#141s

aye, need you t'fill out some paperwork, he'd lied through his teeth to the lieutenant. so, when he finally heard a knock on his office door, giving him the cue to let himself in, he pulled the gift up, setting it on top of his desk. he was no master wrapper, that was for damn sure.

and here, sat atop the wooden desk, was the least ambiguous gift ever ... a bottle of liquor clearly hidden beneath the paper and scotch tape.

"got y'somethin'."

It stopped him short, that was for sure. Not the paperwork he'd been anticipating, considering that was what he'd been called in for. "Sir."

Richie blinked once. Regarded what could only be a bottle of booze. A sly grin pulled up his scarred cheek. He drew to stand across the desk from Price. "Funny looking paperwork, captain." It was... a pretty fucking terrible wrapping job. (Endearing he'd tried.)

KISS ROULETTE (40. An impulsive kiss)

THEY SHOULD'VE WAITED. CORRECTION, HE COULD'VE. But Simon's never claimed to have the patience of a saint, or enough discipline to keep his mouth off Price the moment they enter the back of their exfil helo.

A hasty hand pulls at the fabric of his own mask (soon replaced by Price's, and that heat burns like a fucking champ against the bruise of Simon's jaw from the fall), fist balled on the other's vest when Simon descends like a hungry wolf, pinning him to the metal frame.

It was a close call out out there. Too close for comfort, too close for anything. There's a tremble hidden beneath the ravenous, impulsive claim of Simon's mouth on his captain's.

Teeth knock against teeth, and he's kissing him hard until their lips are be red and aching from the sheer desperation. As if Simon's trying to map out every breath to make sure they're both still alive, still on their feet, swallowing every sound and ragged murmur of his own name.

He feels the beat of his heart pick up, loud in his ears. Price's steadying palms on his shoulders pull him out of the feverish, adrenaline-fueled fugue and their heaving chests are the only things left behind in the wordless space between their bodies.

Their eyes find each other.

Nonverbal prompts : Accepting

The hip check is a cheeky, teasing thing. The smile that curls his lips one of the rarest expressions he allows another people to see. But he's in his comfort zone, the kitchen surrounding them and some of the things that make him the most secure. It's homey, his kitchen, modern but not as sleek as the rest of the house. It's lived in, cooked in and though it's field day tidy it's clearly one of the rooms he allows to seem warm and inviting.

And now John has been given free range in this special place, allowed to get his hands dirty and take over cooking. It's a rare treat that Billy allows anyone else to get that.. Personal. It's one thing they've started spending all the Captain's leave together, he has a toothbrush in Billy's bathroom and two drawers and a small space in his closet that were entirely his own.

But this.. This was something else entirely. And what's more.. Is Price seems to know, like he could feel how tense Billy had been when he woke up to smells of coffee and bacon frying. He had asked a day or so ago if he could cook him breakfast one day and feeling agreeable.. The ex-marine had said yes just before exhaustion claimed him. So he doesn't know why he's surprised. Yet he is. He pads bare foot to the kitchen and stands into the door frame to watch him. He's shirtless, sweats loose but fitted just enough he can steal peeks at all of him. It's distracting for a good fifteen minutes before he enters the room and takes a look around. Nothing out of it's place and his lover was taking good care of everything he seemed to use or touch. It warms Billy's heart, makes him that much more fond of John and already he's made the mistake of letting himself Feel something, opening himself and his home to him.. He didn't need to be confronted with this.. That despite never being told.. The Captain knew how he felt about his kitchen, about his space.. Silently, Billy had joined him and they worked together to finish breakfast, the mood turning playful and stupid.. And the longer they bantered and played the more relaxed he became. When he notices the mess, a flour hand print of John's chest, chocolate on his cheek, he's laughing and pulls him into a hungry kiss.

Digits  quickly  tap  away  at  the  keys  on  the  laptop,  she  always  found  submitting  her  incident  reports  electronically  easier  than  writing  them  out  physically  (  after  all  she's  had  some  complaints  about  how  her  chicken  scratch  hand  writing  was  a  challenge  to  read  ).  Across  the  table  sat  @141s ,  the  two  of  them  often  found  themselves  sitting  in  silence  while  writing  up  documents,  finding  the  boring  yet  grueling  task  slightly  more  enjoyable  with  company.  On  occasion  one  would  break  the  silence  by opting to share someone a rookie had done that turned things for the worse.

Instead the silence is broken by something entirely different.

Valentina pauses her work, having grown tired of writing up exactly why she gave what solider what medication and why. Attention shifts away from the screen and lands onto Price, still indulging in paperwork. ❝ I've been thinking about him. ❞ The last word is heavily emphasized, a way of signaling that it was indeed Joaquin she was speaking off, but saying his name would make it all too real all over again. She was there when it happened, the memory would never fade, but Valentina had gotten better at gaslighting herself into thinking it was a nightmare, and that instead he was home on leave because he suffered an injury to great. Maybe it was her semi denial of his death that was preventing her from being cleared for anything more than working the medical bay.

❝ How do you deal with it? Whenever they cross your mind? ❞

𝙹𝙾𝙷𝙽 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙴 & 𝚅𝙰𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙰 𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙾

HURT / COMFORT : STARTERS / accepting.

'OKAY' IS A BLOODY VAGUE WORD, and Price's threshold for it is, at best, questionable. Coming from the Ghost, that says something.

Simon's waiting for his load of dirty clothes to get clean, arms crossed in front of the washing machine. It's spinning, and spinning, and it's real noisy about it too. This is the first time he's actually seen Price for longer than just a passing body in a couple of days.

Nearly a week, now that he thinks about it.

Right now, it's a Friday evening—the start of a weekend. And just like all records of previous weekends, most soldiers are either back home or off faffing around without any plans to return for the night.

But Simon's got nothing better to do than his laundry, and reports. He considered a drink with the couple of tenners he's got shoved into his back pocket and decided against it. Good thing he did. Wouldn't have caught Price here otherwise.