#ocaptainchallenge

His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.

She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.

He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.

The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.

And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.

But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.

The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.

For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.

He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.

That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.

So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?

John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.

He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.

It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.

The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.

“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.

“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”

John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.

If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.

“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.

“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.

“Get out.”

Oh.

John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.

Good fucking girl.

“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.

“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”

For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.

There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.

And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.

The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.

John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.

There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’

He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”

Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.

She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.

It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.

The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.

Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.

She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.

John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.

Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.

John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.

The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.

He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.

Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.

So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.

He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.

“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.

Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.

It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.

She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.

Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.

“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.

“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”

Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.

She doesn’t.

In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.

John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.

They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.

It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.

“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.

“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.

“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.

Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.

By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.

She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.

The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.

Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.

He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.

He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.

There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.

The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.

The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.

“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.

Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.

“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”

He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.

“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.

Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.

The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.

His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.

As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.

Well. That simply won’t do.

The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.

He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.

“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”

“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.

To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.

“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”

Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.

He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.

It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.

But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.

She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.

Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.

More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.

“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.

“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.

He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.

“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.

He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.

He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.

Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.

Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.

“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.

He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.

“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”

Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.

“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.

The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.

A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.

As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.

“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.

“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.

He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.

The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.

“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.

“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.

His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.

She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.

Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.

Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.

His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.

“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.

“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”

Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.

She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.

“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.

“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.

She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.

It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.

It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”

He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.

Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.

Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.

John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.

“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.

“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.

“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.

“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”

He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.

John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.

He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.

Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.

And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.

He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.

Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.

“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”

“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”

“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”

The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…

Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.

“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”

“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“

“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”

“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”

“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”

“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”

“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”

Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.

“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”

The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.

John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.

But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.

The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.

Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.

She’s awake.

“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.

She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.

“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.

She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”

It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.

Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.

Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.

He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.

You stumbled into the pub, your heart heavy and your mind clouded with the weight of your breakup. The air was thick with the aroma of alcohol and the sound of muted conversations. You sought solace in the dimly lit corner, choosing a table far from prying eyes, hoping to drown your sorrows alone.

As you sat there, lost in your own misery, your gaze wandered aimlessly to the booth next to yours until it landed on him, the older man sitting alone, his presence almost ghostly in the shadows. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, drinking a glass of whiskey with a distant look in his eyes.

At first, you paid him no mind, too consumed by your own despair to acknowledge anyone else's existence. But then, just as the ache in your chest threatened to overwhelm you completely, a notification on your phone pushed you over the edge. It was a message from your ex, a cruel reminder to pick up your things from his apartment.

With a choked sob, you buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought. And then, as if sensing your despair, the older man's voice cut through the haze of your misery.

"Are you alright, love?" He asked, his words gentle and filled with genuine concern.

Startled, you lifted your head to look at him, your vision blurred by tears. His face came into focus, and you found yourself momentarily captivated by the sight of blue eyes, the ruggedness of his features softened by a hint of kindness. He extended a napkin towards you, a silent offering to wipe away your tears.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of whether to trust this stranger even with such an innocent gesture. But something in his demeanor, the warmth in his gaze, made you lower your defenses.

And so, with a shaky breath, you accepted, allowing the soft material to soak up whatever was left of your relationship.

As the night dragged on, the heaviness in your heart began to ease, replaced by a sense of relief as you found comfort in conversation with the stranger. He didn't speak much, but his attentive listening spoke volumes.

You found yourself pouring out your heart to him, recounting the details of your breakup, the betrayal, the lies, the countless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, wondering what you had done to deserve such treatment.

Were you ruining his night out? Was he growing tired of your rambling? Was he secretly wishing for an escape from your company?

Your overthinking vanished every time you looked into his eyes, finding nothing but genuine interest and compassion staring back at you.

The hours slipped away and the pub grew quieter, you realized that this stranger had become more than just a sympathetic ear. And though you couldn't quite put it into words, you knew that his presence had brought you a sense of peace that you hadn't felt in a long time.

As the night progressed, you learned that he was a military man, a Captain stationed at a base just twenty minutes away. His hesitance to get into the specifics of his job only added to the air of mystery surrounding him but you respected his boundaries, content to learn other parts of his personality. It wasn't like you'd understand much of the military life anyway.

In between sips of beer, you discovered common ground in unexpected places. He spoke passionately about his love for football, declaring his support to Liverpool with pride and that sparked playful banter between the two of you, given your loyalty to Manchester United. And then there was his love for 70s rock music, a good old Sunday roast and his German Shepherd named Bucky.

Everything he uttered seemed to captivate you. But it wasn't just his words that kept you staring in awe. It was the way he carried himself, the undeniable aura of strength and confidence that followed him.

His strong, masculine features were impossible to ignore. The full beard that hugged his face and trailed down to his neck, the small charming beauty mark on his nose, his ocean blue shaded eyes.. There was no force im the world that could tear your gaze away from him.

Despite being seated, he seemed to tower over most in the room, his tall frame accentuated by his broad shoulders and defined physique with thighs barely fitting under the table.

Each time your eyes met, you felt a rush of excitement, a flutter in your chest that you couldn't quite explain.

He definitely noticed, there was no doubt about it. You caught him watching you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips but he never made a point of it. It was as if he welcomed your attention, basking in the way you were taking him in yet never crossing the line between polite conversation and flirting.

Around two after midnight, the pub began to empty out, leaving only you and the interesting stranger as the sole costumers.

Stepping outside, the chill of the rain hit you both, shimmering under the moonlight as it landed on the darkened street below and he wasted no time in offering you his coat.

You protested but he insisted, draping it over your head as you both dashed towards your car. The rain poured down relentlessly, soaking him through and yet he seemed unaffected, almost as if he enjoyed the feeling of the water against his skin or perhaps in a way to make the night last a little bit longer.

As you turned the ignition, a sudden realization struck you. In the midst of the conversation, you had forgotten the most basic of exchanges. Names.

"Hey!" You called out over the drumming rain, "I never asked for your name."

"John Price." Came his simple reply, accompanied by a a small smile.

You reciprocated with your own name, something so simple suddenly feeling intimate, important. After saying your goodnights, you closed the door and began to drive away, the rain beginning to taper off.

But then, a nagging thought tugged at your brain. His coat still laid draped over your shoulders. Without giving it a second thought, you turned the car around and rolled down the window, calling out into the night.

"Hey, John! I still have your coat!"

He turned, his silhouette illuminated by the fading streetlights, and yelled back, "Bring it back here tomorrow, same time."

With a smile tugging at your lips, you nodded in agreement. That night, as you drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of your recent breakup seemed distant and insignificant. Instead, your mind was filled with the memory of the handsome Captain and the promise of tomorrow.

/////

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, your meetings with John at the pub became a tradition. Every Wednesday and Saturday, like clockwork, you would find yourselves drawn back to that familiar corner booth, where the outside world faded away and it was just the two of you, lost in conversation.

Your advances were subtle yet unmistakable, a brush of your hand against his, a playful flirtation laced with innuendo. And though John never shut you down, his demeanor remained restrained, as if he was holding himself back from crossing an invisible boundary.

He never pushed for more, never crossed the line into something deeper, leaving you to wonder if the attraction was one sided.

It was both frustrating and endearing at first, what had started as a playful game of cat and mouse had morphed into something deeper, more profound and the anticipation of seeing him, of sharing those precious hours together, became the highlight of your week.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. It was borderline obsessive how you tended to every detail, choosing the perfect outfit and spending hours grooming yourself to ensure you looked your best for him.

While his eyes traced the curves of your body with hunger, his hands always remained glued at his sides. Always a good conversation, a walk to your car and a goodnight to leave you awake at night, going through every scenario possible.

It was maddening, the way he welcomed your touches and flirtatious banter without ever making a move of his own.

Perhaps, if he was to turn you down outright, to reject your advances and put an end to the torture, it would be easier to accept. You could move on, content in the knowledge that you had tried and failed. But John never did that.

And so, that particular night, you swore, it would be different.

////

Another Saturday night unfolded and you found yourself once again nestled in the comfort of your favorite booth at the pub, opposite of John.

Dressed in figure hugging black dress that accentuated every curve, you couldn't help but feel confident and ready for what you were about to do. The neckline dipped low, offering a glimpse of your cleavage while the bold red lipstick painted your intentions clear for all to see.

Taking a moment to gather your courage, you lifted your glass to your lips, the sweet aroma of your fruity cocktail easing your nerves. After taking a sip, with a playful smile, you turned to John, nudging the glass towards him.

"Wanna try my drink?" You asked, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness.

You knew all too well that John was a man of simple tastes, his preference for whiskey never changing. Your intentions weren't supposed to change that, anyway.

John's gaze lingered on the glass for a few seconds and returned to yours, a small smile playing at his lips.

''I don't think I'm gonna enjoy drinking that one, love.'' He replied with a chuckle as he took another sip of his usual choice.

That was your moment.

With a coy smile, you took another sip from your cocktail, savoring the fruity sweetness that danced on your tongue and then, with a boldness you hadn't known you possessed, you placed your hand on John's thigh, the touch of your fingertips freezing him into place.

"You don't have to drink it to enjoy the taste." You replied, your words dripping with innuendo whilst you took in his unusually tensed reaction.

Without waiting for John's response, you leaned in, the anticipation coursing through your veins like wildfire.

Your heart pounded loudly against your chest as you pressed your lips against his, the taste of whiskey and strawberries mingling together the more you took his bottom lip between your own. There was a hesitance in the way your mouth moved, your tongue grazing his own as you awaited for him to deepen it.

Feeling the warmth of John's palms resting on your shoulders, you couldn't help but anticipate his next move, to reciprocate the kiss and finally make you his.

But to your surprise, instead of drawing you closer, John gently pushed you back, disconnecting your lips with a tender touch that almost felt like betrayal. His eyes remained closed, his expression unreadable as if he was still lingering on the taste of your kiss, contemplating what he was about to do next.

Feeling the weight of John's eyes piercing through you, you couldn't bring yourself to meet them, the sting of embarrassment and disappointment burning hot against your cheeks.

You felt exposed, vulnerable in a way you had never felt before. As his hands left your shoulders and came to rest on the table, you could sense the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

And then, finally, his voice broke the silence, "Y/N, I can't." He said, his tone filled with a mixture of pity and regret.

"Even if I want-" He started to say, but then abruptly stopped, as if his own thoughts had betrayed him.

You wanted to scream, to cry out in frustration and anger, but all you could do was sit there, confused and curious to the thought of him finishing that sentence.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you took in a deep breath and with trembling hands, you finally raised your face to look at him.

All you managed, was a one word question coming out as a barely audible whisper, ''Why?''

His hesitation, his struggle to articulate his thoughts only grated against your nerves but you sat there patient, waiting for him to state a good enough reason that would match with his last sentence.

"You're so young and I-" John began but his words only added to your ticking bomb. His excuse felt like a slap in the face, and before he could finish, you cut him off, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"Young? Is that it?!" You exclaimed, the anger in your voice palpable. "I'm 25 for fuck's sake!"

In that moment, what he said, the implication of his excuse became painfully clear. It wasn't about age. It was about fear, about his own insecurities. But you refused to be dismissed so easily.

"Younger, then." He persisted, correcting himself, his tone tinged with frustration. "You should be out there flirting with guys your own age, not messed up middle-aged men that you meet at a shady pub."

How dare he, you thought, how dare he belittle your choices, your feelings like that?

Your eyes widened in disbelief at what he was saying, the anger bubbling up inside you threatening to boil over. How could he be so blind, so oblivious to the depth of your feelings?

"Guys my age, huh?!" You retorted sarcastically, raising the volume of your voice just enough to make him look back into your eyes.

But instead of backing down, John simply nodded to your question. And then, as if to salt to your wound, his eyes trailed around the pub, landing on two young guys ordering a drink at the bar.

"Someone like him, not me.'' His tone devoid of self-pity or insecurity.

It was as if he was protecting you, shielding you from the potential pain that could come from being with someone like him.

His words only added more fuel to your fire that was threatening to consume you whole and so you stood up from your seat, straightening your dress with a determined flick of your wrist. Every fiber of your being screamed with frustration, but you refused to let it win.

"You know what, maybe you are right." You said to John, your voice tinged with bitterness.

Trailing your gaze towards the blonde guy at the bar, who seemed more interested in his reflection on his front camera than anything else, you saw an opportunity.

With a calculated move, you turned back to John, his eyes awaiting your next move. With a forced smile, you continued, "Maybe I should take my chances with a younger guy."

Without another word, you turned on your heel, grabbing your purse and made your way towards the bar. As you approached the blonde guy, you could feel John's eyes boring into your back but you tried your hardest not to take a peak.

Instead you sat down next to the new stranger, who finally put his phone down and turned his attention towards you, giving you a warm smile before introducing himself with a simple, ''Hey.''

Glancing back at John for a brief moment, you noticed an unfamiliar look in his eyes. A mixture of possessiveness and jealousy that sent shivers down your spine.

With his jaw clenched and posture tense, John seemed poised to stand up. But you refused to let his sudden change dictate your actions and so maintaining the same fake smile as before, you turned back to the blonde guy.

"Hey, there." You replied, your tone light and casual as you greeted him back.

There are times you miss the rank and file.

Perhaps you just long for simplicity. The clarity of service in uniform.  They still call you by your rank, observing the hierarchical courtesies, but it all drives you a little mad by the end of the week.  This isn’t the army.  It’s something else entirely.

Most of the seats on this flight are filled with werewolves.

There are a few trait carriers, otherwise human in appearance, among them but not many.

The flight attendants and crew likely have no idea.  Or maybe they know and don’t pay mind to it.  Regardless, it’s rare to find yourself in a flight cabin with this many.

The representative bodies of the Twenty Nations meet every two decades.  It’s tradition.

You’re certain the advent of trains, planes, and other vehicles makes the pilgrimage easier, but for you it would always be difficult.

You’re already making plans to avoid the next one in twenty years.

“Excuse me.”

You glance upward abruptly, not having realized you were zoned out to the buzzing activity on the tarmac outside the window across the aisle.

It’s Captain Price.  You know him as John, at his previous insistence, but you still call him Price.  There’s something to be said about keeping a wolf like him at a professional distance.  You’re not interested in a legacy more than fifty generations deep, nor any legacy for that matter.  Your bloodline ends with you.

You hadn’t realized Price was on the same flight.  Despite the near statistical certainty of sharing a plane, someone like him seldom occupies your thoughts beyond institutional annoyance.

He takes a breath as though to speak but stops himself.  Of all things, you admire his eyebrows for a moment.  They’re expressive, almost as much as they are when he’s more wolf than man.

You never served under the same command, but you’d participated in the same joint force exercises.  It feels like forever ago, but upon reflection it was less than three years.  You thought you’d never see most of your former teammates, acquaintances, even your enemies once you were recruited for off-books work.  Seeing Price’s restrained smile across the room during orientation gave you no small amount of trepidation.  You were looking forward to a fresh start. 

You dutifully stand to let him pass.  Tempted to ask if he’s sure he’s on the correct row, you decide less is more.

At this rate, maybe you’ll catch a short nap before takeoff.

Price closes his book and lays it against his chest in contemplation.  He spares a glance at the woman next to him.

He’s certain she remembers him, by the look in her eye every time they bump into each other.  He knows her name, she knows his.

She’s asleep in the seat next to him, arms folded and cover pulled down in the manner of a sleeping soldier.

He takes a sharp intake of air through his nostrils.  He still can’t tell if she’s a wolf on suppressors or a carrier.  The medication messes with their natural scent, making wolves smell...not like wolves.  He knows someone who can pull her records, to confirm.  He doesn’t want to do that.  Although not exactly an egregious transgression, he doesn’t like the idea of invading her privacy.

And does it even matter?  He sighs inwardly.  It does to the custodial members of his bloodline.  Pair with a wolf.  Sire full-wolf children.  Maintain the legacy.

Fucking legacy.

He runs a hand through his close-cropped beard as he averts his eyes from her sleeping form.  He can’t help feeling guilty.  The opportunity presented itself for him to ask her, a few years back.  He didn’t take it.  It felt wrong to ask.  What are you?

Price shuts his eyes and tries not to breathe too deeply as he attempts to doze off.

The pressure inside your head wakes you.  The drop in altitude means you’re almost home.  You smile bitterly.  Not home.  Just where you sleep while you’re not working.  Your parents believe you’ve taken a civilian job.  The bitter smile fades.

Price rouses from his own nap, book sliding off his chest and into his lap, causing the muscles in his chest and abdomen to flex at the unexpected movement.

His eyes, still bleary with sleep, meet yours.  You look away.  You’re hoping he didn’t notice your line of sight, but it’s too late.  The way his brows perk up, you’re all but certain he can smell your shift in perception.

“Sleep well?” he asks innocently, followed with a soundless yawn and rubbing of his left eye with the heel of his palm.  He’s giving you the dignity of feeling unseen.  Christ.  A gentleman werewolf.

“Well enough,” you say dismissively, avoiding his gaze as you tuck your cover under one arm before digging through your pockets.  You’ve got aspirin somewhere, but you suspect you likely left it in your carryon, now in the bin above and behind your seat.

He’s staring at you.  As you look up, you catch the aftermath of his flared nostrils.  He turns a little crimson under the collar but doesn’t look away.

“You’re…in discomfort?” he asks, nearly choking on the effort to speak.  You’re accustomed to the young wolves and non-legacies losing their nerve around you, but a wolf like Price?

“Just a headache.”

He reaches into the small carryon seated between his boots, withdraws a small bottle, and presses it into your palm.  You don’t recall reaching for it, but you take it gratefully.

You knock two of them into the back of your throat and swallow.  He winces.  You frown at him with mild amusement as you replace the plastic cap and press the bottle back into his open hand.  His fingers close around yours for the briefest moment before your hand slips through his grasp, his skin warm and dry to the touch.

“I’ll never get used to watching someone swallow pills dry.”

“Then don’t watch.”

He blinks slowly as he laughs in response to your logic.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Thank you.  For the aspirin,” you amend quickly, unsure of where this is going.  You’ve lost all concept of time and space.

“You’re most welcome.  I was hoping I could offer you something, anything.  At some point.”

Shaking your head, you mentally retract yourself from the moment.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

An infuriating level of patience and sincerity emanates from his every expression, gesture, even the movements of his mouth.

“I know you don’t.  But I’m here…if you ever do.”

With that, he shuts his eyes and turns toward the window again, his book still in his lap.

As his body shifts subtly to adjust to the attempt at sleep, you can’t help noticing his nostrils flare twice more and the hint of a smile at the near corner of his mouth.

Next Chapter

John had always prided himself on being a patient and understanding man.

And he was- except for when his precious girlfriend was knelt before him, choking on his thick cock.

Drool ran down your chin, soaking the soft skin of your breasts, those precious tears rolling down your flushed cheeks while big doe eyes dilated in lust.

God.. how incredible the round globes of your ass looked while perched in the air, sopping wet cunt leaking your arousal along your inner thighs and onto the sheets.

You were a sight for John.

"Fuckin' hell, dove." he cursed, his head tossing back into the pillows of your shared bed, your tongue sliding, gliding over the soft skin of his shaft.

His hips bucked involuntarily when you forced him to the back of your throat, eliciting a rumbly groan from deep within his chest. The lewd sound of you gagging on his thick length mixed with his grunts and low groans.

John's abdomen coiled tight, beads of sweat lined his hairline while he fought valiantly to stave off his building release. He was determined to feast before his release, though. He needed to taste you. To feel your velvety walls clamp on his tongue while he devoured you from the inside out. To hear those beautiful, needy sounds you emit with every stroke of his tongue. To smell the sweet scent of your skin and nectar. To see your body writhe over his face.

John wanted every one of his senses to be wholly consumed by you.

"Doll.." he grunted in his gruff voice, heavily laced with arousal, "better back off."

You pulled off his length, obediently heeding his warning. But he audibly groaned at the sight of you.

Your hair was tousled from his fingers running through it and gripping it, your soft lips were puffy and swollen from your tenacious sucking, and white strings of coagulated spit still bridged your mouth to his aching cock.

He could've nearly come undone then and there.

"Somethin' wrong, sir?" you pouted up at him, feigning innocence, tracing loving circles on the top of his thighs.

John let out a teasing tsk, "Y'know the rules, doll."

"The only place that gets my cum... is that pretty little womb of yours,"

His words went straight to your core and another flood of arousal threatened to spill from your sex.

"But before that can happen.." he trailed off, gazing at you hungrily, "I need a taste of that pretty lil cunt." his lips split into a devilish grin, eyes dark with desire for you.

John's arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you up the bed to kneel over his face.

"Sit on my face, doll. Been cravin' it," he rumbled.

You set your knees on either side of his shoulders, calves tucked comfortably under his frame, and tentatively hover your slit over his lips.

Large hands moved to cup the soft globes of your ass, calloused fingertips gripped and kneaded the soft flesh, earning pleased groans from his throat.

John's hot breaths fanned over your slicked slit, his expert tongue prodded at your folds, and circled at the small bundle of nerves.

Soft, salicious moans fell from your lips and spilled into the confines of the bedroom.

"Said sit not hover." John growled and gave a sharp slap to your ass cheek which effectively reddened the smooth skin and pulled a sharp gasp from you.

John's arms curled around your thighs, and harshly pulled your hips down until your weight rested on his face.

"Daddy's fuckin' starvin'." he growled. Your pussy fluttered in response to his deep, rumbly tenor, and the way the bass of his voice reverberated against your swollen cunt.

Without any hesitation, John pressed his mouth firmly on your pussy. His nose buried deep in you as it nudged your clit, and his skilled tongue circled your entrance before gently prodding it.

And that's where his patience wore out.

As much as he wanted to enjoy his meal, he needed to devour you.

Your hands tightly clutched the headboard while his strong hands guided your hips on his tongue. Your mewls of pleasure grew to a crescendo the longer he toyed between your clit and your tight little hole.

"F-fuck, daddy! Gonna cum," you whined, feeling the tight coil in your abdomen reach its boiling point.

Your face and chest warmed from the ever-growing inferno setting your skin ablaze. Your tight hole fluttered around his tongue, back arched, and head tilted back in pleasure. John held you tight to his mouth, helping you grind yourself on his tongue and finally reach your peak.

You came with a loud cry of his name, as well as his honorific, Daddy.

John groaned in approval as your release flooded his lips, tongue, and beard. He harshly slapped your ass, for the simple fact of hearing his palm connect with your plump globes.

"Good girl. Such a good doll f'me." He murmured against your sopping slit.

"Now Daddy hasta breed that tight little cunt." he growled, biting down on the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, earning another adorable whimper.

Ages 14 to 21, you loved him. He was your first kiss, your first time. High school sweethearts, you supported him through the academy, he supported you when you went to university. 

You stayed together through his first and second deployments. It was like an old-timey WW2 romance. 

So many letters exchanged back and forth. All lovey-dovey, with faint pen ink and smudged blotches on the pages as you made plans for the future.

Phone calls with spotty service and loads of static, only five minutes per soldier, 5 minutes which he’d spend only ever spend talking to you, asking you to relay any other messages to his mum, dad, siblings so he wouldn’t have to hang up with you. 

Polaroids clipped on the inside of envelopes which he would then slip into the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping you over his heart… one he’d often pull out and look at during transpo, thumbs tracing your eternal smile.

Polaroids of yours, a bit more risqué, which he would keep tucked into a journal under his pillow, for his eyes only.

John would walk around overseas with a smile on his lips after getting a letter or a call from you, brag to his teammates about his “bird back home”, never going out to bars to find one night stands like they did…

But sometime after his second deployment and joining the SAS, the puppy love that had lasted for years started to dwindle. 

Slowly but surely, you found that you were both growing distant.

You assumed you were both growing a bit ‘comfortable’, perhaps complacent… like all relationships tend to get after a while. 

By that time, John and you had already moved in together and you were no longer consistently alone for months at a time waiting for him to return from deployment. You blamed it on that. Plus, you’d been together for years by then!

But it felt different. There was distance, emotional and physical. Whenever he cuddled up to you, you felt cold and so did he. The kisses to your forehead were meaningless, the dinners at home eerily silent.

And between the distance and the inability to make proper plans, proper dates, celebrate milestones together, forgotten anniversaries, overlooked birthdays… It turned into arguments. 

And one argument turned to three, to five, to seven… hundred.

You found yourself growing bitter, angry, hateful.

It wasn’t a sudden shift or anything.

Not like you woke up one day and the one thought in your head was “I hate him”...

But you remember hating him longer than you ever loved him.

You tried breaking up. And failed. 

Some… bastardised feeling of guilt came to the forefront of both your minds at the idea of throwing away 5 6 7 8 9 10 years together, and giving up on your first love… and maybe even fear of having to start anew with someone else.

So, you simply continued going through the motions. You got engaged, big shiny rock on your finger, all big smile, but no tears came when he proposed. Your families were ecstatic, not quite able to see through the thinly veiled deceit.

For the wedding, you pulled out all the stops, stressed yourself out preparing the ceremony and reception with the women in your family (and his! His mother and sister were so happy that John was getting married!), going wedding dress shopping…

You had a beautiful ceremony, John wearing his full dress suit, army green, with the beige SAS beret. You were both 27, and together for 13 years.

Then, came the honeymoon, which was cut short. Not that it was a true honeymoon. Just three days in a coastal town in Northern France, having to be within a day's drive of Hereford lest he get called out for a sudden mission, which he was.

Not that you expected any different from him. So the distance continued growing, as did the arguments.

You hated him. He hated you.

Then came the predictable “So, when can we expect some grandkids?”. You put it off for a couple more years, blaming it on your high-priority careers, the law and the military, so similar and so different; his lack of time at home and how regrettable it’d be for you to be alone through the pregnancy; the want to be ‘more present’ for the future kids, needing to wait for things to settle down a bit more…

You’d been together for so long at that point, 15 years under your belt, starkly aware that neither of you is going anywhere. The world keeps spinning and your relationship hasn't ended. Fuck it, might as well go for it.

And now here you are.

It’s been eighteen years since you met. Aged 32, you no longer have arguments, you have throwdowns. You pull out every weapon in your arsenal. Neither of you plays nice.

Insults are traded often. Death wishes even more so. And, more often than not, they’re delivered with such a deadpan nonchalance that you’re sure people would think you both psychopaths.

“Going on a mission. ‘ll be back in a few days.”

“‘Kay, hope you die.”

“So do I.”

-

“Just had a fender bender with a stupid bloke. The car’s at the shop. Taking an uber to the base to get your car.”

“Okay. Shame you didn’t die a fiery death.”

“Don’t remind me, already cried about it.”

-

"I'm getting discharged."

"Why?"

"Shot."

"And it couldn't have killed you?"

-

“Can you get out of the damn toilet? I’m bleeding.”

“Period, accident, or just part of your satanic rituals?”

“Period.”

“Tough luck. Hope you bleed out.”

It never gets physical, never violent. John would rather die than lay a hand on you and you’d never DARE lay one on him. It’s just a lot of yelling, a lot of insulting, a lot of throwing things around, and, especially, a lot of revenge plans being executed to drive each other crazy.

Like recently. You found out John had gotten a grey-haired wig about the same length and texture as your hair, and has been snipping off a few hairs at a time, planting them around the house to blame you for leaving your hair everywhere, while simultaneously making you feel like you’re going grey. So, you put grey hair box dye in his shampoo and beard oil, to make him think he’s going grey.

Or three months ago, when you replaced all your lightbulbs with dimmer ones and lowered the brightness on all electronics, to make him think his eyesight was starting to go bad. You drove him so mad that he had voluntarily signed up for sniper assessments because he was worried he’d become a liability for the team.

Or eight months ago, when John had to return home in the middle of the day wearing a ruined uniform and just about ready to blow smoke out of his ears, having ripped holes in the uniform midway through a meeting all because 2 or so weeks prior you had painstakingly undone part of the stitching on it after an argument, and that had resulted in him baring his hairy thighs and armpits to a boardroom full of officers.

It’s bad. Very bad. You’ve had your windows and doors insulated to make sure the neighbors don’t hear your screaming matches and call the cops on the “domestic violence” happening next door. 

You probably shouldn’t have kids with this man. And yet-

He drives you insane.

And you’ve TRIED to fix it! You did. Marriage counseling, rage rooms, axe-throwing, paintball matches, yoga, meditation.… Nothing worked! In fact, it only infuriated you more because:

“You’ve got a tactical advantage, you need to play with a handicap!”

“Tough luck, sweetheart. Get good or get shot!”.

-

“You can throw harder than that.”

“Oh, I’ll show ya throwing hard, you gobshite!”

“Okay, when are you planning to start?”

-

“My back hurts-”

“Because you’re getting old.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth. Face it, John, if the downward dog hurts your back, then you’re old.”

-

“Can you breathe any louder?”

“Yes, I can. Wanna see?”

“Just shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”

“Not much to hear either way, pretty hollow in there.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetness.”

There are only three occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats. Other, then, of course, when John’s working, especially when he’s overseas. You can’t fight if he’s both a) not home and b) unreachable via calls or texts or e-mails.

When you need a favor from the other, something you can’t quite do, or that falls in the other’s ‘jurisdiction’ in house chores.

“The washing machine’s leaking.”

“Turn off the water main, I’ll go check in a sec.”

“Mkay.”

-

“Here. Popped a button.”

“I don’t have any more army green thread.”

“Then use brown or black or whatever.”

-

“Where are your car keys?”

“What for?”

“Going to get it washed and detailed.”

“My purse.”

-

“You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”

“Why?”

“Besides the fact that it’s wrinkly? That’s a ‘house’ shirt, not a ‘going out’ shirt. Wear this one instead.”

2. When you’re both complaining or dealing with an outside force, a 3rd party, together.

"Excuse me, hi, I'm sending this back it's not cooked the way I asked."

"Ma'am that's exactly what you-"

"Are you calling my wife a liar?"

-

“Oh, fuck no. Why the fuck is he winning the Great British Bake Off?"

"Hm? Oh- oh! Yeah, why the fuck is he winning?"

“Bloody hell, he rolled his pastry too thin and had watery pie filling-”

“Wankers. This is not fair.”

-

“John. John!”

“What?”

“Look-”

“Blood hell, he’s back early-”

“Yeah and her boytoy’s car still there. They’re definitely still going at it.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

-

“Excuse me! Hey, excuse me! Pick up after your bloody dog! NO, don’t you start with me, you keep leaving your dog’s shite right by our garden, don’t you see the sign my husband’s posted up?! Pick it up or I’ll do it and then drop it in your garden.”

3. During sex.

Marching into the bedroom after breakfast, you find John combing through his hair in the bathroom mirror. The room is steamy from the hot shower he just took. 

“Take your trousers off. I’m ovulating.” You warn him as you wave your phone in the air, showing off the period tracking app.

“I literally just showered.” John replies as you’re already shrugging off your robe and pajamas.

“Well, believe or not, I don’t control my ovaries, John.” You reply. “Now take your trousers off.”

“Already on it.” He replies as he already starts taking off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on a pile on the floor, before his boxer briefs follow suit.

His hand palms his cock as you’re getting comfortable on the bed, tugging on it lightly as he watches your fingers do the same between your legs. 

“Can we try to enjoy it this time?” He asks you in earnest.

“Sure.” You reply simply. “Been a while since we’ve had proper sex and not…”

“Not a breeding session?” He quips as he kneels on the bed between your parted thighs. His hand replaces yours and he starts rubbing your clit for you.

“Shut it…” You quip, while your own hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. John lowers himself onto you and his lips slowly brush against yours before he kisses you.

No, as it turns out… There are actually four occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats:

4. The Kid

In a day like any other, you’re lying in bed, reading a book. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, your big, round belly feeling particularly heavy. You’ve stolen every other pillow in the house to try and find some comfort, which you fail remarkably at.

“I think I’m going grey.” John states to no one in particular.

He’s in the en-suite bathroom, applying beard oil across his mutton chops like he tends to do, about three times a week.

“You are.” You remark in a bored, dismissive tone as you read a book in bed.

“That’s not funny. I’m not that old.”

“You’re getting up there.”

“Look who’s talking, we’re the same age.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jonathan?”

“It means you’re there yourself, darling.”

Raising your eyes from the book in your hands, the bottom of which rests atop your pregnant belly, you cock a brow at your ‘beloved’ husband.

“And this is coming from Santa Claus?” You retort swiftly.

John peeks his head out of the bathroom door to look at you. “You think you’ve got a leg to stand on, you crone?”

Grunting under your breath, you glare at him, and he glares at you, complete silence in the bedroom. 

There’s something in that face of his, the look in his eyes, those STUPID fucking mutton chops that you’ve told him to shave and he refuses…

Grabbing your book and rolling it into a cylinder, you hurl it at him, putting as much force behind your arm as you possibly can. It misses the mark, but only because he had the presence of mind to duck. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ knobhead!” You insult him, tongue dripping with bitterness.

“Wel, not like I can be anything else, really, when I’m married to such a raging cunt.” He retorts.

“OH FUCK YOU!” You retort.

“ALREADY AM MORE THAN FUCKED, SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU.”

“OH, PLEASE, YOU’RE MORE MARRIED TO YOUR BLOODY GUN THAN YOU ARE TO ME!”

“YEAH CAUSE AT LEAST MY GUN DOESN’T DRIVE ME FUCKING MENTAL!”

“OH PISS OFF!” You shout, your face twisting with a scowl.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Or for John Junior.”

“First of all, it’s not gonna be a boy. Secondly, even if it is a boy, we’re not naming him after you. And thirdly, how about you die, then I won’t get stressed.”

“And why would I do that, when I can stay right here, perfectly alive and healthy, and watch you give birth to John Junior, and have the pleasure of rubbing a ‘I told you so’ right in your face?”

“Oh fuck you. It’s not going to happen.” You sulk and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against your mountain of pillows.

“Someone doesn’t like the idea of having a son that takes after me, hm??” John teases as he comes up to the bed, a brow cocked.

You trail him with your eyes as he sits next to you on the bed. “Absolutely not. I wanna have a child I actually am able to love, and not one that I have to lie to.”

“A mother’s love knows no bounds, huh? What a load of crap.” John quips.

“Oh, that’s 100% true. I love this baby to bits already, but if it takes after you… I’ll probably die.”

“Good.” John remarks, causing you to roll your eyss. “Much better than if our child takes after you. Spawn of Satan, he would be.” John’s hand slides up your leg and slowly cups your swollen stomach.

“I should probably address the fact you just called our child ‘Satan’s spawn’, but I’m more concerned over the fact you keep calling the baby a ‘son’.” You murmur as you uncross your arms and watch him caress your skin.

“I feel like it’s a boy, I don’t know what to tell you.” He replies as his calloused fingers drag over the stretch marks and linea nigra on your stomach.

“What if it’s a girl?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen enough men online getting pissy over havin’ a daughter.” You quip and cock a brow up, looking him in the eyes.

John’s eyes lock onto yours. “Not me.” Then they return to the belly as he continues rubbing you. “Would love a little girl too.”

“Hm.” You remark and slowly, your hand rubs over the belly on the opposite side, where John’s hand isn’t. “We’ve gotta promise not to yell or argue in front of the baby.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m married to the Devil.” John quips, causing you to look up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve gotta promise. We’ve gotta promise.” You murmur as you look at him.

For a moment, his usually grumpy face softens and he nods. “I promise.”

Nodding as well, you echo the sentiment. “I promise.”

No, wait, five:

5. When you have his back.

“General, that is not what I asked you. I would ask that you stop beating around the bush, feeding me, the jury, and the people watching at home, fabricated information and embellished words in a sorry attempt to save your credibility. Stick to the questions being asked and stop wasting our times.” You warned the man as you paced the space in front of the stand.

“Me and everyone else in this room are looking for nothing but the truth, or must I remind you that you are under oath and also live on television?” You ask outloud as you turn to look at him.

“No, counselor.” The General, a heavy-set, older, mustachioed man replies, through gritted teeth, his face showing a polite expression while the man himself was seething on the inside.

“Very well, then, I’ll repeat the question. Were you or were you not aware of the aforementioned, unsactioned operations being conducted in the Al-Mazarah and Urzikstan border, involving CIA and MI6 operatives?” You asked, eyes glaring into the man’s eyes as you leaned into the stand near him.

“Well, as with most operations...”

“A yes or no is enough, General.” You told him sternly.

“Yes.” The man grits out.

“And did you, or did you not, give permission for these CIA and MI6 operatives, working under the guise of NATO, and I quote, from the transcript: “Authority to use any means necessary” on the enemy forces?” You confronted him.

“Well-”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“And did you do that while being aware that the teams involved would interpret such command as permission to execute an operation in which they’d use ‘extreme physical persuasion’ or, in other words, torture to achieve their goals?”

“I-”

“Did you or did you not, General?”

“Yes, but-”

“And did you, or did you not, not only demand the censoring of the clear and transparent reports received in the aftermath of that operation but also sign off on them yourself, to circumvent the proper channels of evaluation, which would force an internal audit to be conducted?”

“Yes-”

“So, in short, you just confirmed that you authorized your troops to, essentially, wipe their asses with the Geneva convention and comit war crimes on the POWs under their care?”

“Counselor-” One of the judges called out.

“Withdrawn. No further questions, Mr. Chairman.” You told the Chairman and the jury panel that sat above you, as you swiftly turned around and marched up to your table, high heels clacking on the polished floors of the court room.

Your eyes locked onto John’s as he sat in the back of the room, wearing his full regalia, his eyes locked onto yours with a strange shine to them… Almost like he’s proud of you.

As soon as you sit on the chair and the Chairman once again takes over, addressing the room, the General, calling other witnesses, your phone’s screen lights up on the chair next to you.

Picking it up quietly, you spot a message of John’s:

John: that’s my girl. knew you could do it. you: you owe me big time. John: i do. saved my arse there. you: of course. it’s what I’m here for.  John: almost making it sound like you love me. you: no but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. you: no way in hell you’re leaving me alone with 3 children. John: i see. selfish woman. you: shut up.  you: and try not torturing POWs next time. John: yes, ma’am.

Five occasions seem to be enough to keep a 23-year marriage afloat.

a/n: Big thanks to my beloved @crashtestbunny for helping draft/plot all these interactiions and just the general toxicity! And also @mothymunson your beloved Toxic!Price is here!

At first, your adorable three-year-old nephew is a welcome disruption from your misery. Seeing him rip open presents and make a joyful mess around the tree was heartwarming to say the least. But watching your normally annoying brother loving on his pregnant wife had only made you miss John more. Somewhere along the line you had gotten used to John always having a hand on you, or being nearby, and the way you had turned away from him before he left was haunting you. Your brain kept whispering agonizing things. What if that was the last time you saw him? Anxiety is a ball in your stomach you can’t seem to shift, no matter the distraction. You had gone to bed with a heavy and bruised heart and a thin smile pasted on your face the first night. The second night brought a familiar text from John, and all the conflicted emotions you tried to put off came roaring back with it.

JP: Back here.

JP: Where are you?

JP: What’s going on love?

Stewing on what to do about John drains you. You don’t answer the texts, opting to try for sleep instead, knowing he can see you’ve read them. It feels childish, a tit for tat situation, but you know it will drive him crazy to be left without a reply. You exact some small revenge where you can.

You decide to lie to your brother and say you are being recalled to your nonexistent job as you lay awake, listening to the bangs and crashes of the household waking the following morning. Everything is too raw to explain, especially as you had never actually gotten around to telling your brother about the shift in yours and John’s relationship – never mind the rest of it. It is too much to get in to, and the wrong time to bring it up.

With John back, the itch to get home is tempered by the argument left hanging, gnawing away at you. You are too distracted and anxious to even pretend at happy family now. Your brother, who grumbles about driving you back to the railway, mercifully doesn’t otherwise question the departure that is as sudden as your arrival.

Your anxiety further ramps up when you see John’s car parked at the flat when the Uber drops you off. You had expected him to be away longer than a few days given the urgent nature of his departure. You can feel your heart fluttering in your throat, excitement at his return mixing with nerves, unsure what is waiting for you as you walk up to the front door. His rucksack still leaning in the front entrance is the first thing to greet you, making you frown. It’s unlike John to leave his stuff laying around. You toe off your boots and call for him, instinctually heading towards the bedroom to drop your bag. The lights are off in the room but there is still daylight coming in through the gauzy curtains over the windows, making John’s big body in the centre of the bed easily visible. You recognize your IDAHO shirt, draped over his eyes and realize he’s got another migraine.

“John?”

You try again, bumping your thighs against the mattress, your heart feeling too large for your chest and impossibly tender as you drop your bag.

“Darling?”

John jerks upright, yanking the shirt off his face, his intense blue eyes bloodshot and squinting against the throbbing behind them.

“Are you alright?”

You’re reaching across to push against his shoulder, trying to settle him back against the mattress but he’s resisting, searching your face for something. He looks awful, his eyes sunken with exhaustion and pain, his normally sharp blue eyes red, and eyelids slightly swollen. His hair is matted to his head with dried sweat at his temples and his normally neatly trimmed facial hair is overgrown. He’s clearly slept in his clothes, his shirt and jeans rumpled. Your heart lurches, your instinct to soothe overwhelming your anger. Right up until John opens his mouth.

“Was going to ask you the same thing, you scared the shit out of me when you weren’t here.”

He’s accusatory, his narrowed eyes piercing.

“John, I told you I didn’t want to be alone for Christmas! I went to see my brother!”  

Only John could summon the energy to fight with you while feeling dreadful, and it concerns you as much as it does annoy you.

“Could have left a note or sent a text, love, I would have gotten it when I was back.”

He’s stubborn, his brows drawing together but he finally physically relents, letting you press him back against the pillows. Annoyingly, he’s not wrong and arguing is only going to wind him up when he’s already suffering.

“Yes, I should have.”

You agree, flummoxing him into silence and you take the opportunity to swipe your palm over his fevered forehead gently, closing his eyes again in the process. He blindly follows your touch, his hand capturing your wrist. Your heart gives a kick when you glimpse the bandage around his forearm.

“Darling – “

John’s voice sounds thick with emotion and your chest clenches tightly in response. You find yourself sitting on the bed beside him, shushing him before he can speak any further.

“Let’s talk when you’re feeling better, hot stuff.”

“Will you stay with me?”

He’s plaintive now, his own annoyance taking a backseat for the moment. It reminds you of when you were younger and he would try to wheedle you into staying for another pint. And then another. The sincerity gets you every time.

“Of course, I’m not going to leave you like this.”

The deep sigh of relief that escapes John would make you smile if you weren’t feeling so fragile. Instead, you smooth his hair down, stroking the crown of his head. You can’t stop watching his face, mapping any sign of pain or discomfort. He seems content to let you lightly run your hands over his face and head, his hands settling back in the blankets.

“Do you want anything?”

“No. Just you.”

This time you do manage a small smile, the motion forcing the water gathering on your bottom lashes down your cheeks.

“I missed you, you wretched man.”

Your words are just as wet as your cheeks, hiding nothing from John even with his eyes closed. He wraps his hand around your wrist and kisses your palm, whispering something against your flesh before returning your hand to his cheek. You can’t help but stroke his wiry facial hair, running your thumb over the apple of his cheek gently. You replace your soft and well-worn t-shirt over his eyes, soothing him further. Gently you return to stroking his hair, massaging his scalp intermittently until your fingers ache and John’s finally in a deep sleep, his breathing slow and measured.

You wait until he’s out cold before shimmying out of bed to unpack your bag and shower, leaving the door open so you can hear if he wakes and calls for you. Seeing John in obvious pain activates some primal part of you, the urge to tend to him nearly overwhelming. It’s an odd sensation, especially after days spent conflicted about his actions. You spend the entire shower mulling over the situation, half your awareness directed towards the bedroom. Without allowing yourself to think too deeply any further, you give in to your impulse and forgo dinner to crawl back in beside John’s sleeping form, tucking yourself against his side with a sigh. Sleep comes easily, even at the early hour, the warmth of John’s big body bleeding through your relaxed limbs.

Next Chapter

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"Yes, let's get started." He took a sip of his drink, licking his lips after. Why did he have to do things like that? He knew. You knew he knew. And he knew you knew he knew. "Question one; given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?"

"Did you memorize thirty six questions or are you pulling these out of your ass?" You chuckled, adjusting to sit crisscrossed, slowly getting more comfortable.

"Admittedly, I memorized them." He leaned back into the couch more, manspreading. Getting himself more comfortable as well. "Now, answer the question."

"Let me think." You pondered it for a moment, thinking of all the people you could, why you'd want to have them as a dinner guest. Who's cooking this dinner? Is it just dinner? Do they have to be alive? "Um, I don't know. It depends on my mood I guess. How about you?"

"You. I'd want you to be my dinner guest." He sounded so sure of it, like it was the obvious answer. You couldn't tell if it was sincere or flattery. You couldn't fathom why out of everyone in the world he'd want you. He seemed to notice your puzzled expression. "Don't look too far into it, I just think you're good company. Entertaining."

"Alright. What's the next question?" This could be fun, this was fun. You loved questions. Loved asking them, loved people wanting to hear your answer. You need to be more optimistic, have fun with this, but remember what John is.

"Would you like to be famous? In what way?" He sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees, curious about your answer.

"I've always thought it could be fun to be an actor. Have fans and go to conventions and be asked questions. It just seems kind of fun, for the most part at least." You shrugged, putting your arms back on the cushions of the couch. "You?"

"Don't want to be famous. Seems like a hassle. If I got famous in my career that would probably mean something bad." He leaned back again, finishing off his drink and putting the glass down on the coffee table. "Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?"

"Every time. Like, every time. I have anxiety." He'd known the answer to this one, he'd watched you do it several times while you were married. It was another thing about you he thought was endearing.

"I don't typically rehearse, but I do collect my thoughts before making calls. There's no point in calling if I'm not going to get to the point and waste time with being a blubbering muppet." That checked out. He was never one to beat around the bush.

"I miss having you order for me at restaurants. That was nice. Or when you'd ask people where things were for me." The previous tension was dissipating, things were quickly feeling like old times. Walls be damned, he was busting through. You were thankful for the layers and labyrinth of defenses you'd learned to build.

"I remember doing that. You were such a nervous thing in public, funny you would want to be famous." He chuckled, recalling all the ways he'd served you and tried to make you comfortable. "What would constitute a perfect day for you?"

"Like a normal day or an activity filled day? Are we talking my perfect mundane day or my 'if money was no object' day?" You asked to clarify.

He thought for a moment, thinking it through, considering how he would like to answer the question himself. "Somewhere in between."

"Okay." You fiddled with the hem of your shirt while you thought. "It'd start with sleeping in, but not too much. Then I'd have breakfast with someone I care about, and leisure around, then go to a park or for a walk or something where I can just talk and spend time with someone, maybe play games, any game would be fun. Just not Clue. Then a scenic drive with good music, if the weather permits, with the windows down. And I'd like to end the day snuggled up in a blanket watching fireworks or stargazing. That would be an achievable perfect day for me."

"Sounds like a good day." He hummed, nodding his head softly. "My perfect day would just be spending time with someone I care about, doing what they want to do."

You laughed at his answer, not taking it seriously. Making him frown softly. "You not caring about what you're doing? Last I checked, that was your nightmare. Not having a plan or control."

"A lot about me has changed. I don't need constant total control anymore. I'm learning to let someone else decide things, to have a say in what goes on when I can. I've found it's really freeing and destressing to not be in control and go with the flow." He defended his answer, nudging your shoulder to try and keep things light. Understanding your reaction.

"Okay, okay. A lot of time has passed. People can change. So, I'll accept your answer." You still found it a little hard to believe, but you've changed a lot too. Maybe he did enjoy being pulled along now, not having to have his brain on all the way and on high alert. Taking joy from some little things. Domestic loving things.

"You'll accept my answer? I wasn't aware you had a say in my answers." His chuckle rumbled through his chest again, making you laugh along, when you did he couldn't stop the smile from creeping up his face. It'd been so many years since he'd heard you genuinely laugh.

"Surprise." You pushed his knee teasingly as you kept laughing. He tried his best to memorize every detail of you in this moment. Tried to remember everything about the second first date with his future wife. There was no way he'd mess this up again. No way he'd let you be the one that got away.

"When did you last sing to yourself and to someone else?" He asked the next question, offering you his hand to help pull you up onto the couch, noticing you weren't very comfortable on the hard floor. There was plenty of room on the couch, he'd remember his manners. He wouldn't bite.

"I sang to myself while I cleaned the house today. I don't recall when I last sang to someone else, definitely in the last few weeks. I think." You were never one to sing for others, whether or not they thought you sang well or not.

"I miss when you'd sing to me. In the car, or late at night when neither of us could sleep, when I'd curl up with my head on your lap and you'd play with my hair and sing to me. I miss having that privilege to enjoy that part of you." The way John would recall things to you always made them sound more pleasant than they really were. More special.

Maybe that part of your relationship was special.

Worthy of being sacred and kept away from the rot of bad memories and hard times that took over the relationship. The pain and ache that seeped into your bones that would act up whenever you were around him. Like he was a storm, you knew when he was coming from the preemptive pain, the warning in your joints.

You couldn't even remember why you ever trusted him that much. Actually gave him those pieces of you. Gave him every piece of you. You were so naive to the ways of the world. When you are born in a burning house you think the whole world is on fire. Think it's just the way life is, to burn and let yourself be consumed by that fire.

But the whole world isn't on fire, and you know now you don't have to live your life suffocating in the smoke of a fire someone else started, that someone else is feeding.

You don't have to burn to prove that you're alive. 

"What about you? When did you sing last?" You asked curiously, trying to remind yourself why you need to keep John at a distance.

"I sang to myself last night. I think the last time I sang to someone else was you, at least the last time I remember singing to someone else. You know I don't sing often." John's singing was a little treat only you were ever given the privilege of hearing, and it really was a privilege.

"What'd you sing to yourself last night?" You were curious, couldn't stop yourself from asking. Even if you had a feeling he was baiting you into asking.

"I sang that song you were always singing to me, no matter how much I look I can't find a version that sounds like how you used to sing it. However, I know the words by heart, so whenever I need that calming memory I sing it to myself." He was trying to show his new effort he was willing to put into your relationship, he was trying to confide in you and admit how much you meant to him.

"You do? Really?" The entire idea didn't make sense to you, it completely went against the mental image of John you'd learned to view in your mind's eye. It didn't feel right thinking he was human too.

Though you'd always known he was human, nothing more nothing less. You'd learned to view him as less. It was easier to justify a beast's actions when they're cruel than a man's, a man who was supposed to be soft and gentle, a man who was supposed to love you how you needed him to.

"Love, I can recall just about every time you sang it for me." His eyes were so soft, you had to remind yourself that that was just the way they were shaped, his features in general were just soft. He was molded so perfectly into a man who looks like being loved by him would be a gift. It wasn't.

It was like performing CPR on someone who's been dead for several days now, rigor mortis had already set in and passed, with each passing moment more dirt was being put atop the grave of what used to be, and if you weren't careful you'd both be buried with it trying to bring it back to life. 

Dead things needed to stay dead.

"I didn't know it meant that much to you." Your admission forced you to think about it more, to remember how he'd be able to breathe deeply, how you could watch him visibly untense and relax, how he'd hum along. How deep his voice would get in those quiet, secret moments.

"If you were able to live to the age of ninety and either retain the mind or body of a thirty-year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you choose?" His next question brought you out of your sudden wandering of thoughts into memories.

"Probably body, my bodies already got enough issues, not really looking forward to seeing how it continues to degenerate with age." You forced a small laugh, trying to stop viewing him how you once viewed him. He's changed now, you need to view him as he is now. See him as a new person.

A new person with a history you couldn't just erase from your mind.

"I'd keep my mind. I can endure anything as long as I'm still aware of who I am, and who the few people I care about are. I don't want to forget the things I love." John was still a man who liked control, he needed to maintain some semblance of it, needed to know that at any moment he could take the reins. Most importantly he needed to be in control of himself, who he is, who he was, and who he will become.

"We'd be a funny combination to see, a young fellow with an old man, the old one being the conscious of the two." You chuckled, imagining how funny it could be, but then you started thinking about it more, a fear blossoming in your chest. "I don't want to get old. I don't want to forget things, I don't want to be aware of my body dying and giving out. Not being aware of it almost sounds worse though. Dying isn't really scary to me, but the things that come with age do. So, I hope I die before then."

"I'd take care of you." John put his hand on your knee, he wasn't trying to push boundaries, he was just trying to comfort you. Put pause in your racing thoughts. All your doubts, all your fears.

"You'd probably be dead by then." You pulled away from him, removing his hand from your knee. You couldn't let him close again. You didn't like the thought of him being there when you weren't mentally. So, you removed him from the mental picture. Anyway you could.

He couldn't be in control of you, he couldn't make decisions for you. He couldn't choose what was best for you. He wasn't allowed to decide to end or prolong your life. It was your life. You didn't want to think about the choices he'd make for you. He wouldn't be there. He'd be dead. He wouldn't be left with the home of your soul but not your mind.

"I think we should skip the next question." He rested his hands on his knees, he seemed almost small in this moment. His voice carried a meekness you'd only heard a few times before. He was hurt.

"Okay, then what's the next question you'd like to ask?" You hadn't meant to hurt him. You hated hurting people. Hated knowing you were the cause of someone else's pain.

This was once again not going well. You didn't have to look hard for the reasons this wouldn't work out. There was just too much history to be able to ignore it. Too much you'd both done.

"Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common." He seemed a bit more hopeful with this, a turning page, a way away from what the last question had dug up. A step away from the skeletons and fragments of wooden casket left from your last relationship.

He wasn't trying to resuscitate your past relationship, he was trying to start a new one. A new relationship with someone he already loves, someone he already knows how to love.

"Three? Okay, let me think." You pondered it, trying to think of things you had in common. "We both prefer to watch movies over sports, we both hate when people rub it in when we lose, and we both like games where everyone works together against the game to win." You smiled softly when you successfully thought of three things, it was a little easier than you thought it'd be. You just had to remember the good moments you had.

"Game nights with your family were actually a nightmare. I've had missions that have threatened my life less." His small smile was back now, his cheeks soft and round, his facial hair making his cheeks look bigger. He looked so harmless smiling like that. You knew better though.

"Oh please, they were only that bad sometimes." You rolled your eyes at him. "You get used to it, it doesn't phase you after a while. Besides, that's why I moved away in the first place. One visit every year or two is manageable. Gives time to allow distance to let fondness grow. It's your turn to answer the question." You nudged his shoulder, curious about what he would come up with.

"Alright, let me think. We both liked when you'd dump info on me about the plots of things you were into." He adjusted on the couch to fully face you, his arm resting on the back cushions, his head resting on his hand.

"You liked that? I thought you would get annoyed with me sometimes when I'd do that." His answer was surprising to you, you'd never known he'd enjoyed when you'd ramble on and on to him. You adjusted, matching his position, mirroring him.

"Hindsight is twenty twenty, my dear. I look back at it fondly. Didn't you just say distance brings fondness?" He had the audacity to use your words to prove his point. "More than once Johnny or Kyle have been saying something and I've only understood it because of you."

"Who's Johnny and Kyle?" You ask curiously, not following, but finding it somewhat sweet that in a roundabout way you've helped him bond with people.

"My boys, my team." He explained, with how soft his expression was you could only imagine how much he cared for his team. He'd always been one to get attached. "You made me a better soldier by helping me remember my humanity."

Taking in his words a piece of yourself felt a little bit better, a warmth in your heart, like it was remembering how to beat properly. Beat with a sense of pride. "What are the other two things we have in common?" You didn't plan on letting him stop at three, you were too curious about what he would say.

"We both like live music, and neither of us like to sleep with socks on and are adamant about it." He listed the other two things, teasingly grabbing your foot and shaking it before letting go, playing with you, swatting at his hand, you returned the playfulness. "What do you feel most grateful for in your life?"

"Probably the people who have helped me learn and grow, the people who have supported me and made me feel of worth." Your answer seemed a bit basic to you, but it was truthful. 

"I'd say the same." John agreed, nodding his head softly. "If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?"

"That's a really deeply personal hard question." You weren't sure you wanted to answer it, weren't sure if you could pick just one thing, weren't sure you could stop yourself from spilling out too much of yourself to him again. He knew the story of your childhood and youth, nothing had changed. 

"You don't have to answer it if you don't want to." His reassurance almost caught you off guard, he seemed more understanding now than he used to be. He didn't want you to have to dig up anything painful for you.

You took a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh. "It's okay, I'll just be brief. I would have liked to have more friends around my age, to have been properly socialized. Not just have adults to talk to or try to play with. I wish that part of my development had gone better, instead of how it did. It's just something I have to live with everyday. Seeing people but feeling like there's something between us, like a glass barrier. Like everyone knows I was the kid no one wanted to talk to. The weird kid in the weird family." 

John's hand reached for your knee again, but he stopped short, letting it fall on the cushion between you two, there if you wanted it, but at a distance. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." You put your hand over his, he turned his over and held yours gently but reassuringly. 

"Even still." He squeezed your hand softly. "I wish I'd had someone to tell me that they were proud of me, that I was doing well." His words made a part of you hurt. He'd never had support in his youth.

"I think we could have worked out, like really worked out, if I just wasn't me, and you weren't you. If we weren't children raised like adults. If we'd been given a better start, a fighting chance. If we knew how to be healthy for ourselves, we could have been healthy for each other." You squeezed his hand back before slipping out of his grip, pulling your hand back. 

"I don't want to answer the next question, so we'll skip it." He looked down at his now empty hand, the feeling of you pulling away again eating at him. He needed to be able to keep you. He was nothing but an empty cage without you.

"Then we'll skip it, whatever it is, we can skip it. We can make the rules to this game, we don't have to do anything either of us don't want to." You gave him the same out he'd given you. Frankly, if it was a question he didn't want to answer you didn't really want to know what it was. 

"If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?" John asked another question, a small smile coming to his face as he adjusted once again on the couch, scooting slightly closer to you. 

"Telekinesis would be super useful." You didn't even have to think about it, but then a sudden embarrassing realization hit you. "Or.. did you not mean a superpower?"

He chuckled at your eager answer. "I was more so thinking of a skill, but superpower works too, love." 

"Well, if it's a skill I'd probably pick something like learning an instrument or being able to create something useful. Or like how to fix something." You gave him another answer, still feeling a little stupid for taking it wrong.

"I think invincibility would be a very useful superpower." He smiled at you, giving his answer, he didn't want you to feel like an idiot for taking the question another way. "But skill wise, I've always thought sculpting looks fun, or woodwork. I watched a man carve out a canoe from a big piece of wood in a documentary once."

"Not you and your documentaries. Gosh, those were all you'd watch when I didn't pick a show or movie. That and those survival shows." You laughed, teasing him.  

"Knowledge is power, my dear. You never know when you'll need to know something." The possessive pet name made your chest feel tight. You could feel John breaking through another wall, making his way through the labyrinth of your defenses. He wouldn't stop till he held your heart again, or died trying to.

"Okay, well when I'm lost in the woods and need to know how to survive and build a canoe I'll call you." You moved to be sitting on your legs, moving closer to John in the process, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.

"If you're lost in the woods and call me I'll just come get you." He chuckled, his eyes taking in your new sitting position. "If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?"

"'Am I genuinely a good person?' Or, maybe something like 'what is a simple thing to do or change about me that would positively impact those around me?' there's also you know... more materialistic thinking of 'what can I invest in that will make me rich beyond my wildest dreams?'" You listed off a few things, finding this question a lot of fun.

"I would ask for guidance on how to fix my wrongs." He seemed genuine, if not a bit sad. He really had changed, and he really was still trying to change. He wanted to make amends.

"I think most people would like an answer to that." You nodded in understanding. "Do you think all wrongs can be fixed? Be forgiven?"

"I'd hope so. If not, there's still a point in trying, don't you think?" It was a sad thought thinking you could never right some wrongs, that all the bad things you've done would just always be there, always haunt you. 

"Yeah, I'd hope so too. I think there's always a point to try and become better. Even if you're not forgiven." Forgiving yourself for the wrongs you've done was half the battle, allowing yourself to move on. Letting yourself let go of some of the weight and burden of hating yourself for something that you'd done.

He nodded, seeming to think it over for a moment. "Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it?" 

"There's a lot of things I've always wanted to do, sometimes life, money, and even other people get in the way. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to get a few things off my bucket list." You felt like a lot of people had things they dreamed of doing, some things just needed to find a window of opportunity to actually do. 

And sometimes some things just aren't meant to be, life's rejections are sometimes protection. You tried to remember that.

"Can I tell you something stupid?" He leaned in closer, a mischief to him you'd only seen a few times. When you nodded he continued. "I think it would be fun to swing on a chandelier, but I wouldn't want to break one." His confession made you burst out laughing. 

"I've always wanted to do that too! But yeah, I don't think it's 'socially acceptable'." There were lots of things you would do if you wouldn't be judged for them. "If you ever find a chandelier on a deployment you could do it, I mean no one would know if you broke it or if a stray bullet did."

"I don't mess around in the field. Learned my lesson a long time ago." He shook his head softly. "What is your life's greatest accomplishment?" 

You tapped on your lips in thought, trying to think about it. "That's a hard question, maybe sticking with things? Seeing them through till the end. I don't want to choose just one thing, since I've done a lot. But none of it would have been possible without the desire to finish them. So, my resilience?" 

"Works for me." He smiled. "Sometimes I wonder how I was ever able to get you to marry me in the first place, so I'd say that. Even though we didn't last forever, I still had you for a time, and I think that was my life's greatest accomplishment."

"Not being captain? Or any of the medals or anything?" You were surprised that he saw his time with you as his greatest accomplishment. 

"No. Being with you proved I at least had good taste once." He was trying to flatter you, it was working. A warmth spreading through your chest, you could feel it creeping out through the rest of your body, he seemed proud of himself for getting this reaction from you. "What do you value most in a friendship?" 

"Communication and understanding." You'd thought about this a lot over your life, took notice of what worked and what didn't work in past and current friendships. "Also, you know, I appreciate when people don't become my friend because they want something from me."

"I agree, those things are what I'd say are most important." He gave a little nod, happy you were on the same page about this. "What is your most treasured memory?"

Your face lit up as you remembered something. "Do you remember when we went to the theater to watch that movie? I don't remember what movie it was, but it was awful. Like really bad. And so we ended up talking through it, whispering and laughing back and forth."

"Yes, I remember that." He softened, recalling the date with you.

"I remember it was just us and one other person in the whole theater. And he got up and he complained about us, and we got kicked out of the movie. I remember being so grateful because I did not want to watch that movie anymore but I didn't want to say anything." You continued to recollect your past date. 

"Why didn't you say anything? I would have been okay with walking out. It was a cheap showing." He laughed, finding your eagerness in retelling this story to him despite the fact he was there cute.

 "Anyways, then we went and we got ice cream together, and we drove out to the secluded park with all the trees and we parked there to make out in the car like teenagers. Then that police officer came up to your window, tapped on it a few times. And he said that we can't be doing what we were doing in a public place, it was 'indecent'." You rolled your eyes at that.

"I was so mad. I was not going to be very nice to him, but I restrained myself, as far as I remember." John was enjoying watching you get so animated about this.

"I don't think I'll ever forget what you said to him, you said 'I spend enough time away from my wife, I'm not going to waste a single second not loving them when I'm with them.' I knew then that I would love you forever. But somewhere between then and our divorce, you stopped loving me like that. And I knew it was time to say goodbye. Knew we were already over." You looked down at your hands, the memory turning sour.

"I never stopped loving you like that. I just- I forgot how to let go of myself to remember how to treat you like that. Things got tense between us. I'm sorry for perpetuating that rather than fixing it." He was so sincere in his words, in his regret. 

"What about you? What's your favorite memory?" You let it go, you didn't want to rehash things.

"It was right after I'd gotten home from a longer deployment, I'd gotten home in the middle of the night, and you were so tired. You'd slept in till noon, head on my chest. I didn't feel like I could sleep yet, still too stuck in work mode. I committed your face to memory, the way your mouth was slightly open, drooling on my shirt. You soaked right through. I'll never forget the feeling of that damp spot from your drool on my chest." He seemed to think of this fondly, but you were horrified. 

"I drooled on you? And you let me? I'm so sorry, that's so gross. Why didn't you move me? Didn't you think that was gross?" You couldn't stop wondering how often you drooled in your sleep now, how often you'd drooled on him. 

"You were asleep, it's not as if you did it on purpose." He seemed so unfazed by it, like it was perfectly normal. Which only added to your horror. How many times had you done this? Why did his favorite memory have to be one where you were so... human. 

"Out of everything that's really your most treasured memory?" You couldn't fathom why.

"Yes, it was a very simple relaxing moment. You were safe, I was safe. It was just us two in our bed. No one else, nothing else. Everything was at peace. Because of you I was at peace." You hadn't thought of it like that. "What is your worst memory?"

"What the hell kind of question is that? Let's bring up something happy and then immediately bring up something so traumatic and mind altering it's to the point it plagues your consciousness." You made fun of the question, making John chuckle and shake his head.

"You don't have to answer it." He reminded you. 

"Well, it's too late. I've already thought about it." You sighed. "When I was around thirteen I just wanted to fit in, be like the other kids. I was tired of being seen as weird. I was tired of wearing second hand clothes, so I asked my mom for something in style, she got upset, I mean money was tight. I understood that. But, she looked me dead in the eyes." You paused, closing your eyes for a moment refusing to let yourself get emotional.

John took your hand, squeezing it softly, he'd never heard this story before. "And?" He prompted softly. 

"And, she told me that I did not deserve nice things, that I wasn't worth nice things." You finished. "I know she just meant clothes, or something. I don't know. But it's always stuck with me, more than any other hellish thing people have said to me. It's weaseled it's way a little too far in my mind. Spread into everything. Poisoned my perception of what I'm allowed to let myself have." 

"Love, look at me." He gently tipped your head up to look at him, looking into your eyes. "You are worthy of nice things. You deserve nice things. You deserve whatever is best for you. I'm sorry. I'm sure there's more to that story or ideation than you said, but you don't have to tell me. It's okay."

"I guess it's your turn to tell me your worst memory. Maybe we should have skipped this question after all." You laughed a little, trying to pretend you weren't just getting emotional, trying to not let it hurt again. 

You were trying not to let something that would hurt him slip out of you. You couldn't say more, if you did you'd be too honest. You'd twist the knife you were sure you'd already left in his heart. 

"When you handed me the divorce papers. I remember that day in such vivid detail. Fuck, I'm sorry. For everything. All the things I said when I realized it was over, there's no excuse for it. I'm sorry. I don't even remember all I said, I just remember this buzzing in my head, and your face. I remember your expression." He stopped himself from saying more. Too much guilt eating away at him. 

"We should have skipped this question." You decided, looking away from him for a moment. "What's the next one?"

"Um, what does friendship mean to you?" You were surprised you actually got John to a point where he used a filler word. He never used filler words, you were sure for so many years that he was incapable of using them seriously. That he had trained himself out of using them.

"It means everything, I believe any successful healthy relationship should first be built upon friendship. How can you be with someone who isn't your friend too?" Sometimes the thing you missed most about John was his friendship, he was a good friend, your best friend at one point. 

"Trust often comes with friendship, so it's really important to me. I need people to trust me so they'll listen to me." He collected himself once more, standing up he took his glass into the kitchen before coming back with it half full, probably all that was left in the bottle.  

"That makes sense, I can see how it could affect how well the job gets done without that level of trust." You nodded, letting him settle back into his spot on the couch. "Do you consider your team as your friends?"

"I'd say so, they're good lads. Stressful, reckless at times, they keep me on my toes. But yes, I'd say they're friends. To a point. Not people I'd go to about my personal life." He explained their relationship, taking a sip from his glass. 

"Do you have any friends you can talk about your personal life with?" You were curious if he had any kind of actual support system, he was never the best at those kinds of friendships. He saw the allies he could call for help in a fight as close enough to that. 

"No. I don't." You couldn't view him as your responsibility, couldn't offer yourself to him in that way just because he didn't have anyone else, but that horrible part of yourself that needed you to give yourself away and fix people was begging for someone to take care of. People aren't projects, you have to remind yourself that. 

Especially not John. The only person capable of fixing John was John. If you ever tried he'd tear you apart, the last time you tried you were the one who needed the fixing. Or maybe you needed fixing the whole time. It's hard to say.

"I'm sorry. I try not to talk to people about my issues, I always regret it after I say something. People talk, views change, it's more trouble for me than it's worth. But I know you're more social than I am, I know you like to talk to people, even if it's not necessarily about your problems, you just like talking about life." You felt bad for him, you hoped he wasn't isolating himself.

"It's alright, love. Not your fault." He pat your shoulder, making you playfully roll your eyes. You were about to say something, but he cut you off. "What roles do love and affection play in your life?"

"Every role? I try to love everyone, try to understand they're human and flawed, just as I am. I love the idea of love, I like loving people. And you know I'm an affectionate person." You picked at your nails a little as you answered.

"Your version of affection is a bit unconventional, but it's still endearing." The jest in his voice did little to amuse you.

"Gee, thanks." You were deadpan with him, making him chuckle and shake his head, before finishing his glass and putting it down. "Just answer the question."

"It was supposed to be a compliment." He clarified. "Love and affection don't play as much of a role in my life as I would like. I would like to love more than I ever have, and I'd like to actually express that love rather than assume it's just understood without action."

"Maybe you should love 'your boys'." You snickered, hiding your mischievous smile behind your hand. 

"I suppose you think you're terribly clever." He scooted closer to you, testing how comfortable you were with him getting closer. 

"I don't think-" He cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

"Clearly. Completely hollow up here" He softly knocked on your skull, making you scoff in mock hurt, laughing from his unserious attack. 

"Okay, rude. What's the next question?" You absentmindedly scooted closer to him, when he put his arm on the back of the couch you came closer, sitting on your calves and facing him.

"It's more of an activity, we're supposed to take turns sharing positive characteristics about the other." He explained. "I'll go first, you're one of the fastest learners I know."

"I thought I was stupid?" You teased, a bit smugly. 

"I lied." He sighed, but he didn't actually seem annoyed or upset. 

"So, now we're lying?" You pushed, making him give you a look of warning not to go there. "Okay, okay. You're charming. In your own way."

"That sounds like a backhanded compliment, but I digress. You're passionate about things you like or care about."  He relaxed again, moving slightly closer, your knees touching his thighs now. The touch was distracting you, how right it felt. How wrong you've felt going so long without him.

"You are too." It was an easy answer, one you didn't have to think about much, a cop out. But still an honest answer. 

"You are a calming person, you're easy to be around." You smiled softly at his words, leaning into him a little.

"You never give up, you're persistent and you achieve your goals." Both of you were more relaxed now, sinking into each other. Getting ever closer. You couldn't even hear the alarms going off in your mind, choosing to ignore them to just have a nice moment. 

"How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?" His question ruined everything, reminding you to keep your guard up, to remember this was still the same John Price you were once married to, even if he wanted to act changed.

"Really? We're bringing up my mother again? Okay, it's complicated. I still love her, and I understand that she was the way she was while I was growing up because of her own trauma, but at the same time, I was just a kid and didn't deserve the things I went through because of her." You sat up more, pulling away from him, keeping your knees touching his thighs. 

He didn't say anything about you pulling away, he tried not to show his disappointment. "It's just the next question. I'm answering it too. I love my mother, she worries about me a lot. But we're not close. Never have been overly close."

"Okay, fine. Next question." You just wanted to move on, family was a hard topic, you didn't like to linger on it. 

"There's only a few questions left, most of them are like the characteristic activity, which we can skip. The next question is, when did you last cry to someone else and when did you last cry to yourself?" He didn't really think this question was any better than the last, he still asked it though, these were questions that were supposed to bring the two of you closer. They were supposed to make you fall in love again, or at least maybe help resolve something. 

"I don't know when I last cried to someone else, I try not to do that. It's been a while since I've cried in general. I think I've been suppressing my feelings and emotions. I don't really know how to stop though." You confessed, confiding in him. 

"That's okay, you'll cry when you need to." He pat your shoulder comfortingly. "It's been a while since I last cried to myself and even longer since I cried to someone else."

"The day we learn to feel our emotions properly is probably the day the world ends." You joked, making him chuckle.

"Probably. Alright, love, what, if anything, is too serious to joke about?" He asked curiously.

"Dark humor has its time and place, and of course coping through humor is a thing, context is also important. However, human trafficking is hardly ever funny, in any time or place. You know, like the really serious stuff like that I don't really find funny." You felt that was a pretty reasonable answer.

"I can't argue with that." He agreed. "Last question. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?"

"Just one thing? Probably my keepsake box, it has everything important to me in it. It also has  my birth certificate and that kind of stuff in it." There was so much importance in one small box, losing it would be the worst thing ever. "And you?"

His face softened as he thought about it. "My ring, I would want to go back for my ring." 

"You still have your ring?" Your voice was soft as you asked the question. It shouldn't have been as surprising to you as it was, a part of you was internally preening, but another part of you was devastated by hearing that.

He still had his ring, he was still holding on to what was. He was still holding onto you. John Price still saw you as the person he promised to love, to have and to hold, for as long as you both shall live. 

"Do you?" He asked curiously, leaning in a little closer to your face, trying to read every possible emotion and thought you could be having. 

"Maybe somewhere, it was really nice, so it's probably in a box or something. You know I struggle with getting rid of nice things." You fiddled with your fingers a bit nervously, you weren't expecting him to turn the question back on you and had to scramble for an answer. 

"I remember well how much you struggle with getting rid of nice things." He chuckled a little, watching your hands fiddle. When you were married you'd play with your wedding ring, but you hadn't made a habit of wearing rings since the divorce. 

You perked up a little at the thought of a question coming to your mind. "Okay, you've asked me many questions, and we've both answered them. Now, I have just one question for you, when we ran into each other again, was that really a coincidence? Be honest."

John contemplated it, running his hand over his facial hair. Thinking about how he wanted to answer this. What truth or deception could give him in the long run. Whether or not he was ready to give you this answer yet. Honesty was important, more now than ever.

"No."

You sighed. “I am only good with surgical knives and scissors.” You took the trimmer off his hand and gently pushed his arm down. “Why not go to a barber?” 

“.... I am not quite comfortable with someone holding a blade to my neck.” 

“And you are comfortable with ME doing it?” you cocked an eyebrow. 

He hummed. “That’s because you are my wife. I trust you with all my life.” he pressed a kiss into your forehead. Wrapping his good arm around you as you sink into his embrace. 

“Well I am flattered by the great Captain Price trusting me with a knife to his throat.” you giggled, “But I really wouldn’t trust myself to trim my own dead ends off, let alone take a risk of destroying your luscious mutton chop.” You could almost feel him rolling his eyes as he mumbled something incoherent.

“How about one of the boys helping you?”

“I don’t trust them either.” he rumbled. “I trust them with my life.. But I wouldn’t trust them NOT destroying my beard. I already heard them plotting to shave my beard off in my sleep a few times.” 

You couldn't help but laugh. “ Well… We gotta think of something. Can’t let you leave your hair and beard go until your arms heal….” 

The strong leathery, lavender and cedarwood, faint hint of cigar smell hits you as soon as the two of you walk into the shop. The old radio playing some jazz music in the background, the old barber sitting on the wooden stool, reading the newspaper. It brings you distant memories. One of those rare happier moments when you were younger…. 

John finally agreed after a bit of coaxing from you to get his hair and beard done by the professional instead of you trying your luck. 

“I will go with you, how about that? And maybe I can learn a few tricks and tips from the professional?” you suggested. 

The barber waved to your husband to sit down on the chair after you explained to him what needs to be done. He was more than happy to teach you how to help John to maintain his pride and joy. 

Price couldn’t hold back his smile as he saw how focused and concentrated you are, pouting and wrinkling your nose as you listened to the barber explaining each step and how to use the tools. It helps to distract him from some strangers working so closely to him with sharp apparatus. The barber even handed over the scissors a few times for you to try out. 

“Stop moving, you are laughing too much.” you mumbled as you tried to trim the extra long strains around the edge of his jaw. “I don’t think you want me to accidentally take a chunk out of your beard, and have the boys laugh at you at work.” “I could always shave all my beard off.” “Oh so you changed your mind? You're definitely going to give them a heart attack and give me a heart break if you do that. So…  Never.” you laughed as you handed the scissors back to the barber. 

“You get to see Lieutenant John Price?” 

“As much as you were a handsome young man back then,I would rather keep that memory in the photos.” You pointed out as you sat back down, letting the professional get back to work. 

You observe your husband’s side profile with a faint smile on your face as the barber finishes off the rest of the trimming and hair cut. Even after years of marriage, you still have a hard time believing, this handsome man is your husband. 

The moment you set your eyes on him, you didn’t think you had much of a chance. The ranks, the personality, the background…. Everything. 

But he chose you. 

“I choose you? I should be thankful you chose me, my love.” he whispered into your ear one night after you confessed your insecurity. Nuzzling his face into your neck. “For bearing my temper…my imperfections.” 

“What do you think?” he looked at your eyes through the mirror as the barber dust the rest of the beard and hair off his shoulder, seeking for approval. 

Moving yourself to stand in front of him, you gently lay your hand on his face, tilting it to the left, and to the right, and finally, giving him a kiss on the lip, enjoying the smell of the aftershave.

“Handsome. And the best mutton chop I have ever seen.”

“You sound like you have seen quite a few in your life.” he chuckled as thank and paid the barber for his service.

“Maybe, maybe not.” you teased him as you wrap your arm around him. “But it’s definitely the mutton chop that always gives me a good time.” you could see his cheek redden under the beard. “Now, it’s not so scary is it? Having someone else to trim your beard for you.” 

“If you come with me again next time.” he squeezed your hand fondly.

“Gladly.”

“Oh what, you mean we missed out a chance of trying to shave his beard off?” “And You will get your mohawk shaved off too if you do that, MacTavish.” 

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