Littlest Dove - Ten
Pairing: John Price X Reader
Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?
Warnings: injuries, language, minor angst, fluff, not edited nor proofread - good luck again :)
Word Count: 3.6K
A/n: sorry for long delayyyyys only two more parts plus epilogue... and then... lex pauses to work on her books??? who knows. not ME because i've got more ideas brewing for bucky simon and konig soooooooooo... but anyway, that's enough from me. i hope you enjoy!
~*~
The next thirteen hours are spent driving.
This drive isn’t as bad as the first one, in your opinion.
The drive to the first safe house was dark and scary and full of so many unpleasant thoughts and feelings and unknowns.
Sure, you’re not exactly any safer now than you were then, but for some reason you feel like you are.
Now, after everything that’s happened, you feel more relaxed, more at ease with the big man beside you.
You’re not sure if it’s the close proximity over the past few days, or if it’s the intimate way he held you, or the soft touch of his hands against your skin when he cleaned your wound.
Whatever it is, it makes you feel safe.
Price, on the other hand, only feels more apprehensive.
Every time the two of you get closer, his emotional investment grows.
At this point, he can’t lose you. The very idea of it makes him sick to his stomach and he wants to tear Makarov apart for putting you in this situation.
But at the same time, if it weren’t for Makarov, Price wouldn’t know how soft your skin is, or how sharp your tongue is. He’d have no idea what your cooking tastes like, much less your lips.
He still doesn’t know what your lips taste like, but he hopes he has the opportunity to find out.
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, stealing a nice long look at those plush pillowy lips of yours.
Every day, he finds himself wishing more and more that the two of you had met under different circumstances.
Proper circumstances.
But that isn’t the case. So, he’s forced to make do with the situation at hand.
The longer he drives and the further North he drives, the thicker the snow is and the heavier it falls from the sky.
You stare out the window, enchanted by Mother Nature and oblivious to the fact that the car is quickly running out of gas, and the nearest gas station is too far away to be of any help.
Price has long since turned off the heat and all non-essentials that could drain gas, but eventually the vehicle stutters to a halt on the side of the highway in the middle of the thickest part of the blizzard so far.
You glance out your window when he kills the engine, a frown finding your face as the howling wind replaces the thrum of the vehicle.
“We’ll be walking from here.”
Your sharp gaze snaps to him as your brows reach for your hairline.
“Through that?” You ask, incredulous, pointing to the raging storm outside.
The snow is so thick, you can’t see a thing beyond the car.
“Shouldn’t take long. An hour, tops.” He sounds unbothered and unfazed by this, almost like he’d planned for it.
“Yeah, right.”
He shrugs and begins layering up.
“Alternative is sitting in the car and waiting to freeze to death. Or, wait for Makarov to find you. The choice is yours.”
You frown at your options, looking at the storm again for a moment before looking back at him and taking the mittens from his outstretched hand.
“Here. Put all this on. You’ll need it. Try to move quick, we want to lock as much heat in as we can.”
You follow his instructions and begin pulling on layer after layer after layer, until you feel like the Michelin Man.
Finally, once you’re all bundled up, Price turns to the door and tugs on the handle.
“You wait here.”
No problemo!
You have absolutely zero issue obeying that order. Especially when he opens the door and is nearly sucked out of the car by the wind.
He battles the gusts and eventually manages to climb out of the car and slam the door shut behind himself.
A flurry of snowflakes whisks through the car before settling and melting quickly, leaving you in temporary stillness once again.
The trunk opens and you listen as Price rummages around back there, looking for God-knows-what before he finally slams it shut and trudges along to your side of the car.
He gives you a second, nods, and waits until you copy the gesture to tug open your car door.
The wind howls in your ears, and he needs to throw his big body in the doorway to stop it from slamming back shut.
“Stay close to me!” He shouts over the wind, voice muffled by his scarf.
“Hold my pack if you start to fall behind. If we’re quick, it’ll keep us warmer.” He helps you to your feet and turns around, leading you away from the car and toward the thick wall of white ahead.
It doesn’t take more than ten steps for the car to disappear from your sight when you look back over your shoulder.
And when you look forward again, you’ve almost lost sight of the Captain.
Your heart lurches and you lunge forward clumsily, legs leaping forward like a silly little deer on a silly little day.
You catch up quickly, and your minor delay is unnoticed. Thank God.
The last thing you need right now is to be reprimanded again.
You keep your eyes trained on Price’s back.
Looking anywhere else is like looking oblivion straight in the eyes.
The snow seems to fall from every which way, fat flakes cling to your lashes in heavy white clumps that weigh down your lids and reduce your vision to mere slits.
The wind howls in your ears, loud and unforgiving, as it whips your exposed skin until it’s raw.
The tiny ice crystals that fall on your lashes slowly melt as new ones take their place, the old freezing teary trails down your cheeks.
Captain Price marches on before you, big steps and long strides fueled by gruff determination. Each heavy rise and fall of his boots sends snow puffing up behind him, momentarily shielding him from your sight.
You push forward, fingers slipping over the straps of his bag as you fight to find a good hold.
And with each firm step he takes forward, you fall a half-step behind.
You’re trying to keep up, you really are, but your entire body is cold and numb except for the campfire of pain lighting up your side.
Your legs feel heavy, each step slowing you down as you struggle to follow in his footsteps.
You just want to rest.
You’re getting so tired.
Your fingers slip out of the loop on his bag and you stumble a step this way, and then another step that way, and then you’re not sure if you’re seeing him ahead of you in the snow or if it’s a shadow cast by your heavy lashes.
“John,” you whisper.
He barely hears it over the roaring of the wind, but somehow your soft voice carries all the way to his ears and sends a shiver down his spine.
It’s the first time you’ve ever said his name.
He turns, heart racing when he doesn’t immediately see you, and then he spots you.
He makes his way toward you quickly, arms extending automatically as he nears, and you lean into them happily.
“S’alright, Dove. We’re almost there. We’ll get you warmed up once we’re safe inside.”
You lean against his chest heavily, eyes falling closed as exhaustion overwhelms you.
“John… m’tired.”
Alarm bells ring in his ears louder than the wind.
“Come here, stand in front of me,” he commands, half-maneuvering you to where he wants you to be.
He tugs off his scarf and wraps it around the exposed skin of your face, then helps you lift your feet until you’re standing on top of his boots, facing him.
“Put your arms around me.”
You obey, wrapping your thick, padded arms around his neck while he wraps his own arms around your waist, holding you securely below your backpack.
“Just hang in there. We’re almost there.” He sounds a bit more strained than before, but he moves with more determination, more strength than he had.
He needs to be strong. He needs to conquer this storm, protect his Dove, warm her up and nurse her back to health.
He’ll be damned if he lets you freeze to death, of all things.
It isn’t much further now. He knows that. If he squints hard enough, he can almost see the outline in the distance.
And not a moment too soon.
He’s getting worried.
Each breath you take sounds heavier than the last, and your grip around his neck is loosening with every step.
He’s not sure how much longer you’ve got.
“Dove? Hey, talk to me.”
You don’t answer.
“Dove, last warning. Say something.”
Nothing.
With his heart in his throat, he trudges on and slides his fingers over your side where he knows your wound is.
Whispering a soft apology, he presses his fingers to the spot as hard as he can, forcing pressure onto the wound beneath all your layers.
“Ouch!” You yelp, body arching away from the offending hand.
He grabs you in a safer spot and pulls you tight against him once again.
“I told you to say something.”
Your voice is quiet when you reply, but he can hear it.
“I’m tired.”
“I know you’re tired, I really do. But you can’t sleep now. I’m taking you somewhere safe to rest, okay?”
You whine your disproval at his words.
You don’t want to wait for somewhere safe.
Where could be safer than in his arms, anyway?
It feels like only moments later he’s slipping you off of his boots, tugging his scarf down, and turning you around to face the shittiest, most run-down looking log cabin you’ve ever seen in your life.
The mere sight of it makes you burst into tears.
This is it? This is safety??
What kind of sick joke?
“We’re going to die here,” you whisper, sniffling your snotcicles as Price sushes you gently.
“None of that. Now come on.” He wraps an arm around you again and helps you up toward the cabin. “We’re gonna get you nice and warmed up, you’ll see.”
He leads you inside, one of his hands held prisoner in yours when he bends down to untie his boots.
He gives yours the same treatment, then tugs you to follow him through the little log cabin.
There are two doors. One that leads to what appears to be the rest of the cabin, and one for a supply closet.
Never one to do what you expect, Price tugs you into the supply closet and whips out a flashlight.
“Hold this.” He shakes his hand free from yours and puts the flashlight in your grasp instead. “Prop your hand up on my shoulder and shine it in here.” He points to a fuse box and helps you position your hand properly.
You hold as still as you can as he pulls open the fuse box, brows raising nearly to your hairline when he flips a few switches and the wall starts to rumble.
Slowly, the panel disappears into the wall, and what looks like a safe door emerges instead.
You watch on in shock as he unlocks the safe door, and then the metal is creaking and groaning.
He takes a step back, arm instinctively reaching back to wrap around you and keep you safe and close, protected by his big sturdy body.
The wall shudders and shakes and then slowly starts rolling to the left, exposing a dark staircase leading to…. Hell, perhaps?
The wall settles in its new position with a heavy thud, puffs of dust floating down as silence hangs heavy in the stillness.
“Come on.”
He leads you down the stairs with a sort of familiarity that makes you wonder how many times he’s moved this wall.
He stops you in front of another fuse box, and you hold the flashlight on his shoulder the same way you did before.
“Does this wall move, too?” You wonder softly, watching as he flicks a few switches.
Price chuckles and gives his head a shake, perking up a bit when a loud beep rings out before the power in the bunker slowly fizzles on.
The entire structure rumbles to life, and then he’s taking the flashlight from you and flicking on a light switch instead.
“Will take some time to really heat up, but there’s a wood stove somewhere down here that should do the trick for the time being.”
You follow him through the bunker to the wood stove, watching with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as he gets the fire going.
You feel a little woozy and more than a little tired.
You’re ready for that nap he promised.
“Here, come over here. You won’t warm up over there all by yourself.”
You slowly trudge over to Price, arms still wound tightly around yourself to try and keep your heat locked in.
Price stares at you for a moment before huffing out a sigh.
“I need you to undress a bit. Take off any clothes that are wet. And I need to take another look at your wound.”
You whine and shake your head at him, though your arms drop to your sides when he reaches for your jacket zipper.
“I’m tired,” you whisper pathetically, looking up at him with big beautiful glossy eyes.
He almost melts then and there.
“I know, sweetheart. You can’t sleep yet, though, Dove.”
You glare up at him as he helps you take your clothes off.
“You said when we got here, I could rest.” You know you’re whining,
At this point, you’re too tired and too cold to care about anything besides warming up and sleeping.
“I know, and I meant it. Just not yet. Gotta clean you up first.”
You grumble but obey, following him to the makeshift bed of fabric on the ground.
“Can I get you nice and stretched out… on your side, just like that. Perfect.”
His words thaw the butterflies in your belly, and they flap their wings wildly.
As you relax on the ground, you become more and more aware of his touch on your skin.
Beyond that, he’s kneeling close enough to your head that you can see the outline of something hard and heavy hiding beneath the base layers of clothing.
Your breath catches in your throat, and the next time he touches you, you jolt away instinctively.
“Did I hurt you?” He asks, yanking his hands back as if he’s been scalded.
“N-no! Sorry… just a little jumpy.”
He’s not sure if it’s the way you say it or the way you refuse to meet his eyes, but somehow he knows exactly why you’re ‘a little jumpy’ all of a sudden.
So, he does what any good man in his position would do.
He lets his touches linger.
Every time his skin brushes yours, he lets it happen for an extra moment or two. Just enough to hear your breath hitch and see your stomach clench.
It is with great sadness that Price finishes re-dressing your wound. He helps you into a t-shirt, which you let him slip on with surprising ease.
Your pants, however, are a different story. You offer the man zero help in getting them over your feet or around your ankles.
You just lie there, limp like a fish as he struggles to dress you.
“C’mon, Dove. Aren’t you gonna help me? Don’t you wanna be nice and warm?”
Honestly, you want as much of your skin exposed as possible so that he can keep touching you in any and every capacity.
You say nothing, only stare up at him with your lips slightly parted as he absent-mindedly rubs soothing little circles on your ankle.
His eyes find yours and for a moment, time seems to stop.
Everything around you fades like someone turning down the volume on a radio.
His eyes, so deep and warm and brown, gaze at yours as the two of you share the same silent desire.
Slowly, his hands find their way up your body from your ankles, being mindful of the tender spot on your side.
Each touch leaves behind a trail of molten lava, and you’re surprised you haven’t burst into flames yet.
His eyes stay trained on your face, watching your reaction to his touch.
God, you’re beautiful.
You look so pretty, so precious and sweet like this.
All he needs is a fork and knife and he’s ready to dig in.
Instead, he cups your cheek gently, so gently. His eyes are locked on yours as he slowly drops his head down down down until there are only mere inches between the two of you.
You can feel his warm breath against your lips.
You want to taste him on your tongue.
The softest, weakest little sound leaves your mouth, and that’s all it takes for Price to close the distance between the two of you.
His mouth slots against yours gently at first, just a soft press of his lips to yours to introduce the feeling.
When you don’t pull away after a moment, he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips wrap around your lower lip, suckling for a brief moment before letting it go with a soft pop, only to capture your lips once again.
You sigh into his mouth and he devours it, hungry for more of you, all of you.
Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you lose yourself in him and his kisses and his mouth.
This is what you’ve been missing out on?
You could die happily like this, having finally tasted him.
Price, however, does not share the same mentality.
No, now that he’s had a taste of you, all it has done is stoked his hunger.
He’ll be damned if he lets you slip out of his fingers now that he’s finally got you.
Somehow, without breaking the kiss, Price ends up behind you, one firm hand holds your head where he wants it while the other grips your hip.
He’s careful not to squeeze you too tightly, or get too close to your wound lest he cause more damage. But when you tilt your head back and open your mouth for him, 99% of his thinking brain loses its blood supply.
His tongue meets yours experimentally, at first. And then he’s all you can feel touch taste smell and it is wonderful.
He tastes like tobacco and sweat and he feels like nothing but man behind you.
As he tugs his head back, his teeth graze over your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine.
His hips roll against your backside as the two of you catch your breath, and John Price wishes in that moment that the two of you were literally anywhere else.
Anywhere safer where he could let his guard down fully and take his time with you.
Taste you and make you sing, make your toes curl and your back arch.
He wants to see you, really see you, in all your naked glory. Hard nipples pebbled at attention, waiting for his warm mouth to soothe their ache. Hot pussy, dripping and weepy and crying for something only he can give you. He’d open you up with a few climaxes first, of course.
Maybe he’d suck on your clit until you cry and beg for more, or maybe he’d finger-fuck your tight hole until you squirt all over his hand.
All of this would be to prepare you for his cock, of course.
Little thing like you needs proper prep before being split open on a cock like his.
Those are the thoughts that plague his mind as he rutts into you from behind.
“John, please.”
There you go, using his name again like you want to be pregnant.
The groan that leaves his lips is something between a rumble and a growl, and it makes you wet between the legs.
“I want to,” he whispers into your hair, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps humping you.
If he keeps up like this, he might cum in his pants.
“Please,” you beg again, arching into him.
He shudders to a halt, hand slipping around to hold your throat.
You gasp at the contact, lids closing and lips parting as another lightning bolt zaps between your thighs.
“If you want me to fuck you that bad, honey, I will. Just not now.”
The whine that falls from your lips is pathetic to put it lightly.
“None of that, now,” he reprimands, squeezing his hand around your throat in warning. A warning that only makes you whine breathlessly.
Why is he being so mean?
“This is harder for me than it is for you, trust me on that. But, when the time is right… I’m going to make you mine.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
This sends a shiver down your spine and it settles you the tiniest bit.
Not now, but soon.
It will happen.
You’ll get to have him.
And he’ll get to have you too. He wants you too.
That thought alone is nearly enough to send you to heaven.
Price settles behind you and releases your throat to allow you enough space to relax with him.
“Rest now, Dove.”
As your breathing starts to grow heavy, he can’t help but feel a little giddy.
You made him promise to fuck you.
You, sassy, spitfire you, made HIM promise that he would pipe you properly.
What is this world he lives in?
He does NOT plan on disappointing you.
As you sleep, he trails his fingers up and down the exposed skin of your arms, imagining all the dirty sick depraved things he plans on doing with you when the two of you are finally safe.
He’s so lost in this fantasy world with you that he doesn’t even think to check his burner for any important messages he may be missing from the boys.
