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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.