys keep losing it that seems like a you problem more than a me problem.” You’re fed up. He’s got it out for you and quite frankly you’re too tired to care about how you’re coming off. 

He takes a step closer, making sure he’s too close for comfort by normal standards. “Listen here, I don’t care who you sucked off to get this job or who you’re fucking to be able to keep it but when you’re in my medical ward you do what I say. Rewrite the report and get it in by tomorrow.” 

You can feel his breath hitting your face and your neck is starting to hurt from careening it away. 

“Is there a problem here?” Fuck.

You step away and turn to see Price, it looks like he just came around the corner but the look on his eyes and his tense shoulders tell you he heard the speech this asshole just gave you.

“No problem, just doctor stuff.” The man tries to move around you, purposefully ramming his shoulder into yours before Price takes another step towards him. He freezes for a second before side stepping around the Captain. You watch as he walks back around the corner leaving the two of you alone. Your eyes come back to Price but find he’s already looking at you. “Thank you… for that.” The folders are still clutched to your chest, all the giddiness you had before drained from your body and that familiar feeling of exhaustion seeping back into your bones. 

Price looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how, he opens his mouth but closes it back up and holds his hand out to give you. Your clawclip. “You left this in my office, I came to give it back.” You breathe a sigh of relief from finally having his eyes off of you even if it were for only a second. “Oh… thank you, I tend to lose them all the time. Pretty sure this is one of my last ones. So, thank you, seriously.” I need to shut up. You reach out and take it out of his hand, your fingers lightly brushing his, they’re calloused but so warm. 

“Is that what you were talking about when you said it was nothing?” He’s got his hands in his front pockets and slightly swinging the way he usually does when he’s waiting for something. You swallow, trying to find the words. Should you tell him about the medical ward? The extra hours of work they’ve been making you do? How much shit they’ve been giving you? 

“That's the same doctor as before wasn’t it?” His voice is getting rougher, his accent deeper, it finally makes you meet his eyes and give him a slight nod. Those eyes don’t let up, he needs you to speak, needs to know what has been going on, how he can help. 

“They’re mad about a protocol I broke to give Gaz that extra shot of epi to help bring him back from cardiac arrest. It worked so I don’t understand why they’re like this but apparently it matters enough to warrant him to act like an asshole.” You take a deep breath, feeling your heartbeat spike with all the tiredness and slight anger you feel flooding your veins. “Things I turn in have gone missing so I end up having to redo them, they lie about where something is so it takes me longer to find it. That was the first time they actually said anything insulting.” 

You hear him sigh and his hand comes up to land on your shoulder, his thumb starting slow circles on your collar bones. “I’ll talk to them.” It’s short, curt, final. You catch his hand as he goes to turn, “Wait… just don’t do anything outrageous. I don’t want to lose my job or anything.” Your voice is almost a whisper at this point, Price has to dip his head to be able to fully hear you but he does and his hand in your grasp turns to hold you. 

“You’re not leaving. You’re my medic, not theirs.” 

That gets you to smile, you like the sound of being his. Even if it is just as a medic. 

“And you’ve still gotta get those steaks for us, love.” 

He walks you back to your room, his hand at your lower back and a quiet goodnight before closing the door. That hot shower and warm blanket was exactly what you needed. But there is something in your chest, you need something else… him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Authors Note: Hey guys... long time no see. I got married! Oh and I got my masters with a big girl job and everything. I actually missed writing. I won't be at it like before but I thought wow I hate when there is a story I like and then the author just stops posting, and then I was like holy shit, I do that! So enjoy the updated after almost 3 years!

You refuse to get on the subway again with him afterward so instead the two of you take the tram, talking so much you receive a stern talking to from an eldrely omega with dark serious eyes about consideration that you two as alphas should have for the people that surround you, which works for about two stops before he starts talking again. This time right into your ear, his breath tickling you more often than not. 

Thankfully, by the time you two get off at the right stop, the older gentleman is nowhere to be seen so sergeant Garrick swings an arm over your shoulder and leads the way, his throat croaking with laughter at the tidbit you share about the last drill you had to run with Soap before leave.

Kyle also decides to show you where he 'could have gone to university if he haven't enlisted' and regrets that immediately.

Mostly because now you keep referring to Oxford as 'that place you could have graduated have you not chose communal showers, mate' with tone so enthusiastic Kyle briefly considers pushing you off the next bridge in a river.

It's a nice weekend, you think, stretched out on top of him come evening, football game playing on his telly.

"You aren't watchin' it, mate." Kyle complains above your ear and you make a short noise of protest, because while that may be true, there's no need to call you out on it. It's been a long day and you are glad to say you've made it through the sightseeing program and Kyle's evening run that he insisted you accompany him on which was a mistake. 

The man runs like he prepares for the Olympics and you aren't built for even the possibility of triathlone. 

"Arsenal's not my team of choice." You sigh in his neck, nuzzling in, because Kyle slowly grazes your nape with his nails, dragging them down in a mindless caress before he is back at the top. He is not in any rush to move anywhere either. 

Not when you are right on top of him, comfortably tucking your limbs against his, not even noticing that you've been purring against the side of his neck for the last ten minutes. Like a big beast, curling around him and letting Kyle scratch you in the right places.

The touch sends small warm sparks through your back up to your head, tingles behind your ears when he presses a little harder to coax a content sigh out of your chest, your eyelids heavy from all the affection he bestows upon you. 

The two of you have been walking around the city all day, so now you are stretched out in a tangle of legs with feet still humming from all the miles paced across London.

"Yeah? And who is? Newcastle?" Sergeant chuckles, nudging your leg with his when you make a non-committal sound that doesn't tell him anything. That won't do, he has shared plenty with you today, don't just tap out when the night's still young and his questions are unanswered. 

"Man United." You finally relent, nuzzling your face under his jaw, because you know what's going to happen here.

Because Gaz lets out a chocked sound of indignation, his caress stilling.

"So when I offered you tickets to a game last year and you refused, was it because of that? A bloody knife you already had in my back?

"I went to that game with l.t." You protest weakly and his throat vibrates under your nose, practically a growl if he had it in him after a day so happy and you so cozy right on top of him. 

"Bleedin' traitor." He breathes out right in your ear, heating up the longer you ignore his outrage in favour of staying comfortable. Probably hoping that if you play dead then the storm will pass over. Like that game you used to play as a kid when your family would vacation by the sea.

If you press yourself against the bottom of the sea — the wave would pass right above your head, without knocking the wind out of you on impact.

Unfortunately, Kyle has always preferred to go deeper than surface level, sinking in fast and determined, the hooks of his attention scratching in search of a soft spot to catch onto and start pulling.

"So when Ghost asks, then you say 'yes', but when it's your best mate…" Sergeant starts, his other palm now rubbing your lower back. Probably more for his own self-soothing than anything else.

Still, the feeling is nice and he doesn't seem to be planning to push you off of him and the couch, so you don't ask him about it, instead soaking up the attention.

"Am I not allowed to have other best mates?" The question's rhetorical in its nature, but part of you just wants to add some fuel to the fire, even if Kyle just keeps going, pretending he did not hear that.

(No, you aren't. Because if everyone is the 'best' then no one is and he already claimed the spot, Ghost can go pick someone else for that, Kyle's here now.)

"…when it's your best mate, me, you say 'no', I see how it is." He sums up, huffing out short and annoyed.

"L.t. asked first." You interject and feel his sideways glare with the non-existent hole it's burning in your skin.

Kyle's fingers still stroke your skin, even as he lies there huffing like a pissed off hedgehog, his nose finding your ear to graze against it.

Scenting you again.

"That my punishment, mate?" You tilt your head ever so slightly and he doesn't say anything but you can hear how he bites the air, teeth clicking audibly right next to your ear. A very subtle warning. "Got it."

You don't mind the scenting or the too hot fingers touching your nape, squeezing the tight muscles there — working through the kinks.

Often you are reminded that in order to calm down every member of your taskforce needs to do someting with their hands.

Off duty Johnny keeps taking apart watches and then assembles them back — rubs over every part till he gets the new bubble of a callous. For some reason he has the preference for quartz watches and old grandfather clocks. You know because these are the only ones he talks about first week off his leave, buzzing with news and details he itches to share before he forgets the best parts. 

Simon keeps drawing shapes in the corners of his reports, never anything specific, but you noticed at some point that he mostly does the dive point stars without lifting his pen off the page even once. Keeps going till the corner just becomes black nothing.

A place that child would point at, telling his dad there's a monster hiding there.

John has his cigar and the coin he usually spins between fingers, but on a days when neither is option, anything else would do. Sometimes you thing if Price just likes holding things.

The rope he stretches, the gun he checks, the boots he re-laces up again just to see that everything's in working order.

Reminds himself of the permanence of things that surround him, the consistency of a certain object never disappearing all of a sudden to leave him off kilter.

(You try not to read too much into it.)

And Kyle switches between whatever is the most convenient at the time, adapts his coping to circumstances, permitting himself the luxury of picking and choosing only when he's off duty.

He cleans his weapons and checks the equipment, he passes Soap parts for the explosives and spin the pen Price keeps forgetting, he plays tic-tac-toe on his own in the carefully outlined sections on pieces of paper he scavanges from ripped newspapers or reports that have to be rewritten.

And he touches.

Surfaces, weapons, tree branches, green leaves, stray animals, railing of the porches of safe houses.

People, most often.

When you have just joined the team he used to stay by John's side so much you once asked Ghost if they were together. Kyle used to mindlessly tap on captain's wrist, used to bounce his knee against Price's so they'd sway from side to side like a weird roly-poly.

Back on base he'd spend the rest of his free time with Soap — playing with his hair and spotting him in the gym, cramming together in one armchair and napping by each other's side on their way back from the op.

"I used to be so jealous." You say suddenly and feel Kyle move under you, his palm settling on your lower back. You didn't mean to say it out loud, but he's listening now — lowers the volume of the fame on screen to hear you better.

"Of me?" He asks, tone light and maybe it's because he is so used to being as good as he is, but you still smile.

"Partially." You admit, turning your head to the side to rest your ear against his chest.

Out of everyone you know Kyle's heartbeat is the loudest.

"The pack was so tight-knit, so…different, but you got along with all of them. Captain or Soap or even l.t. Felt like there can hardly be space for anyone else." You share finally, eyelids falling closed when Kyle starts slowly stroking your back again. "As if you were the Sun of that whole system."

"Johnny's the Sun." Gaz says suddenly and you hum.

"Johnny's not the Sun, he'd be the Earth," You counter, "He's the only one of us who has life."

"We've got life too." Sergeant protests, almost lazily, his fingers tracing the line of your spine up to the middle of your back, circling each vertebrae. Counting.

"You know what I mean." You mumble, too tired to push a better argument and he lets out a soft affirmative 'mhm', his fingers starting to move up.

"Are you still jealous, love?" He asks after a long pause, figuring that you won't be saying anything else about the matter.

"Not really," You murmur and he slowly nods, fingers pressing into the knot on your back, someplace on the left of your spine. "Only sometimes." Comes out a little too honest, so you hastily add, "You are just that good, mate. Absolutely brilliant."

"That I am." Kyle agrees, tightness in his chest dissolving when you snort.

"And very humble." You murmur, only slightly sarcastic and his smile grows.

"'m not a toast, you don't have to butter me up, bruv." Gaz says right into your ear, giggling when you grumble about big heads on some people.

Kyle too remembers you at the beginning — Ghost's own pick and his personal recommendation, they've been dying to meet the big mystery that l.t. himself approved.

Kyle remembers how obviously in tune you and Ghost were. Two peas in one murky pod, almost instinctively cooperating during the drills. Wiped the fucking floors with Johnny and Price while he watched.

You were polite and friendly, a little stand-offish at first. Before Johnny somehow talked you into joining a cuddle pile with them.

Before the captain took you under his heavy wing, slowly pulling you all the way into the pack — scenting you, because Ghost didn't smell like anything and flat out refused to do anything about it, stating that there is 'no need'.

Because he'd come back smelling like you every time — smoky and warm, because you were the only person who could borrow his clothes and face no repercussions.

Mostly due to the fact that Ghost frequently borrowed yours in return. Scarves and sweaters and hoodies and sweaters.

Even gloves, when something happened to his and he didn't have a spare of a spare pair.

Kyle remembers how he once saw Ghost's balaclava in the drawer of your nightstand. It wasn't fully close and it was his first time in your room.

Room, that didn't smell like anyone but you.

But again, neither did Ghost.

"I used to be a little jealous too." Kyle admits after another minute, long fingers tracing shapes on your back — your skin warm even through the stretched out fabric of your t-shirt.

"Why?" You hum, half asleep and a little curious now that he said it himself, opening these doors.

"I guess…" Kyle starts, thinking back to the casual familiarity between you and Ghost, to obvious appreciation from Price, to ease with which Soap has immediately considered you a new packmate.

You were good and quick and didn't look like you needed any of it. Like the ease of becoming a part of their machine was nothing to write home about. Like you knew you were better and that was a given.

"Just looked…" He pauses and looks back at the telly, jaws working, "I don't know, to be honest." Kyle lies, palm lying flat between your shoulder blades, tips of his fingers absently stroking your back in short slow patting.

Like a cat kneading biscuits, you think, closing your eyes back.

"Are you still jealous?" You ask, tone warm and voice sleepy.

Sometimes, Kyle thinks.

"No." Gaz says instead and you nod, nuzzling back in his neck — Kyle's pulse pounding against your nose. "That would disrupt the pack dynamic." He adds, internally cringing because this is such a bullshit reasoning.

But you're already asleep when he calls out to you again.

Well, conversation's over for today.

He can try again next time.

Price who’s really beat after a long day at work. Just wants to relax in bed and let the stress of the day melt off him. Until you look up at him, your eyes wide with eagerness, legs rubbing against his under the comforter, hands caressing his arms. All frowns and pouts when he scratches at his beard and lets you down with a pet at your hair and kiss to your forehead.

You say it’s okay with a huff and roll over but when Price clicks the light off and turns to his side, after a few minutes you shift, scoot back a little. Again and again until you’re pressed to his front, head on his arm, and Price figures you just want to cuddle, pouting too much to admit it, so he wraps a heavy arm around your waist, nose nuzzling into your neck. Shiver with the scrape of his beard along your shoulder.

Sleep slowly building behind Prices eyes when your hips shift slightly, grind into his. Doesn’t think anything of it other than you’re getting comfortable. Until the movement of your hips becomes constant, knocking and rubbing against his cock. Can feel your back arch into him and he grunts into your ear, huffs a breath onto your neck that makes your need so much worse.

“Stop that.” He grumbles into your ear, knows that you’re trying to rile him up, so he tightens his arm around you in hopes it keeps you still. A little annoyed now because he’s all chubbed up in his boxers and knows it’ll take a minute before he’s calmed down enough to fall asleep.

You stop, thankfully. Until you don’t. Hips moving just subtly, slowly enough the need clogs your throat and it takes everything in you not to move faster. But Price can feel you moving even though you think you’re being sneaky, sucks in a deep breath before slapping at your thigh with the hand securing your waist.

“Cut it out. Don’t make me tell you again.” You shudder, eyes fluttering shut at the hoarseness in his throat. It only eggs you on, makes you throb at the threat behind his words.

You smash your hips back into his cock, grind without subtleness because he’s all worked up now even though he wouldn’t want to admit it. Angry and so hard against you that his arm under your head curls around your front, forearm under your jaw and hand clenching at your shoulder to keep you secure against his chest.

“Want it? Here it comes, baby.” He croaks in your ear. Annoyance and anger rolling off of him in waves as his other hand shoots down to lift your leg, yanks your soaked panties to the side. Makes you whine because he doesn’t bother touching your achy clit just huffs in your ear, rough with his grip that has tingles running over your body shuddering with anticipation.

Your breaths get heavier, body drumming when his hand darts back to wrestle his cock out. Feel it hot and heavy against your ass that you whine, need so heavy in your mind that just the feel of it against your pussy has you gushing.

Price grins when he lines himself up, soaks in the loud cry you let out when he thrusts in because you’re going to regret riling him up.

The airs punched from your lungs when he bottoms out. Pussy stinging at the quick stretch around him, whimper at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. Moan at the throb of him stretching you wide and filling you to the brim.

Bitterness in the way he handles you exactly what you were throbbing for when he pet your head and said maybe another night.

Price grunts and groans into your neck, hooks his arm under your knee and pins it to your chest so you can feel him deep inside you. Starts his thrust all of a sudden, pace so quick and harsh the air is knocked from your lungs. Have to gasp and huff to force air in from the grip he has around your front and pressure from his thrusts.

Makes sure he stuffs you to the hilt as he pounds away at your cervix, has you clawing at his arms, loud keens and moans drowning out the squelching of your pussy.

“What you wanted, huh? Desperate slut. Always needs Daddy’s cock fillin’ you up.” He spits into your ear, jerks when you flutter around him. Mind feasting at how pliable you are. How he can bully his cock into you and all you do is swallow him up and moan. How if he goes at it long enough you’ll blabber thank yous until Price has to fill your mouth so you shut up.

Price groans at the thought, cock slamming into you roughly as the imagine flashes in his mind. You mewl, words clogged in your throat, forced down by the pleasureful cries you can’t hold back. His beard scratches at your neck and shoulder, has tingles shooting down your back and making you push your ass into him.

The bed squeaks and rocks, Prices hips pounding forward and slapping into your ass. You bounce off his hips with each thrust, eyes fluttering closed because you can feel the head of his cock dragging against your walls and knocking at your cervix.

When you clench around him he shifts his hips, pummels his cock into your sweet spot so he can really feel you convulse around him. Has you squealing and toes curling, mind going fuzzy and soft with the pleasure coursing through you. Nails digging into the thick forearm around your throat, mouth falling open in silent cries when the feeling makes your body burn, heat blazing in your stomach.

Can feel drool dribble down your chin onto his forearm. Hand flying back when it feels like you might pass out, mind humming so violently you can’t think straight. “Slow, Daddy.” You whimper. “Too fast.”

Price tuts, grunting as he growls into your neck. “Take what I fuckin’ give you, baby. Wouldn’t let Daddy sleep because of your greedy cunt. Gonna pump ‘er full of cum so she sleeps real good tonight.” He purrs, drops his arm from your shoulder to hold your knee up so he can squeeze at your tits.

You squeal and grip at his arm when he pinches at your nipple through your shirt, rough material making lightening shoot through you.

“‘M sorry, Daddy.” You pant when his hand darts under your shirt. “I’ll be good. Just- slow down!”

Price palms at your chest, squeezing and tugging as his hips pummel into you, dips his mouth to nip at your neck when he sees you swallow thickly. Beard scraping your shoulder raw as he kisses and sucks harshly to leave purple marks for later.

“Too late for sorrys, baby. This is what you were begging me for. Can’t back out now.”

Tears spring to your eyes at the overwhelming amount of pleasure coursing through you. Think you’re getting a break when Price takes his plucking fingers away from your chest but lurch when you feel them at your clit.

Cry out when his rough fingers rub quickly at you, spasm and clench so hard you hear his low moans muffled against your neck, covered in sweat which he licks up, sends shivers down your spine and zips to your cunt.

His groans get lower, thrusts turning sloppy and short, feel every inch of him pull out and thrust back in more clearly. You can feel the veins of his cock grind against your walls, not a blur of feeling anymore, but they drag and tease you, have tingles shooting up your neck.

The pace of his fingers stay the same though, quick and sharp that an orgasm is quick to form. Have you squirming and whimpering, digging your nails into his arm as your ears ring.

Price curses, clench’s his jaw at the tight convulses around his cock, draws his balls tighter until the need to cum is clawing at his brain. Fingers still working against your clit for a second orgasm so he can have you cumming with him.

“Too much, Daddy.” You squeal with overstimulation, claw and tug at his hand until he coos, drops your leg and snatches your jaw in his paw to smash your lips together, beard nuzzling into your face so he can swallow your soft whimpers until you can’t breathe. Legs clenching and kicking around his hand, but never stopping his movements until another orgasm claws its way though your overstimulation.

Snatches his lips away, hand tight on your jaw to watch your face contort as you cum, picks up the pace of his hips when he gets closer. His groans and your soft mewls mixing together until you squeal and Price grunts lowly, your toes curling as you come together. Fingers and cock moving so quick your whole body tenses as your orgasm runs through you. Flutter so tightly around his cock you can feel the pulses that shoot his cum deep in your cunt. Ears ringing as you tremble until the waves of pleasure are soft throbs.

Price curses into your lips, groans when he gives a lazy thrust to make sure the last bits of his cum make it inside you. Pulls out slowly and watches you whimper at the noise and feel. Tugs your panties back over your spent pussy, before cupping your cunt with his palm.

Satisfaction coiling in his chest when you squeal, head slumped against his arm, jerk your hips away from the pressure at your clit, but you’re attempts are futile when there’s no where to run, and he follows you until his palm is nestled against you.

“Settle down, whiny girl.” He rasps, shakes his palm against you until you clutch at his wrist to stop the vibrations from moving your clit. “Ain’t nothing to cry over now you’re nice and full. Or does she want more?” He squeezes.

You gasp and hold his wrist down as much as you could. “No more, Daddy. She’s too full.” You whine, squirm at the feel of him leaking onto your panties. Too impossibly tired to care about how dirty you are.

“You sure, baby? I could stop now or be greedy and keep going like you did.” He taunts.

You suck in a deep breath, eyes heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t do it again, I’ll be good.”

Prices pecks your temple with a soft chuckle. “I’ll let you sleep for now, baby. Fuck your little cunt through the night. Daddy’s gonna teach you a thing or two about messing with him while he’s trying to sleep.”

Kyle had rules.

The kind of rules that were embedded into the body. Into the bones. Taught and figured out before he had the right words for them. Primordial in a way.

Kayla, his baby sister, stayed close to him. He took up after her with great responsibility as any older brother would. Fought off bullies and protected her even at the minor inconvenience of being seen as uncool by his friends.

Kyle stayed quiet about how things were at home. Breathing even so much of a word about water being shut off or lights being shut off was drilled into him by his mother as a no-no. The threat of being taken and separated from Kayla wasn't a threat but a reality that was always just out of reach. He's seen friends with siblings who were split up after talking to white women and white men that said they meant well. Those friends would leave on a random Tuesday and come back the next Tuesday different, quieter, or sometimes more destructive. It was a toss up, but he knew for sure that could never be him and Kayla.

Lastly, if an adult, or any authority really wanted something you had better figure out quickly what it cost. It could cost money, a favor, a secret, anything but you have to be able to honor it and live with it before you ever say yes.