Mmmmm, Poetic.

I don’t care WHO or WHERE I get it from, but I demand more omegaverse!NikPrice asap😾.

Nikolai and Price going to the gym together and working on either legs or back muscles.

Price is focused on his squats, finishing sets quickly and stopping to take a short break before going back to the barbell to finish up.

Nik isn’t so focused on what he’s doing though. Instead, he’s watching the way those tight shorts hug his the captain’s thighs and arse, and the way they stretch whenever Price goes down for a squat.

Damn it, he was getting a boner.

As his mind started to wander a little further than what it should be, he snaps out of his trance just in time to see Price struggle a bit with the newly weight added, stumbling just a tad.

Nik immediately gets behind him to help steady the bar up so he could finish his last set.

“I got you. Take it slow.”

Nik watched as Price huffed before slowly going down again, ass almost pressing up against Nik’s crotch before moving.

That pattern repeats about five more times before he finishes and slowly walks the bar back over to the rack.

“Bloody hell.” Price huffs, wiping sweat from his forehead and taking a swig of water. “My legs feel weak.”

Nik just stared at him as he ranted, eyes never leaving the fat swell of his ass until Price noticed and popped him with his towel.

“Eyes up here perv.”

“They are.”

“I can’t bloody tell with the wood yer’ sportin’.”

It was then that Nik realized that his boner had intensified and grew into a noticeable tint.

“Will you help me with it?”

Price popped him again with the towel before grabbing his stuff and walking away, hips purposefully swaying in the way they did when he was being an asshole.

“Maybe.”

Nik bit back a grunt at that and gathered his things quickly before following after his lover, determined to get a piece of what Price was advertising.

Price is a plant guy and nobody can change my mind. He probably has all sorts of plants, and not flowers or anything, but succulents and stuff, and damn if they aren’t the healthiest plants you’ve ever seen. I think he’d even have names for them, like Ronald or Mite.

His biggest mistake was letting Nik name one of them though, because now he’s got a Venus Flytrap named Pest Controller 3000 and is reminded of that name whenever he goes to feed it a fly.

I feel like Nik’s music taste is everywhere.

If you asked him who his favorite artist was, he’d give you a whole scroll that could reach the ends of the Earth and then some.

If you said he could only pick one, he’d give you the most disgusted look a peaceful man like himself could muster and turn his nose up at you simply because,— who has just one favorite music artist?

If he ever met that person, he’d make them listen to all the music artists the world has to offer until they apologized and saw reason.

Hate it when I go from looking like fine shyt to dry shit😭😭(how tf do I shape my eyebrows on my own chat)

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.

Nik admires John.

cw: possessive Nikolai; sexual content at the end.

Nik didn't much like festive parties. He wasn't a fan of Christmas anyway; a wanton celebration of capitalist greed, he had mumbled at John as they had shaved shoulder to shoulder in the hotel bathroom. John had chuckled in that low, gravelly way he did, blue eyes crinkling, and Nik had decided he would make love to him when they got back. Dressed like penguins - John's words - they had headed out into the cold night, hailing a black cab to take them to the more auspicious centre of London to an entirely different hotel. Nik has offered to purchase a suite there for the night but John had balked at the cost.

The dinner had been uneventful, with small talk and a few side glances in Nik's direction, and now they mingled around a marquee erected on the back of the hotel's gardens. A small oasis in the center of a city once choked with black smoke and industry. Nik might have admired the beautiful orangery or spent some time looking at the various art pieces in the reception hall, but he simply couldn't tear his eyes away from John.

He was, truly, magnificent.

His tailored suit fit him perfectly despite his earlier derision, from the flare of his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, the fall of his trousers hanging in well-cut, straight lines to a pair of Oxfords, buffed and polished to within an inch of their lives. Nik would expect nothing less.

John wore his dinner suit with an understated class. Not like the vacuum tight monstrosities some of the other officers were walking around in; pinched jackets around athletic waists, slim fit shirts, trousers like drainpipes, stretched so tightly that the crease down the front was invisible. They showed off a distasteful amount around the crotch, calf and thigh, in Nik's opinion; the material snagging and pulling in all the wrong places.

Why spend thousands on a suit just to look cheap? Coiffed hair, too-white teeth, synthetic, clingy fabrics; the earmarks of superficiality. Perhaps he was biased, but not a single one of those bleach-toothed smiles held a candle to the crinkled blue eyes and charmingly crooked grin of his captain.

Nik stayed at the edges of the party, propping up the bar for the most part. He watched John drift from group to group, ticking off the list of people he wanted to talk to as well as the list of people he knew he should talk to. John hated politics, but he was good at it when he had to be; attentive, diplomatic, guarded and dangerous. Nik could see it in the way he moved across the room, his shoulders squared, his head up, his chest out; a predator plucked from the wild and placed among domesticated dogs.

John's hand nursed his whiskey glass, his little finger tucked beneath it, forefinger tap-tapping in the lull of conversation like it did against the side of his M4 when he was thinking. The same John, different hostile environment.

Because they were in an outside marquee, John could smoke to keep his hands occupied, and he placed his glass aside to light up the cigar he plucked from his dinner jacket. One of the Cohibas Nik had gifted him with as an early present. He was flexing. A subtle flex, but a flex none of the less. Nik shifted his thighs apart and sat his elbows back against the bar, quietly preening. He provided for what was his. John never went without.

He watched John's lips against the cap, the soft pink slightly chapped, and tried not to get lost in the memory of what they felt like against his. The anticipation of what they would taste like as they surrendered to him later. John exhaled grey smoke to the side, a few stray whisps curling from his mouth, like a dragon with embers in its chest. He settled it through the slant of his fingers beside his whiskey glass and took another sip, those kissable lips glistening, tongue gliding over the lower in search of the last drops and Nik had to adjust in his stool.

Nik couldn't help but love it when that mouth smiled, talked, laughed, and think about kissing it, sliding his fingers behind John's neck and cupping his strong jaw in the cradle of his palm. The way John would melt against him, so pliant when touched by a man who knows how to handle him, how to pluck his strings and tease out the sweetest notes.

Because John needed a firm hand, didn't he? No matter how cleverly he disguised his rough edges with smart suits and a comb. Tonight, John was perfectly groomed, so tidy. His beard trimmed, his hair cut and brushed into place, but there was one thing John couldn't buff, polish, trim or press out of himself.

The eyes.

Nik could see their light, their fire; he watched them darken with concentration, brighten with laughter, the lines at the corners distinct, distinguished. They glittered with that same intelligence that let him slip behind his current facade, but also with cunning, and a barely suppressed wildness simmering below the surface; fierce, uncontrollable. While John might think his judgments were discreet from others, Nik could see him weighing some of the men before him and finding them wanting. It was clear in the tilt of his shoulders, the press of his lips.

They were wanting. Both in what they lacked compared to their better standing before them, and in their desire to have him. Nik wasn't the only man in the room whose gaze had lingered, admired. Coveted. Nik wanted to gouge their eyes out every time he spotted one. How arrogant they were to think they were even worthy. Their hunger was palpable. There was one watching John now. Blond hair slicked back, his hand buried deep in his pocket as his hips tilted in John's direction.

As the lounge singer they had hired for the evening picked up his microphone for his first song, Nik watched the Blond try his hand. John greeted him affably, bouncing on his toes and toasting his drink. Nik watched as the Blond introduced himself and was pleased to see no recognition on John's face. They began to discuss a recent operation; the Blond started boasting. John was unimpressed, one eyebrow cocked, and Nik smirked.

They talked for a little longer, the singer lapsing from one song into another, and the Blond touched John's elbow. Nik watched a subtle tension roll across John's shoulders, his core tightening, his fingers turning whiter around his glass, and then, with practised self control, John forced himself to back down from high alert. For the first time, those blue eyes slid across to Nik, tracing down his body to the spread of his legs, heels of his shoes hooked on the bar stool. They lingered, clearly admiring, and Nik spread himself for appraisal.

Nik saw the moment John decided to play with him. A twitch at the corner of his lips, a flash of those cunning blue eyes before they turned back to the Blond. A dangerous game. The Blond that had now become John's prey. His body language changed subtly, shoulders and chest opening up from where they had been guarded, and then John returned the touch; a brush of the fingers across the elbow. Luring him in for the kill. The Blond leaned close to talk a little quieter and John tilted his head, watching through his eyebrows, listening with a faint smile.

The lounge singer changed songs; a slow, sultry version of 'You Put A Spell On Me'. Perfect, Nik thought wryly. Because John had cast a spell on every man in the room that was inclined towards another man in their bed. Nik watched The Blond touch John again, on the hip this time, and vaguely considered how easy it would be to bundle the arrogant shit into the back of a van and cut that hand off with a machete.

Nik finished his drink and slid from the bar stool. He made his way over slowly, adjusting his cufflinks as he approached his target from behind, looming large at his back. "Ah, Nik, this is Major Dustin Houghton, Royal Anglian," John said, and Houghton startled as he looked around to see Nik standing over him, six inches taller and several miles broader. "Major, this is Nikolai, my husband."

"Your...?" Houghton started, eyes dropping to Nik's left hand, where his silver wedding ring wrapped his finger.

"Da," Nik said flatly, watching as Houghton's offending hand retreated into his pocket. "And I have come to collect my husband for a dance."

"Urf, Nik, really? The Major and I were just discussin'--actually, what were yer proposin', Major? Somethin' ya wanted to show me in yer room..."

"Oh, uh, nothing. Absolutely nothing of import. You two, uhm, ahh, I think that's... Yes, that's Frank from the Mercian, you two have a lovely evening."

"Yeah, 'course." John watched him leave over the rim of his whiskey glass, content in his victory. Or so he believed.

Nik took John by the elbow to steer him towards the small floor before the singer. A few other couples were swaying together amongst the jumble of bodies, and Nik took John's glass and placed it on a nearby table, setting his cigar over the top before encircling him, hands finding his narrow hips and drawing them close.

John placed a hand on Nik's chest and the other on his arm, smirking, ready to gloat. "Did I make ya jealous?"

Nik cocked a brow and leaned in to John's neck. The kisses he placed beneath John's ear, slow, lingering, teased a soft noise from John's chest, his hips bumping forward to Nik's. "Nyet, John. Jealousy is for boys and weak men who do not know their own worth. He could not take you from me. He is not worthy of you."

Nik felt John coil with pleasure against him. He could imagine how his toes were curling in his shoes, the hairs on his arms standing on end, as Nik's voice passed over his skin like a caress.

"Naw, ya don't think so?"

"I do not need to think. I know."

"Olrigh', not jealousy, then what? Why the Russian 'itman act?"

"I am possessive," Nik murmured. "But you know this, which is why you sought to... antagonise me by misbehaving."

"Yeah?"

Nik felt John's smile against the side of his face and nuzzled a kiss into his neatly trimmed beard.

"I am tempted to reclaim you in front of them all."

"Right here, eh? Give 'em all somethin' to gossip about."

"Da. I would spread your legs right here, and make you scream my name, leave you fucked full of me, so they all know to who the great Captain John Price belongs to."

"Fuckin' filthy," John purred, his voice thick, fingers kneading in Nik's shirt as their bodies swayed together, the deep, sultry voice of the lounge singer a pleasant hum in the background. Nik's thumbs circled on John's hips, his nose tracing over the frantic, desperate pulse in the side of John's neck. Their touches were discreet, Nik's voice low, but the illicit nature only made their blood run hotter.

"You would like them to watch you take my cock, see how beautiful you are, knowing that they can never have you as I do."

"Bloody 'ell," John rasped, and Nik knew he had won their game. He simply needed to deliver the final blow and claim his prize.

"They would see how easily you surrender yourself to me," Nik whispered, running his open mouth over the line of John's beard to hover over his lips. "Just as you are now."

"Nik..." John whispered before Nik took his chin and kissed him, sweeping his other hand to the small of his back. Nik held John close as his tongue swept between his lips and claimed what was rightfully his. Tasted the cheeky tongue, the soft lips soaked in whiskey, taking possession of everything he had admired from afar.

Nik drank down the soft moan of pleasure, his own body warming as John gripped at him, trying to pull as close as possible. They moved together, so deeply tuned in to each shift of muscle, the slide of expensive wool and cotton beneath their hands, the heat of their bodies burning through as their hearts fluttered.

John liked being hunted, but he liked being possessed even more. To know that Nik would pursue him through whatever storm or trial until he was back where he belonged: in Nik's arms. And once there, to have Nik demonstrate exactly to whom he belonged. Nik needed it as much as he did it. The thrill of possessing the one thing in the world that no one else could ever. That no amount of money could ever buy; the most beautiful man to walk it.

Nik could feel the hum of want thrumming through the strong body in his arms, primed and eager, and he knew he would be purchasing that expensive hotel room after all. He drew back, sucking gently on John's lower lip, and admired those hazy blue eyes. The song has drawn to an end and faded into another. John was thoroughly at his mercy.

"Come, I am bored of this party."

John swallowed and managed a nod, his lips were red, kiss swollen and glistening and Nik needed them stretched around his prick.

Nik took his hand and pulled him from the hall to reception, where a quick flash of plastic bought them the expensive studio room with a sprawling king-sized bed and champagne in the fridge. Nik kissed John in the lift, sliding a hand beneath his shirt to feel the heat of his skin and made him stutter out tight gasps with sucking kisses on his neck, beneath his ear. The door to the room had barely clicked shut before their clothes were thrown off, and they tumbled into the bedroom.

John swallowed Nik down greedily once it had sprung free from his boxers, lips stretched impossibly wide around its girth, and Nik mussed that too neat hair until he found the untamed man that stalked battlegrounds at his side, thrusting slowly into John's spasming throat as he squirmed on the mattress.

When Nik turned him onto his back and spread his thighs, John arched, offering himself desperately, pleasing in a low, husky rasp, cock drunk and needy. He fisted the sheets as Nik claimed him, Nik's name punching out of his chest in a low, gravelly moan that curled like molten heat in Nik's gut. Those same eyes that he had watched hunt the party now misty and soft, tamed a little by pleasure, but no less bright.

"Who do you belong to, John?" Nik whispered, dragging his thick cock in and out in slow, deep thrusts.

"You, Nik, fuck... you, please."

"Da... Me." Nik thrust in hard and licked the cry of ecstasy from John's mouth.

Johnathan Michael Price is an expressive man when it comes to anything, and that should be common knowledge to anyone who knows or has worked with him.

Angry or upset? He’s frowning and making not so subtle threats(and maybe cursing that thing with everything he’s got in him).

Happy or being a little fucker? He’s got that quokka look on his face and is most definitely going to get kicked in the ass for whatever he did later.

Sad or just downright depressed(aren’t we all)? His face is either blank or he’s brooding in his office, but either way no one will ever see except those closest to him.

Nik, however, gets to see all of it, and if you were to ask him his most favorite trait about his husband, it would be everything(because in his eyes, the man is like a god to be praised). But if he had to choose, it would be that John is an expressive man that isn’t scared to share his thoughts or emotions.

He feels strongly, which is shown through his face and actions, and that’s what Nik loves most about him because— when you’ve been through what they’ve been through, you don’t express a lot. And the fact that John still does shows that he’s more human than he’ll ever know.

You think price was born with that bear swag or did he have to go through twink death to earn it

That fucker definitely had to earn his bear swag.

Like, I can imagine he enlisted for the army at a young age and didn’t really go through all of what puberty had to offer yet, so he was around 5’7 and all bones. But soon, after going through hell and back with training, people, and sometimes bullying, he bulked/toughened up over the years and eventually turned into the big bear he is today.

…

Sometimes the team will ask to see pictures of him when he was a kid or a teen, but since he doesn’t have many pictures of himself during those times of his life, he just shows them a fresh-faced Sergeant Price standing at attention in his old base’s courtyard(however, if they were to call his old Captain for pictures, they’d get that and videos of Sergeant Price up to his no good shenanigans).

I think a few teeth rotted away with this one👏🏾

Price washes Niks hair. That's it pfft.

Theres more under the cut!!

cw: literally none this is sickeningly sweet

The bathroom was warm, steam clinging to the mirror and softening the edges of the small space. Price adjusted the shower-head, the gentle hiss of water filling the quiet. He tested the temperature with his fingers, warm but not scalding, before glancing down at Nik.

Nik sat on the floor, his back pressed against the cool porcelain of the tub. His injured arm was cradled in a sling, the tight bandages beneath his shirt peeking out at the edges. Price had straddled his thighs, his knees bracketing Nik’s hips as he leaned forward to work.

Nik shifted slightly, his good hand resting loosely on Price’s knee, his thumb absently brushing the soft fabric of Price’s sweatpants. His hair had become quite long now, reaching just above his shoulders, framing his face in loose , dark waves that caught faintly in the warm light overhead. Price could tell it was a tangled mess, he was determined to fix it.

“This alright?” Price asked as he folded a towel with deliberate care and tucked it behind Nik’s neck. The softness of the fabric was a small contrast to the firm edge of the tub.

Nik blinked up at him, his good hand flexing slightly in his lap, then looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yes,” he muttered.

Price frowned, leaning in a little closer, his hands braced lightly on Nik’s chest for balance. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” Nik said quickly, waving vaguely with his free hand. “Just… your fussing.”

Price snorted softly, the sound blending with the rhythmic drip of water into the tub, but he didn’t press. Instead, he adjusted his posture, settling into a more comfortable crouch. The warmth of his legs against Nik’s made the latter shift slightly, though his good hand didn’t leave Price’s knee.

“Right, let’s get this sorted,” Price said, reaching for the shower-head. “You’ve been wandering around all week with your hair looking like a bird’s nest, haven’t you? Can’t have that now that I’m back, can we?”

Nik chuckled, his voice low and rough, though his face was still turned slightly to the side. “Are you saying I look unkempt?”

“I’m saying you’ve been looking like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge, love,” Price replied, grinning as he tilted the shower-head. The water streamed in soft rivulets, soaking Nik’s hair. Price used his free hand to shield Nik’s face, his thumb brushing lightly along Nik’s temple.

Nik sighed as the warmth spread through his scalp, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. The water ran down the back of his neck, pooling slightly where Price had placed the towel earlier. “You are enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” Price said, grabbing the bottle of shampoo. He flicked it open with a thumb, the faint citrusy scent filling the air as he squeezed some into his palm. “Get to run my hands through your hair, keep you quiet for a bit. What’s not to like?”

Nik huffed out a laugh but didn’t argue, his good hand pressing a little firmer against Price’s knee, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles. “It feels wrong, you doing this for me after the week you have had.”

“Not this again,” Price muttered, lathering the shampoo between his hands. The soapy foam felt slick between his fingers as he began working it through Nik’s soaked hair. His palms brushed the edges of Nik’s forehead, and his fingers combed through the longer strands with steady, deliberate care. “I told you, I want to do this. You’ve been walking around all week without washing it because of that bloody shoulder. Can’t say I’d let you try it one-handed, either, though I’m sure you’ve tried.”

Nik chuckled, his head tipping forward slightly as Price’s fingers moved through his hair. The gentle pressure on his scalp drew a quiet, involuntary hum from him before he could stop it.

“See? That’s the sound of a man being thoroughly pampered,” Price teased, his voice soft but smug.

Nik let out a low sigh, his eyes drifting shut as he leaned back slightly, his hand brushing up towards Price’s thigh, squeezing absent-mindedly at the muscles there. “No need to be so smug, Mishka.”

Price chuckled, his fingers continuing their slow, steady work. “Too late for that.”

Nik didn’t reply, though the corners of his mouth twitched in the faintest of smiles. His shoulders softened further under Price’s touch as the soothing rhythm of his hands worked away the last of the shampoo.

The warm water cascaded over Nik’s hair again as Price rinsed it clean, taking care to keep any stray suds from running into Nik’s face. By the time he reached for the conditioner, the faint tang of citrus had mellowed into a subtler freshness.

“How’s that shoulder feeling today?” Price asked, his voice quieter now.

Nik shifted slightly beneath him, the sling pressing against Price’s chest with the movement. “Better than yesterday.”

“Good,” Price murmured, smoothing the conditioner through the damp strands. His hands moved slower now, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly over the ends of Nik’s hair. “You’ll be back to giving me hell in no time.”

Nik cracked an eye open, his gaze warm despite his teasing tone. “Am I not giving you hell now?”

“You calling this hell?” Price smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Nik grumbled something under his breath, low and indistinct, but the sound of it made Price grin anyway.

The conditioner rinsed away easily, leaving Nik’s hair softer than it had been in weeks. Price grabbed the towel he’d left nearby, unfolding it and gently patting the damp strands dry. Nik shifted slightly beneath him, pressing his good hand against Price’s thigh for balance as he raised his head back up slowly.

“Better?” Price asked, his voice quieter now.

Nik opened his eyes fully, his gaze unguarded as he looked at Price. “Better,” he said, the simple word carrying a weight that made Price pause.

“Good,” Price murmured, setting the towel aside. He cupped Nik’s face with one hand, his thumb brushing along his cheekbone as he leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re stuck with me, love, like a tick.”

Nik sighed, but his lips quirked upwards in a faint smile. “How romantic.”

“Swept you off your feet, have I?” Price replied, his grin widening.

Nik huffed softly, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and let his head tip forward until it rested briefly against Price’s chest, uncaring that it would leave a wet spot on Price’s shirt. He didn’t speak, but the way his good hand slid up to wrap around Price’s waist said enough.

The bathroom was quiet for a moment, save for the soft drip of water from the shower-head and the occasional rustle of fabric as Price’s thumb traced slow, absent circles at the nape of Nik’s neck. The tension there had eased under his touch, and the steady rhythm seemed to lull Nik into a state of quiet contentment.

He pressed a soft kiss against Nik’s dark hair, his hand brushing back a strand that had fallen into Nik’s face. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Let’s get you on your feet.”

Nik didn’t move immediately, his head remaining against Price’s chest for just a second longer before he sighed and leaned back. Price shifted carefully, adjusting his knees so he didn’t jostle Nik’s injured arm. He reached down, his hands firm but gentle as he clasped Nik’s good hand and slid his other arm around his back for support.

“Take your time,” Price said quietly, his voice soothing as he braced Nik. He rose slowly, steadying Nik as he did, their movements unhurried. Nik’s grip tightened briefly on Price’s forearm, his balance a little off, but Price held him steady, his free hand brushing over Nik’s lower back in reassurance.

“You alright?” Price asked, his blue eyes scanning Nik’s face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

Nik nodded, though his weight shifted subtly into Price’s hold. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice a little rough.

“Good,” Price said, guiding him toward the door with an arm looped lightly around his waist now. He paused just long enough to grab an extra dry towel, draping it gently around Nik’s shoulders and patting at the damp strands of his hair once more.

“You spoil me,” Nik said, his voice light but his gaze holding a quiet sincerity.

“And you deserve every bit of it,” Price replied, his tone matching Nik’s as he gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, let’s get you sorted before your hair dries funny.”

Nik laughed, low and rich, the sound wrapping around Price like a warm blanket. For a moment, Price forgot about the long week he’d had, the mission that had worn him thin, and the worry of leaving Nik to fend for himself. All that mattered was the man standing before him, safe and cared for.

And that was more than enough.