Don’t Stop, Get It Get It💃🏾💃🏾

(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.

So you just gonna shoot me 57 times huh? Alright, that’s cool.

The day Mac dies, John doesn't lose it like everyone expects of him. He gets the call, it was a car accident that killed him, MacMillan died on impact and he didn't suffer. There were no flashing memories in his mind, no thoughts of those he'd leave, he had no time to think about the end of his life before it met him.

John doesn't drink, he doesn't scream and he doesn't pick a fight. He continues on about his day as usual. He isn't detached, he's fully present and he continues on as his day was planned because people die every day. Mac isn't special, nor would he wish to be treated like he was.

He's fine, it's shitty but he's fine.

And then three days after the call he nips into Tesco, needs to buy some cat food and find a pack of cheap lighters because he lost his last week. That's when he sees them, standing in the biscuit aisle, he looks at a packet of Tunnock's Caramel Wafers and something in his crumbles. Because those were Mac's biscuit of choice.

The Scotsman would have one every day when it was possible and he'd offer John one every day despite the fact that John has never liked them and Mac knew that. he just did it to be an arse.

Those were Mac's biscuits but Mac is dead and suddenly years of John's life seem meaningless as he stands there in an aisle in Tesco because the man whose face featured so often in his memories is one of a man whose body is now in a casket.

John wonders briefly if grief is a being that he can not see because he can feel the hand that cracks his ribcage to reach into his chest and maul at his heart.

I think that Price has an unhealthy addiction to any sorting or organizing game.

When he first got a phone he didn’t really use it much because— what’s it good for except making calls and texting when needed, or reading the weather? But when he sees an ad for a game called Nuts Sort.. it was over from there.

Nik didn’t really mind when he saw his husband first playing it. In fact, he was happy that John was using his phone for something other than mundanity. But when he begins to play it in the middle of sleepless nights or when Nik’s trying to serenade him, the Russian begins to grow irritated because now that “stupid granny game”(as he’d call it) was taking up his love’s time and attention.

So.. if the game so happens to disappear from his phone the next day and Nik fucks him feverishly over their dresser to help him forget about the game forever then.. ah, who gives a shit right?

This is amazing

Nikolai can't help but get hard when he's massaging John, digging his thumbs into the other man's shoulders and releasing him from the hold his tension has on him.

Because John makes the same noises that he does when he's sinking down on the pilot's cock and making a show of riding him, playing with his tits as he throws his head back, wanton moans falling from his lips.

Mmmmm, poetic.

Ghost hiding his face? Ghost hiding Simon.

You’re good at this “Let’s make Goober cry today” thing, keep it up stinker👍🏾

On another note though, it’s refreshing to see someone write about the ups and (crashing) downs of aging and the troubles that come with it, especially how bad it is for those who’ve served or been through something traumatic.

Some would’ve never thought they’d see the day where big, strong, capable Captain Price would be reduced to a fragile old man, and yet here we are. I think it shows that life is as unpredictable as it is unfair, and anything can happen to anyone, even the strongest of people.

It’ll break you down like that, and yet the world keeps spinning.

There's a certain kind of pain from watching your loved one rot away in front of your eyes.

Watching the man you've spent 50 years together with grow old and waste away, bits and parts of his brain eventually devoured by age, whilst you stay immortal, standing still in the sands of time, your skin flawless and perfect.

How could you grief a man that's still alive anyways? How could you celebrate life when the man you've sworn to heaven and hell is actively degrading in front of you? Sitting in a wheelchair with a ventilator following him around?

The pain seems bone wrecking when Nik stands in front of Price, and watches the man's milky eyes take him in fully first before finally recognising him. The way John stutters over his name, how his chest heaves with even the most simplest of words. (Like muttering a loved one's name) He watches as John stays quiet, allowing Nik to push him around the garden, occasionally stopping down to watch the flowers and ducks.

John's time on Earth was most definitely limited. Unlike Nik, who had seen the face of several wars and great empires rise and fall, John will soon vanish with time, left as another body for Nik to mourn six feet under dirt. His body will eventually decompose, and serve as fertilizer for the land around him.

Nik watches as John slowly gets up, only to nearly damn collapse from the lack of use of his muscles, saved by Nik hastily holding him. It reminds him of how little time he has left, how eventually he would have to remember John's face from a photo instead, how he already needs videos to remember how John had sounded.

The next time he visits, John takes a little more time to recognise the face of his lover, still never questioning how Nik looked no older. He stays for the whole day, wheeling John around before letting him walk around with a walker.

The next time he sees John, it was in the picture of a younger face smiling at him, etched in stone. Bundles of snowdrops flower (the favourite flowers of a man he'll never see again) spread around his grave.

Mhm, so when I tell my lawyer about this little post, what will your defense be?

The idea of Price going from fine in the morning, nothing wrong, perfect day, to dead by the evening from something no one could prevent is so gut wrenchingly horrific, it’s one of my favourite ideas to do with NikPrice.

The confusion Nik would be left in, the whirlwind he would go through. The funeral, the planning of said funeral. Having the team find out, Laswell too. His family, if he even had any. Everything descending into chaos within Nik, the questions that need answering, that he will never receive.

Those blue eyes closing for the final time in front of him fearful and guilt-filled, it’s a memory forever burned into his mind, the paleness of them, forever haunting him.

No because like imagine Nik and Price just went out the day prior.

Everything was amazing, with no signs of what was to come. Lovers falling into bed together, hands familiarising themselves with sun kissed skin.

Then the next morning, John wakes up throwing up blood. Too much blood. It paints the sheets red, staining the mattress below as Nik panics. A peaceful morning, turned into chaos as John falls over from his feet, unresponsive as Nik shakes him. He didn't wake up when the ambulance came, didn't wake up as Nik sees him wheeled into the emergency room.

Hours later, and Nik stands there in the lobby, desperately hoping for whatever it was to pass, for the doctors to come out and declare that it was just a wound that John could get over. (He would be fine, right? I mean, after everything he's been through, the fact that he's a captain in the SAS accounts for something, right? Nik assures himself, calming the ringing in his ears)

Everything seems too loud, the clocks, the chattering, it buzzed like wordless drilling into his ears. He hears people around him, sobbing, laughing, he wants nothing more than for them to shut up. The doctors are chattering now, something about losing too much blood. He stands there, helpless as he sees people rushing in and out. Nik wants to go home, to lay down on silk sheets with John in his arms. He wants John to be safe, he wants to cry, and he wants to yell. He wants a lot of things right now.

But maybe God is nothing but an unfeeling mass, capable enough to give humans hopes and dreams before crushing them down with malevolence in his fist. As the ringing in his ears comes to a stop, he could focus on the two way mirror in front of him. It has been an hour? Two? The clock was still faintly ticking in the background, though he could only focus on John in front of him. Broken, helpless, hooked up to far too many machines. John seems...wrong... Too pale. Too green, too... Everything. He didn't come back right, what went wrong?

He stood there, hands trying to reach into the room, to hold John against him, to ensure himself that he'll recover. The words of the doctors slips into his mind as mindless chatter. His brain barely processing the few details it could make out of.

Total organ failure. Spurred on by his drinking and smoking habits. Hereditary. Barely an hour to live.

No, no, this can't be right. John was healthy just days ago. He should be fine, should have been fine. Why is he dying? Why is he laying there on the bed, rotting in front of his eyes??

It took him an hour to process the news, and an hour for the machines to fall into a synchronized rhythm, a flat tone as doctors whizzed past him into the room, trying to fight the grim reaper for whatever time he had left.

When he comes to, he was sitting in John's apartment. Three things came to mind as he slowly sits up:

1) John was gone

2) His throat was dry

3) John was fucking gone. Not away on a mission, or somewhere in a pub. But gone. Gone forever, to be buried 6 feet underneath the dirt, to be remembered for however long people around him lived until he became nothing but another headstone in the cementary. His body rotting somewhere.

He didn't leave the apartment for days afterwards, his voice barely keeping it together as he breaks the news to people John was close to, Laswell, the 141, Farah, some relatives, his old captain... The phonecalls seems endless, the sounds of people crying over the phone and condolences merges into one entity in his mind, shoving themselves down his throat until he couldn't breathe.

The pain still vast, endless. With so many things to do on the way, funerals to be planned, people to meet. It had barely been a week and he's already tired. Like a child left without any answers, it hurts in parts so deep in him, impossible to reach, impossible to carve out.

John's pillow was still sitting there, stained with brown crusted up blood. The bedsheets that would never be warmed again sits haphazardly on the floor. He feels cold, empty in parts of his heart that he doesn't want to move. His limbs feels numb, and everything else seems so boring now that John wants beside him.

He misses the mornings with John, misses the smell of his cologne when it was still clung onto his pillows. He misses everything about John's from his scarred skin to the tattoos that decorated his body.

Nik doesn't stay in John's apartment now, with too much memories there waiting for him. The pain of a love lost, the pain of memories not yet made too much for him to bear. The pain that there was nothing else to remember John by now, nothing but the tattoo on his wrist and the home he had abandoned.

Months past, and Nik grows a little older. He refuses to think about how John would have gone grey now, how he would have pinched Nik for teasing him.

No, instead he reverts back into his old ways.

Nights spent in hotels with another person next to him, desperately trying to fill the void that John had left, clinging onto whatever remains of John in this world.

He gives up after one night, stands at the edge of a rooftop. The cars below him whizzed by, he could feel the wind on his face from up here. Blue eyes still haunting him from some crevices of his mind. He doesn't intend to jump, to just watch the skies above. Familiar cologne wraps around his body like a snake, the only remnants of John he could carry around with him.

The night sky seemed so inviting when he falls.

(Add on)

I feel like at first, John wouldn’t pay Nik any mind. He got men like that who were entranced by him, and he’s not studdin’ any of them. He’s just there to make his money, get a few drinks, and leave until he’s needed again.

However, Nik is a persistent little shit and shows up to all of his performances, and everytime John spots him in the crowd the Russian gets a shit-eating grin on his face because he knows that he’s— slowly but surely— working his way into his the singer’s heart.

And work he does.

He’ll walk John to his car at night, offer him his umbrella(even though John probably has his own), buy him a few drinks, and defend him from any men who’re more.. grabby. And even though Nik knows that John is more than capable of defending or taking care of himself, he can’t help but get high off the small red tinge that graces the singer’s face whenever he does what he does, because it means that he’s slowly engraving himself spot in his life(and hopefully soon, his heart and soul).

(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.

..might delete this later idk. Seems kinda rushed to me but I had the idea so I gotta get it out🤷🏾‍♀️

Imagining Price and Nik lying on the floor of Nik’s bird and sharing a cigarette during a mission gone to hell.

The team’s dead. First it was Johnny who took a bullet to the temple, and then Ghost and Gaz followed soon after. Price can still recall the sergeant’s dull brown eyes staring at him across the field, and he wishes to burn that memory out of his mind forever. Luckily for him, forever seemed to be right around the corner as a grenade went off just a few inches away from their “hideout”, rattling it a bit and fucking up the tail’s blades.

As bullets cracked at the windows and bounced off the interior, Price looks over at Nik and passes him the cigarette, to which the Russian gingerly plucks it from his hand and takes a long drag, eyes closing for a split second before opening again as he passed off the dwindling cancer stick back to the Captain.

“I’m sorry.” John says after a long beat of silence, not daring at glance in Nik’s direction as the man looked over at him. “Just thought you should know that.”

Nik eyes John for a bit before looking back up at the crumbling roof of his helicopter.

“I do.” He mutters. “Yet I do not know what for.”

John huffs a humorless chuckle and finishes the cigarette before stamping out the butt and flicking it away. “Course’ you don’t.”

The two lay there for a good few minutes after, unspoken words passing between them as the gunfire continues. Suddenly, a grenade is tossed into the broken window of the helicopter and the two look at it before looking at each other.

“Johnathan.” Nik muttered, grasping his hand tightly as he stared into those bright blue eyes. “We will meet again. I will find you, and we will be happy.”

John just stared at Nik helplessly before nodding, a small smile gracing his lips as he held Nik’s hand tighter. “Oka-”

In a flash, the bird erupted into flames and smoke, chunks of metals and bodies and papers flying everywhere until all that was left was the burning aftermath.

(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.