#soapprice

Turns out they are the perfect duo, price always in control and soap eager to please. Ur absolutely overwhelmed sandwiched between them. The hair on prices chest tickles your back where ur laying against him. Big hands holding ur thighs open so soap can rut into you freely.

You can run ur hands over soaps body like this, feeling the thick hair across his chest and along his arms. (His happy trail thick enough you could probably braid it lol). All the while price is telling soap how to move "a bit slower sergeant, no one's going anywhere"

It's not the first time Johnny regrets testing Price's patience. He had caught sight of the captain's last nerve and decided to cha cha across it, rather clumsily.

"Me?"

Being raised by a Scottish mother left him with good reflexes, it's the only reason he's able to duck before Price can cuff him over the back of the head.

I'm telling you his hands start shaking, he's barking orders and going through 2 cigars per hour. He's a scary man, but no one DARES approach him with bad news when he's in this state.

"What do you mean you've lost comms? MY MEN ARE OUT THERE!"

When his team comes back (bruised and broken. Johnny probably has a heat rash on his ass or something too) he absolutely refuses to leave them out of sight. He always stays in the medbay for as long as it takes for him to register that he didn't lose them.

while nikprice have blown each other in public bathrooms, fucked on many pool tables, gotten kicked out of bars for being too touchy (with each other).. that was when they were younger.

now though? these two old fucks are worried to death about getting caught rutting into their boyfriends in this parking garage.

with johnny splayed out on the hood, being fucked stupid by a flushed and almost embarrassed price— he was absolutely mortified about getting caught.

nik who’s fucking kyle stupid in the back, trying to cover kyle’s whiny mouth. even through these goddamn windows, he’s so damn loud.

and that has nik pounding into him faster cause god, getting caught sounds real shitty..

not shitty enough to stop fucking kyle stupid though.

Soap: Babe, you're my prize.

Ghost *watching this* : You deserve a prize for being with me through everything.

Y/n: Yeah no shit, you can be a bitch sometimes.

“No, YOU listen to me, Jonathan Price. I am sick an’ tired of playin’ this fuckin’ game with you. Either you tell me what the fuck is goin’ on or I'll—”

“You’ll what, Soap? Quit? Leave? Walk away from me?” Price’s voice cuts in like a blade, almost too calm. He steps in just close enough that Soap can see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the weight of exhaustion behind them. Then, after a beat, he adds, “Go on, MacTavish. Door’s wide open.”

The room turns sickeningly quiet. Soap stares at him, chest still heaving from the argument that’s been building for weeks. All those almosts between them—almost touching, almost saying it, almost giving in—dangling there, like Price’s words are the final snap of the thread.

“That’s it then?” Soap asks, but his voice has dropped, quieter now. “All this shite we’ve been dancin’ around for months… you’re just gonna toss it? Pretend none of it mattered?”

Price’s jaw works, but he says nothing. Just meets Soap's icy blues with his own oceans, like if he holds eye contact long enough it’ll stop Soap from calling his bluff.

“You push me away every bloody time I get close,” Soap goes on, his throat tight, voice thick. “You tell me to trust you, then you lock every door in my face. And you think I’m the one who’s gonna walk? Aye, well, maybe I should.”

He shoulders past Price. Price lets him move past him towards the closed office door.

And maybe that’s what hurts most.

Soap makes it all the way to the door before he hesitates, hand on the handle. His throat feels tight. He wants Price to call out, to say something, to admit to anything. But Soap knows the Captain won't say a thing.

He turns the handle but is stopped. Price’s calloused hand closes hard around his wrist.

It’s rough. Firm. It’s possession in the shape of a grip, and it's a reminder: you’re mine whether you walk out or not.

Soap turns slow, fury burning in his eyes, and Price meets it with something just as fierce. They’re locked there, inches apart, neither willing to yield.

“Johnny, I—” Price starts, voice caught between command and confession and Soap cuts him off with a kiss.

It’s teeth and heat and challenge, a threat disguised as affection, his fingers curling in Price’s collar like he might drag him closer or shove him away at any second.

Price stills completely, stunned until his brain catches up and he closes his eyes and leans in. He yanks Soap's wrist, pulling the smaller man into his chest.

And it breaks with the same ferocity.

When Soap finally pulls back, his breathing’s sharp, jaw set like steel.

“Figure yourself out, Captain,” he says, and then he wrenches his wrist free and walks out, leaving Price with the taste of him lingering gunpowder.

thanks for reading