Something Something John Gets Kidnapped Yada Yada Nik Goes Fucking Ballistic And Flips The World On Its

Nikolai’s favorite thing on John is his thighs(and his ass, but that’s a story for another day).

He loves the plump firmness of them, loves to squeeze them or feel them squeeze him, and whenever John’s sitting somewhere or laying down, he’ll lay his head right in his lap and doze off or read a book.

…

Whenever he’s eating John out, he’ll purposely change paces to feel him clench around his head and grind against his face, barely having the luxury of hearing those deep, wanton noises the Captain makes as he approaches his inevitable climax.

If he suffocates, he’ll do it with dignity.. and spend on face.

If Price were an insect, I’d think he’d be a moth of some sort. Like, the fluffy ones with the big fluffy bodies and the large wings and huge eyes that you can stare into. And he’d snuggle up close to the stem of a succulent plant and sleep there because it has good shade.

If Nik were an insect, I think he’d be a big ass beetle. And not the ones with the round bodies and round heads, but the ones with the horns on their faces and spikes shooting from their torsos, and the semi-long legs that can’t quite move as fast but will get there with enough wrath and mischief. He’d snuggle beside a fluffymoth!Price, right under a huge fluffy wing, and go to sleep in the pot of that weird succulent plant.

I just realized that I didn’t really introduce myself when I first came here and just started writing shit off gate so I should probably do that in some way..

But instead of yapping your ears off, I made this “mood board”(or whatever tf it is) to give you a peek of my personality.

(FancyEventSinger)Price performing at a very, very high end (and over priced) restaurant, the band switching from slow orchestras to upbeat jazz and the guests either conversing with one another or swaying to the music.

(MafiaBoss)Nikolai sitting at the bar and quietly sipping his whiskey while listening to the siren-like voice coming from the stage(if he were a sailor lost at sea, he’d surely be dead by now).

Nik stared at him as if he were in a trance, eyes longing, soul wanting, hands tapping against his glass, mind wondering if he could get the gorgeous performer to sing his name like a hymn.

He wanted him, and by all means he was going to get him.

The first time Mac met Nikolai was when his sergeant had disappeared to go have a smoke outside base to “clear his head”, and was found later by his captain getting his guts rearranged in the back of the criminal pilot’s helicopter.

Mac hated Nik’s guts ever since then. Fucking his sergeant like some wild animal and thinking he wouldn’t find out about it? Not to mention the age difference. While Johnathan was 23, Nik was a smooth 32.

Old bastard.

He quickly gets back into the captain’s good graces though after he’d saved his team from a botched mission, as well as left his favorite biscuits, mint crisps, and a bottle of expensive whiskey on his desk as an apology. Not to mention that a perk of having Nik around is that he keeps John busy so that he’s not a pain in his arse all the time.

Where he’d been drawing penises on Mac’s very important paperwork, he was now helping Nik fix up his helicopter or doing his own paperwork across from Mac’s desk with the pilot by his side watching on. Sometimes they’d even read together, and Mac found that sweet.

What the captain liked the most though was when he could call on Nik to handle John when he was being pissy.

All it took was a quick text or phone call when the brat’s back was turned, and then suddenly Nik is pulling John out of his office with a “happy” expression on his face, claiming that they were gonna go “fix” his helicopter.

Little did John know, it wasn’t the helicopter that was gonna get fixed.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith but it’s NikPrice.

(More on the teenage Price thing because I suddenly have a whirlwind of ideas)

Back in the fake universe where John’s family wasn’t either dead or shitty, I feel like a teenage John Price had the most hardcore Emo phase ever. I’m talkin’ spiked jewelry, I’m talkin black on black on black, I’m talkin messy hairdos with the most coolest dyeing you’ve ever seen, and I’m talkin the most dirtiest rebellion phase ever.

His parents are heavily Catholic but try to be understanding about their children’s different perspectives and lifestyles and what not, but the day John came down for breakfast dressed in full Grunge attire, the table erupted in chaos.

“What’s on your face? Are those piercings Johnathan??”

“Why the spiky jewelry? A-And the skull on your shirt, is that satanic?”

“Who influenced you to do this lad? Tell me so I can drown them in holy water!”

John’s two older sisters(who found this to be hilarious), filmed the entire thing on a handheld camera, which now lives within Nik and Price’s shared apartment in a little box in their closet.

One night when the boys are over at Price’s place, they ask to see what their captain looked like young, and before he could object, Nik was already grabbing the box of memories and hooking the handheld camera up to the T.V.

…

🚶🏾‍♀️

It's been hours since the mission had gone rogue.

Hours since Price saw the rest of his team.

Hours since he heard Nik's voice lose control over the intercom, hours since he heard the choking of blood over his intercom.

The room was cold. The chair he was sitting on was poking into his skin. Price could feel the water dripping down his back, making it hard to dissociate. Not that he could anyways. The rope was digging into his skin, and the wound in his thigh would only render him useless if he decided to run.

The room was spinning from the blood loss, and he had nothing within reach to defend himself. And he couldn't see much without the lights, just vague shapes and figures, nothing to access the danger levels by.

They stripped him down hours ago, leaving only underwear to cover his bits. He had watched as the men forced Simon on the ground, tearing the mask off of him, if just for the ability to humiliate the great 'Ghost' by stripping down the only thing that protected him and his identity.

He didn't know where Gaz was, nor Soap or Simon. The last he heard of them were horrified screams from Simon after a bang.

He desperately hopes none of his team is dead.

The gods above him seem to disagree with him.

A few more hours of waiting, and a click. The room instantly filling with light. It blinded him, if anything. Though seeing the room he was in filled with medical supplies did nothing to calm his nerves. A voice flooded the intercom above him as a face too familiar was pushed into the room across from him.

"Mr Price, I must admit. Your team was... Most definitely trained, no? Like dogs on a leash."

Oh.

Oh.

His sweet beautiful Nik. Reduced to something sub human from torture. How did he end up looking like that?

He wants to reach out across the room, to hold the ruined body of his loved one close.

He could tell Nik was still alive, if the way he was still shouting slurs to the men was anything to go by.

But he looks so, so much worse. His hair was shaved off, a large ugly stamp on his head. Labeling him with a number rather than his name. Price noted that Nik too, was naked, though any relief from shared shame was replaced by the horror from the marks decorating Nik's body.

His body, covered in lashes and blisters. His fingernails were bloodied and worn out. Price could see Nik stumbling in the room, the wound on his knees made Price gagged.

Price wasn't too sure how Nik had survived all that and was still faring, still cursing and spitting on one of his captors foot as he watched across from him.

He watched as the men buckled Nik down, strapping him into a chair similar to his as they both stared at each other's.

And suddenly, any rage or disgust in Nik's eyes softened into something human, something akin to adoration, to love.

Although love might have just cost Nik his whole bloody world.

Because the men above saw this, took notice of this, saw how Nik calmed down upon seeing Price (mostly) unharmed.

It's been several hours, or days. Price really couldn't tell, fading in and out of consciousness before buckets of icy cold water were tossed on him.

He's been dehumanised, degraded, destroyed over and over again, before molded back into something vaguely human shaped by the hands of his captors.

He couldn't tell what was happening, not the time, not the place, not the faces in front of him.

All he really could make out was Nik's constant look of horror whenever he looked over to him, his face twisted into something akin to agony.

Price can't tell how he felt.

He felt numb, if anything.

The constant pain from being dehumanised was almost impossible to handle.

He knew he was covered in his own vomit, or blood. Or something that was human in nature. Perhaps shit. Perhaps pee. He can't tell.

He knew he stink, and that was it.

He knew the times when the men would leave him alone, giving him some moment to regain himself before dumping hot water on his back, worsening the wounds already there.

Price couldn't tell what the men wanted. Because they seemed to be torturing him for the fun of it. For the ability to see him crumble down like ash in their hands.

Despair was the only thing he could make out, the feeling of losing himself amidst the pain and tears. The feeling of hopelessness as he finally tore into the rotten raw meat in front of him.

He'd shared rooms with rats, with cockroaches, with bugs that nip at him any chance they got.

And what's worse, at some point, he stopped taking notice of Nik across from him.

Nik could only watch as he sees Price gets tortured in ways he had only dreamt of. A lash there, a little waterboarding there, a bit of isolation, and a little testing of drugs, along with the rodents in his room.

He watches as Price stares at him, helplessly as the bastards pump him full of something, and watches as Price wakes up, crying and sobbing before suddenly laughing manically, banging himself on the shit stained walls.

Nik watches as Price was made to eat something flesh like, raw meat. Before being told it was a rat from the sewers.

Nik who could only watch as his love turned into something...disturbing, something inhuman, something that's more animal than man at this point.

Nik who had to watch on, as Price loses himself.

Rage and fury gave way to desperate screams for them to stop, to do whatever they wanted to him instead.

However, the gods above are nothing but cruel and vile creatures, creatures who must have created the human race just to laugh at them, given them emotions and hopes and dreams just for shits and giggles.

Because Price hadn't moved for over a day since the last time they forced moldy bread down his throat.

Imagine Nikolai and Price visiting America and being blown away at how much a lot of the resident yanks hate their own country. Like sure Laswell shit talks it a lot but half of the population? What a shocker.

What would be a bigger shock is the fact that most of the government’s “slip-ups” aren’t even new to Americans. Government raised taxes? Interesting. They’re slowly spiraling into another Great Depression? Survival of the fittest I guess. Government managed to lose another nuke? Must have been the wind.

“What a chaotic country.” Nikolai mutters as he reads the local newspaper.

“Well, America was never known for having a good government.” Price says as he gorges on a hotdog he got from an old street vendor. “Just freedom and good food.”

“Cheers to that.” Laswell says as she munches on her own hotdog.

Somewhere out there, in the infinities that exist, there probably exists a version of John Price who hates himself for liking men. More than he ever does in this one. (Religious trauma btw)

He hates himself for loving Nik, for letting down his defenses in front of him. He watches the man slip through his office door, and the gap in his heart widen when the russian slips off his jacket.

He shouldn't be doing this. This is a sin against god. He could hear his father's boots getting closer somewhere in the background. The belt clinking echoes in his mind. He looks at the beau in front of him, all warm and inviting, yet disgust could only bloom in place of whatever romantic feelings he would have felt for him.

It felt wrong to enjoy the man's attention, to crave him so deep in his heart, he's afraid he can't tear it out and stop it. It feels like a crime against god, against his father, a man he could never compete with to let the man disarm him so easily. Dirt and sweat might not stick to his skin, but no amount of scrubbing under hot water could remove the disgust he feels for himself for even wanting Nik.

He doesn't look up at the pilot as he sits opposite him, talking about something irrelevant. John feels fucking dirty for even wanting Nik's eyes on him. What was he? A proper slut waiting to be appraised? He wants to set himself on fire, to remove his skin entirely, to be laid out under the sun, tortured, only if it means stopping the feelings he has for Nik. He wants to pray for forgiveness for a god that has long since abandoned him, and every second of smelling Nik's cologne so close to him only serves as a reminder that he was disgusting.

"Get out. For Christ sakes, get out"

He doesn't look up, his hands never stop as he writes and writes. A confession to some higher being, to cleanse him of all sin. A recycled prayer he heard from conversion camp years ago cycles through his head, the guilt all consuming in his heart. He deserves to rot in hell for his delusions, that Nik would ever like him back, that he would accept John for what he is. He ignores the confused russian muttering opposite him, focusing his attention on an uncaring god for cursing him with these feelings.

He doesn't look up as he hears the door close with a soft click after Nikolai.

Hours later, John sits alone in his office, halfway through a frantic prayer. A plea for help, a guidance to change his ways. The cross sits heavily across his chest, a reminder of his illogical feelings towards Nik. He thinks about what he's done, how it had all led up to this moment, his breaking. John doesn't move from his spot from the window, tears quietly streaming down his face as he mumbles out another prayer. His throat is sore and his knees are aching, yet the internalized disgust doesn't go away, nor does his feelings for Nik.

He avoids Nik the next month in a futile attempt to curb the feelings before they get out of hand. It doesn't work, and the longing for his the pilot's (when did he start to refer to Nik as his? Christ he must be cursed) attention only grows stronger each day he denies himself of Nik. His attention feels like a need now, an ever growing sense of guilt and shame blanketing over his need for Nik. The need only grows stronger when he sees Nik chatting up some guy years younger than him, unfamiliar jealousy grows in him as Nik ushers the man into his car, disappearing from view.

He would rather carve out his heart and serve it to god himself before ever admitting to wanting Nikolai in his life, in his bed though.