Nikprice Winter Gift Exchange

This is the official blog for the Nikprice Winter Gift Exchange.

[nikprice-gift-exchange]

Welcome to the Nikprice Winter Gift Exchange!

Sign ups now closed!

Gift exchanges work by assigning people a Secret Santa who will create a surprise to be sent to them by 31st December. In exchange, they will be assigned a lucky recipient to create for!

Rules / FAQ below the cut.

1. The gift should either take the form of a sketch or a ~2k fic. We are keeping the event quite low-key to ease the pressure. It's meant to be a fun celebration of Nikprice.

2. Gifts should be uploaded to AO3 and/or Tumblr. If you need to use another platform, please let moderators know.

3. Absolutely no AI or plagiarised work. You will be blocked.

4. The event is 16+. If you select to create and/or receive a nsfw gift, you are confirming you are over 18. We will not facilitate a child creating, distributing or receiving sexually explicit content. If you are found out to be under 18 having selected these options, you will be blocked. (If you are uncomfortable interacting with someone under 18, please state this as a boundary on your form.)

5. Any interaction with your giftee should be kept anonymous until the gift is sent. We suggest keeping your Anons open for the duration of the event so your Secret Santa can quiz you for more details if they need to.

6. The focus of the event is Nikprice. It can be platonic, but their relationship must be the centrepiece of the fic or art. (And it's likely your giftee will expect a romantic relationship; it's always worth checking.)

[nascencee]

A little something for @hatsbuckets for the @nikprice-gift-exchange , hope you enjoy!!

[whimsicallygrotesque]

Gingerbread homes for the holidays~ NikPrice

This is for @niresenrab as a part of the @nikprice-gift-exchange, they have asked for angst, domestic fluff, and dad!core NikPrice, so I hope you enjoy this piece!

    “Лучик, will you stop moving around for just one moment?” Nikolai had been all but chasing after John all day, trying desperately to get the other man to take a moment to relax, but it seemed John was decidedly against the idea, deftly avoiding Nikolai’s attempts to persuade him into taking even a short break. And it was driving the Russian crazy, and not in the fun way he usually drove him crazy. 

     “There’s a lot to do today Nik, Laswell’s been picking up whispers of that terrorist cell we’ve been chasing, and thanks to Soap’s latest ‘demonstration’, I have more paperwork to do than bloody Santa Claus right now” Price didn’t even stop his brisk pace down the hall from the files room to his office as he spoke. As he quickened his own steps to match his pace, Nikolai started to regret how much he indulged in Christmas cookies this past week, hastening his stride further as they rounded a corner to keep up with the other man.

     “But it is Christmas, I’m sure it can wait one more day,” Nik argued, managing to grab John’s arm to halt him in his march back to his office. “Come, relax a little. I heard Soap and Gaz were making gingerhouses this year, perhaps we could join them”

     “It’s gingerbread houses Nik, and Christmas is tomorrow, not today,” Price corrected, giving him an exasperated look when he was stopped.

     “Tomato, potato, John, you deserve a rest,” despite the genuine intention of Nik insisting on John enjoying the holiday, he did have to hide his smirk when he intentionally messed up the old saying, knowing it aggravated John to no end.

     “Nik,” John’s tone was warning, but even then Nikolai could see he was wearing the other man down.

     “Come, Лучик, I will treat you to my famous spiked eggnog” Nikolai suggested while putting his strong arm over the Brit’s shoulders, leading him the opposite direction of his office and to the doors of the building they were in.

     “It’s 9 in the morning, Nik, a bit early for alcohol don't you think?” Price pointed out, though he let the Russian guide him down the hall and to the exit.

     “Nonsense, that is what the holiday times are all about,” Nikolai protested, tugging his partner a bit closer as they walked.

     “Getting drunk?” John asked skeptically, if a bit amused at the concept.

     “No, letting loose a bit.” Nikolai corrected as they stepped out of the office building, the chill of the winter air making their breath fog up with each exhale. “And maybe getting a little drunk”

     That, at least, got a chuckle out of the overworked captain, the sound filling Nikolai with a sense of accomplishment as it did whenever he elicited the sound from the other man. It was one of his favourite activities to do when they were together, trying to see how often he could make John smile, or laugh better yet. Although if he were asked, he would have to say his favourite sound he could get John to make would be the half-gasp half-moan he made when Nikolai first pushes into him. No matter how many times they have been together, that sound John makes always serves to make Nikolai’s gut heat with flames of desire like no other.

     That line of thought has Nikolai’s mind going through other memories of their times together, his head filling with images of his partner laid out beneath him, expression filled with bliss. Or images of him speared on his cock and riding him with the same intensity he did when commanding the men in his task force. Price seems to notice the heady gaze zeroed in on him and turns his head to look at Nikolai inquisitively. 

     “What’s that look for Nik?” John questioned, the sounds of their boots crunching down on the light snowfall that had frozen over from the night before the only other sound on the base at the moment. 

     “Just thinking of you, Лучик,” Nikolai answered, entangling their fingers together as he subtly changed their course direction to one of the unused hangers that were always left empty. 

     “Is that so?” Price mused, though he couldn't deny the uptick in his heart’s rhythm as he recognized the man’s tone from years being together, “and just what about me has you leading me to an abandoned hanger then?”

     “Ah, so you noticed,” Nikolai’s smirk seemed to give away how he wasn't really trying all that hard to hide it as he quickened his pace to said hanger. 

     “I’m a captain, Nik. I notice everything,” Price reminded with an answering smirk of his own as the two stepped under the overhang above the door to the hanger. “So what made you decide to drag me her–”

     His words were cut off with a mouth latching onto his with a hunger he had come to look forward to, and one that he matched with his own. Nikolai’s hands slipped down Price’s back and gripped onto his backside, pulling the other man against him with an appreciative groan into his mouth. Price responded in kind by trailing his callused hands up the Russian’s arms and shoulders to tangle his fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, thumb brushing over that gold chain he never went anywhere without. 

     “Fuck, John, you have no idea how hot you make me,” Nikolai rasped against the other man’s lips, punctuating his words with a nip to his bottom lip that had Price groaning into the kiss.

     “Think I have an inkling,” John responded, one hand teasing down Nikolai’s body to palm at the front of his pants, eliciting a filthy curse that only served to make John himself harder. 

     “You are playing dirty, Лучик,” Nikolai whispered as he trailed kisses along Price’s neck, hauling him closer against him with one hand while the other grappled for the door handle, herding them both inside once he got it open. 

     Nikolai had John pinned against the back of the door once it was shut behind them, his mouth latching back onto his as the kiss became more heated, hands wandering as muffled grunts and gasps filling the hanger. So caught up in one another they failed to notice they were not alone, having unwittingly stumbled upon where Soap and Gaz had decided to build their gingerbread house. A whispered comment sounding from behind them was what finally drew them apart when they heard a scottish tinged voice mutter ‘Looks like dads’ found some time alone,’ which was followed up by the thump of a hand hitting the back of a head and a response of ‘they're not alone you muppet, we’re here’. 

     Nikolai, ever the unfazed one, couldn't help but chuckle at that, pulling away from John’s kiss swollen lips to look at the two sergeants. Price, on the other hand, was busy attempting to cool his heated cheeks and clearing his throat to get back to his usually gruff exterior. 

     “You kids always been voyeurs?” Came John’s muttered comment, earning a snicker from Soap.

     “Ah, but perhaps we should have checked to see if we were alone first.” Nikolai pointed out while adjusting his clothes from where they had become disheveled.

     Price grumbled how that was not helpful to them at the moment before his eyes seemed to notice what the two boys had been doing before, brows rising higher with each detail he noticed.

     A nearly six feet tall concoction of gingerbread and icing supports stood before them, the bones of an unfinished and all too large gingerbread house. Gaz’s tired sigh when John noticed could only tell that the idea for this monstrosity had been a certain Scotsman’s. Before he could even ask, Soap “helpfully” supplied him with his unasked question’s answer. 

     “‘Tis a Soap-sized gingerbread house, sir.” he declared proudly, standing to his full height beside the thing for scale, which was indeed built to his size. 

     With Nikolai cackling beside him at the hilarity of the situation, Price could only pinch the bridge of his nose as Soap continued unperturbed. “Wan’tae help, Da?”

     Against his better judgement, Price found himself agreeing to help build the oversized gingerbread and icing anomaly. He would never admit it, but he was always a softy to the way Soap would call him ‘Da’ like that, especially with how Nikolai animatedly agreed to the activity too. 

     It managed to take up quite a few hours, and more icing that John thinks he has ever seen in his life, but even he couldn't deny how his stern heart seemed to beat a little lighter with each gumdrop that was put onto the house. And the activity did wonders for morale once they opened the doors to the hanger to help cool the icing quicker (Soap’s idea, naturally, as he claimed the heaters they had set up in the hanger were only melting the icing). Other soldiers who had remained on base for the holidays started joining in on the festivities, even the stone-hearted Ghost made an appearance, though it could be argued he was only there to critique Soap’s decorating skills. 

     It was well into the evening by the time the impromptu teambuilding session had slowly dispersed, the other soldiers wandering off to do their own thing on the eve before Christmas, Soap managing to drag Ghost off under the pretense of cleaning the icing off the icing on his mask, though anyone with eyes knew how their evening would end. Gaz was the last to leave, aside from Price and Nikolai, heading off to call his family for their Christmas Eve tradition of opening Christmas cards they each exchanged and seeing which one could write the sappiest one (which, according to Gaz, has been his youngest sister three years running).

     “And then it was two,” Price commented as he and Nik stepped back to admire the gingerbread house they had all made, watching as the icing dripped down the sides and candies clung to strange places. Despite the odd nature of the creation, neither of them could deny it was certainly not boring. 

     “Can’t say I’ve ever built a gingerbread house like this before,” John remarked as his arm slipped around Nikolai’s waist comfortably. “The kids did well”

     “Da, they did. And this is not just any gingerbread house, it is a gingerbread home.” Nikolai smiled warmly as he wrapped his arm over John’s shoulders, his expression completely earnest despite the cheesiness of the line.

     “Nik, I think you’ve been watching too many of those hallmark movies” John spoke with amusement lacing his tone, though even he couldn’t deny it was a sweet sentiment.

     “Eh, they were on all day” Nik replied with a shrug, causing Price to chuckle once more.

     “Well, if this is our gingerbread home, it is a bit of a mess,” John spoke as he popped a gumdrop into his mouth from the top of the Soap-sized building.

     “Ah,” Nik began, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “but that is the best kind of home, then it is never boring. And if it is ever too messy, we blame it on the sergeants”

     The sound of John’s booming laughter echoed in the icing-covered hanger as the base seemed to settle into a calmness that was rare but treasured for the two, and Nikolai thought that that alone was enough of a Christmas present to last him the year.

Also, Лучик (luchik) means sunray I just like to imagine that it Nikolai, Price is his light, the sort of person who makes his day brighter (aww, I know, so sappy of me) so I think it fits.

[nikpetrovnha]

Hello and Happy Holidays to all who celebrate :) This is my contribution to the @nikprice-gift-exchange

I will also put this on A03 for those who did want to find it on there

Happy Holidays to @mikeyisbrooklyn this is for you! I hope you like it, there is more to this if you wanted it, lol the 2000 word limit was a little harder to stick to than I thought! I am a sucker for dramatic gestures so that's what I went with :)

Please enjoy Date Night

"….I'm sorry John, I had to let you know."

John rubbed his eyes and pushed his half finished pint away, it wasn't her fault, it was just the bloody job, that they really didn't get paid enough to….

"John?"

"Yeh, yeh Kate, m'ere. 'Kay, well………shite. The boys are safe, aye?"

"Already checked, they're fine." Laswell sighed through the receiver, "it's not high level, probably contained by the end of the night, if you wanted to……"

"I'll tell Nik, don' worry 'bout it, m'sure we'll figure sumthin' out."

Nik was sipping his vodka as John stepped back over to the bar, the disappointment knotting in his chest. "Listen, Love, there's bin'a……problem."

"Does Duty call?" Nik set his drink aside, ready to pull on the professional jacket already, the only give away was the tiny crease in his forehead. A hint of the disappointment mirrored in John's face. Not surprise though.

"Nah, but, the night is…..cancelled, m'so sorry Love. No hotel, no fancy dinner." John harumphed, mourning the loss of that Seabass dish, "back to base, for bloody safety. Not a safe house though, thank Christ."

"For safety? We are at risk?"

"Low level. but….yeh, 'nuff that we should be somewhere bit more hidden than the….the nice hotel." The bloody lovely, far too expensive room, with the stupidly ridiculous sized bath in a bathroom that was the size of his flat. The first time Nik had whisked him into that room, like an armed Prince Charming, John had spent a good 5 minutes just staring out of the enormous bay windows across the city. He sighed loudly again, sod the Seabass, he was lamenting the loss of the truly filthy things he was finally going to have time to do. One night. That's all he'd bloody asked for, just one night where he didn't have to seduce Nik in between paperwork, or training schedules, or meetings, or repair rotas, or the 5 bloody minutes he had before he went to bed.

John readied another apology, pausing when he realised Nick was wrapping up a phone call. "Nik?"

A smile spread across his face, brown eyes crinkling with a little knowing mischief as he tapped something into his phone, "I believe I can salvage our night. Come, let's get out of here."

"What 'bout the hotel? You need t'cancel?"

He picked John's coat off of the back of the chair, holding it out whilst his free hand tapped on his phone again, "no need, someone else will stay there for us."

John frowned as he swung his jacket on, following him out into the cold night.

Nik prised a hand out of John's pocket, warming it with his own as they walked off the main high street. Festivities were in full swing, people spilling out of bedecked pubs into the frosty air, some still singing along to whatever was playing inside.

A very wobbly group of lads half danced past, singing loudly and off key, all wearing jaunty Santa hats. Apart from one, trailing behind, the traffic cone impeeding his view of the street.

"Where we goin'?" John looked at the street he was being led down, "no taxi rank this way?"

Nik chuckled and fished a carton of cigarettes out of his jacket, offering one across, "there won't be a taxi tonight."

John leaned in to light his ciggy. "So where we….Nik?"

"John, trust me, it just needs to be safe, yes?" Nik gave him a knowing smile through a cloud of smoke, "there is no reason we can't still enjoy our night off."

It wasn't a Christmas thing. John didn't 'do' Christmas. But it was still special. "Date night," he groused around the cigarette, following him down the side street, repeating what Soap had said earlier, "iss'a date night."

Nik was close again, his smile now filled with warmth and the promise of something….nice. "Yes, a date night. And now I have made us last minute plans to still enjoy our date night."

In that moment, the world melted away a little. Nik was here. John was here. It didn't matter that their night wasn't as planned, they were together.

Wait…….Where the hell are they? John went to stub his cigarette out only to realise they'd come to a stop outside a….. restaurant?

The sign was half taken over by a bush that was making a valiant effort to escape the side street concrete it was planted in. Jaunty christmas lights twinkled through the leaves, reflecting off of the tinsel hung in the windows.

"дядько?" A surly looking teenager paused in packing down tables, frowning at the two men in the street.

Nik squinted in the yellow light before his face broke into a broad smile, "Sascha!" He opened one arm, giving the young man a back slapping hug, "ти зараз вищий за свого батька!"

The teen smiled back, with a slight roll of his eyes. He was almost as tall as Nik with similar dark looks. He spared John an uninterested glance. "у тебе є запасний такий?" Eyeing Nik's cigarette with a cheeky grin.

"Nikolai, ні."

The woman let the restaurant door close behind her, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into her apron. She waved the teen back to his job, one raised eyebrow enough to have him scuttling away without a single argument. Nik allowed himself to be pulled down into a fierce hug, his bulk swamping her much smaller frame.

She pulled away to clasp his face with both hands, "you look well."

"As do you, Milica. I'm sorry it's been so long." He took one of her hands and kissed it, playing up to the charming gentlemen for all its worth.

Milica chuckled at his efforts, giving his cheek a pat, turning to John, "please tell me this is the famous Johnathon?"

John returned her smile, "famous?"

A side door opened with a bang, several people clamoring to get out of it at the same time. An older, tiny woman elbowed a younger girl back behind her before pointing at Milica with a triumphant look, "Я ж казав, що це станеться сьогодні ввечері!"

Milica closed her eyes for the briefest moment and took a deep breath. "Welcome Johnathon, it's good to finally meet. Come in, your table is ready."

"Table?" John looked over at Nik, "what …….uh, Nik?" The older woman appeared next to his arm, her fingers like a bear trap around his elbow as she pointed inside with her other hand, "right, yeh, uh Priviet…Babushka?" John was uncerimouniously dragged into the restaurant, surrounded by a gaggle of women. He craned his head to look over his shoulder at Nik.

Who was laughing at him.

Bastard.

The kitchen was on the smaller side, more homely than the industrial metal of commercial chains. Babushka patted his hand, encouraging him to take a dumpling from the plate being thrust at him.

"She wants you to try one," a young woman translated shyly.

A lad barely out of his teens grinned up at John, holding the plate with both hands, pride in his face.

It was…..well, it was bloody hot. But it was sodding delicious, stuffed just on the right side of over full. John chewed enthusiastically, ignoring the slight burn of his tongue, "mm-mhm, onion? And uh……" he racked his very limited spice and herb knowledge, "parsley?"

The lad laughed, "dill, дядько. Good, yes?"

"Bloody good." John helped himself to another, realising how hungry he was.

Another plate was pushed at him, this one with small bread knots, still warm from the oven. Soft and lightly spiced with something that somehow tasted of home. A spoonful of the best sour cream to ever pass John's lips was next, then a small pastry creation that exploded with sweetness in his mouth. One of the girls was piling things onto a tray, apparently what was going to consist of his dinner. Between enthusiastic gesturing and kind translations from a different young lady, an entire jar of the pickles was added, along with whatever delicious witchcraft that had made tomatoes taste like that.

"For after, yes?" The girl set aside a tray of those delicious blueberry things, a mountain of soured cream just out of reach, "we have vodka too. For after."

An older woman shushed her, speaking rapidly.

She nodded, a beat too quickly, "yes, yes. After."

John blinked, watching them bustle with the tray, suddenly hearding him towards a different door. What was going on? Was this a purposeful distraction?

Had John done the unthinkable? Let his guard down for a fucking dumpling?

And more importantly, where the hell was Nik?

A worm of fear started wriggling through his stomach. He was unarmed, unaware of the full layout, unprepared as the kitchen staff successfully shoved him through the swing door to the restaurant.

Nikolai stood over by a booth, softly lit by the candles on the tables around him. Empty tables. A lone violin was playing quietly.

"…Nik?"

"John." Nik held out his hand, an emotion John couldn't name on his face.

The table was set for two. "Is…did you plan this?"

"Somewhat, yes, though I am not the only architect." Nik reached down with his free hand, giving John a small glass before taking his own, toasting their glasses and knocking the drink back.

Nik is nervous.

"John. I wanted…..that is, I needed to….after the last round of duty I…I wanted to talk to you."

Hand through his hair. Eyes back to the table again. Why is he nervous?

"I know that it is not something you…belive in, and I understand, and I am not a legal citizen, well, anyway truly, so this would not be, ahem, as you say proper."

Is he sweating? Eyes back to the table. What's on the table? Decorations, nice and subtle, candles, water, glasses, box thing, wine?

"But I wanted to do this as properly as possible." Nik took the still full glass out of John's hand and placed it down.

Anything John wanted to say was lodged in his throat. Somewhere, in the back reaches of his mind, the small childish part that had somehow escaped having the shit kicked out of it, that tiny part, knew what was happening. The rest of his brain however had taken the opportunity to go on holiday to Bognor Regis.

Nik leaned to the side, picking a small box off of the table, holding it between them. His eyes soft, smile nervous.

"Yeh," John croaked. Looking from the box back to Nik. Something warm, incredibly warm and big was filling his chest, pushing anything else out, spilling happiness in fizzy jitters down his arms.

Nik's head came in close enough to smell the delicious cologne, the tang of vodka on his breath, "I haven't asked you…."

"Don'ave to. Iss'a yes, always has been," John tilted his head up, his free hand winding around to tangle in that glorious mane, pulling him impossibly closer, kissing him fiercely. Their hands crushed the box between them as John poured the happiness through his kiss, parting only to gasp, "Я тебя люблю." Somebody laughed, or maybe sobbed, he couldn't tell, and honestly didn't care. He was memorising this moment. The feel of the boxes sharp edges against his palm, keeping him grounded. The warmth of Nik's skin, the rasp of his stubble against John's beard.

He didn't deserve this. Happy endings weren't for people like John Price.

But Nik was clever, and if the universe said no, Nik would say yes. And win.

John pulled his head back, allowing a smile through. A proper one, that made his cheeks ache.

Nik held his face, "if not you, then no one else. Just you, Jonathan."

[mysticeclipses]

Happy holidays to everyone! Hope you all have had fun celebrations with family and/or friends! This is my gift to @parvulous-writings as a participant of the @nikprice-gift-exchange which I am so happy to be part of, I love this ship and I've loved seeing everything that's been created too, and I hope what I have created is to your liking. Your prompts were really fun and I very much enjoyed making a story that would encompass them all as best as possible.

And thanks to @reds-skull for being an amazing beta reader and listening to me ramble about my ideas as always

You can also find it here on AO3

Let Me Take Away The Pain

To say Nikolai was worried about Price would be an understatement.

A simple mission that was supposed to be a quick in-and-out to gather intel had not just gone sideways, but was thrown on its head, dragged through the dirt, set on fire, and pissed on. Just one whisper about how easy it had been to get inside the building should've been a sign that something was off.

But when they had the files in their hands, the warning signs seemed to fade into the shadows of their minds, and they had sorely suffered the consequences of the momentary heightened pride when they were ambushed mere meters away from Nik's Black Hawk.

That singular mistake had turned into six months of captivity.

Six long, agonizing, months spent in a too small cell that was perpetually cast in darkness; only occasional bits of light would filter in from underneath the door. And of course, they had been separated as well. The Captain of Task Force 141 and the leader of Chimera were far too dangerous to even humor the thought of keeping them anywhere near each other.

The isolation had eaten away at Nikolai, and as he stood in front of the door to Price's office, he wondered just how badly it had affected the man on the other side. The torture, the hunger, the lose of autonomy, and blaming himself for Nik's own capture.

With his hand resting on the worn copper handle, Nikolai carefully listened for any signs of Price on the other side of the door.

Talking, walking, the scribble of a pen on paper, the creaky desk chair; hell, even just the subtle sounds of the man's breathing would be enough. Yet is was completely silent.

Swallowing against the lump of anxiety sitting in his throat, he was about to turn around and head back to his hanger when the door suddenly opened, and for the first time in months, Nikolai and Price were standing face to face.

"John…" Nikolai spoke quietly, fighting against the urge to pull the other man into a tight hug.

"Nik, it…it's certainly been a while since I've seen you." Price sighed, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

In all his years of knowing Price, Nikolai had never seen him looking so disheveled, haggard even.

Deep eye bags, tangled hair that hung in front of his eyes, shoulders that slumped forward as if he was trying to hide himself, and stress lines that seemed to have embedded themselves into the skin around his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

And of course, he still held signs of the torture he was healing from; weight loss, a thick brace wrapped firmly around his right wrist, plenty of bandages barely hidden under clothes, and a patchy beard with stitched up cuts peaking through the growing stubble.

Nikolai knew he wasn't in a much better physical state either, especially with how Price's eyes darted back and forth while taking everything in. His own hair had grown out to where he often had it pulled back, there were plenty of bandages hiding underneath his leather jacket, and of course he had lost a good amount of weight as well.

But it was obvious where Price couldn't seem to stop looking; his broken ankle. The bright white mass of plaster that covered almost the entirety of his foot and stretched halfway up his shin, a medley of doodles and signatures that belonged to the rest of the team broke up the bland appearance, but it barely did anything to take away from the reminder of why it was needed.

"Do you mind if I come in? I have been wanting to speak with you." Nikolai watched as emotions flashed across Price's face in seconds; hesitance, reluctance, fear, apprehension, and finally, acceptance.

Exhaling quietly, he stepped aside to let Nikolai into his office, lingering close by as the man slowly crutched his way over to the worn couch sat against the wall.

"So…what did you want to talk about?" Price asked as he sat down on the other end of the couch, the space between the two men instantly being noticed by Nikolai. But he chose to hold his tongue on the matter for the time being.

"I wished to see how you have been after everything that has transpired recently for the two of us." Leaning back against the couch, Nikolai let the silence hang in the air as Price thought to himself, watching the other chew on the dried skin of his lips while leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.

"I've been fine. Mostly been catching up on paperwork since that's all I can do right now, sometimes I go see how the rest of the team is doing, but it's mostly been a desk job recently."

"Hmm, it is good to know that you are taking it easy and letting your body have the rest it deserves."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather be back on the field by this point. Course I can't yet because of my wrist and other…issues."

Nikolai knew what those 'issues' were, the things Price refused to admit to anyone, much less himself. He wanted to help, but he knew this was uncharted territory for the other man.

Getting Price to open up wouldn't be easy, but Nikolai was a stubborn man, and when he set his mind on a task, he followed through completely. "Are you sure that you are doing alright? There is nothing you wish to talk about?"

"No, no, like I said, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me."

But he did. Every waking moment he worried about Price because of how much the captivity and torture had affected him, and how little he seemed to be truly letting himself process it all. Price couldn't even look him in the eye for longer than a few seconds before turning his attention elsewhere, often out the window or down at his hands.

"You know that you can speak and be open with me if you are not feeling well inside John. I will not judge you, not when you have been through so much."

Nikolai could see the walls Price was struggling to get over, how much he fidgeted with stray threads on the arm of the couch and was bouncing his heel up and down. Sometimes his mouth would open, but no words would come out by the time he closed it.

It was clear there was so much he wanted to say, and yet, something was stopping him from opening up completely. So slowly, ever so slowly, Nikolai slid his hand across the couch until it found Price's hand, giving it a steady squeeze even as Price tensed from the contact. Though after a few minutes passed, he slowly relaxed, hesitantly threading their fingers together as he sighed.

"Just can't really forget what happened, you know? It all just sits in the back of my mind and refuses to leave, no matter what I do to try and ignore it."

"And do you know why you are unable to work through your feelings with what happened?"

"Course I do, it's the fact that…I'm responsible for what happened to you, and I can't get that out of my head."

"John, I do not put the blame for what happened on you. Many things can happen when we are out on missions that we are not able to predict."

The laugh that came from Price was sharp and bitter, and even though it wasn't directed at him, Nikolai couldn't help but flinch slightly. He knew that Price often let the knowledge of his mistakes out on the field linger in his thoughts, the weight of what had gone wrong sitting heavy on his shoulders, but it was clear Price was taking their torture much harder than he had anything else up until this point.

"Doesn't matter if you blame me or not, it's still my fault as captain."

"You do not need to shoulder all of this yourself, I am here for you John."

But it was clear by his face that Price didn't fully believe what Nikolai was saying. He knew what Price dealt with was worn deep into his mindset, potentially even having started all the way back during his childhood, and he fully understood how hard it was to get over such a mindset.

The idea that as a man, especially a man in the military, he had to be unshakable, he had to be strong, he couldn't show weakness, and no one could know when he hit rock bottom.

Nikolai understood because he had been in the same place for much of his own life, having to spend years unlearning such a toxic male mentality alone. And now, he wouldn't stand to see Price continue to suffer under the same thought, nor would he stand to watch him struggle to overcome the weight he'd carried for so many years.

"John, look at me." Nikolai placed his other hand on Price's cheek and gently turned his head to they could see each other eye to eye, taking note of the faint red rim to his eyes and the subtle flush to his nose. "I do not expect you to tell me everything, but please, let me into your mind, if only for a moment. Я не могу больше молча наблюдать за твоими страданиями."

For a moment, Price just watched Nikolai, almost as if he was searching the other man's face for any hints of a lie or deception. And then it appeared; a singular tear that slipped free from the inner corner of Price's eye, slowly rolling down his cheek before it dipped into the curve of Nikolai's thumb.

"I'm just…afraid…that when I wake up I'll be back in that dark cell, or I'll wake up to news that you died. And if I were to hear that, I'd be beside myself with grief because…" Price swallowed thickly, the words getting caught in his throat as he leaned against Nikolai's hand, slowly exhaling against the gentle touch. "…because I love you. I've loved you for a long time, and I'm terrified of losing you."

Nikolai's expression softened upon hearing Price's confession, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his forehead, letting himself linger for just a moment longer before pulling away. "моя голубка, I love you too. I have waited so long to hear those words from you."

The space between Price and Nikolai quickly disappeared as they moved closer to each other, finally being able to hold one another in their arms after so long of being apart.

The two men had danced around defining their relationship for years; fleeting touches that could easily be seen as platonic, longing gazes that were held just a moment more, quiet nights where they didn't need to fill the silence around them, just being in the presence of the other said more than any words could.

But they didn't need to dance any longer, not when Price's lips met Nikolai's time after time again, not when they held each other so carefully yet so passionately, not when their heartbeats fell into a matching rhythm.

As the sun began to set and stars dotted the approaching night sky, neither Price nor Nikolai had gotten up from the couch to lay in a bed, instead opting to spend the evening together on the worn cushions under a knit blanket hanging off to the side. Getting comfortable wasn't the easiest, especially not with needing to prop Nikolai's ankle up with a few pillows and keeping Price's wrist free, but they managed to tangle their limbs together and fall into the most peaceful sleep they'd had in months.

If Ghost, Soap, and Gaz stopped by to check on their captain and saw the two men sleeping on the couch, they simple closed the door and moved onto the next task. And if Laswell stopped by to make sure Price was asleep and not hunched over at his desk just to see him asleep on Nikolai's chest, she simply took some of the paperwork off his desk so he wouldn't have as much to deal with in the morning.

This was only the start for Price and Nikolai to heal, but now they'd be doing it together, hand in hand and side by side.

[mikeyisbrooklyn]

Merry Christmas to all who participate! Hug your loved ones, get a little fatter, punch a fash—however you celebrate, make sure you do it well and do it safe!

This is my gift for @jgvfhl as a part of the @nikprice-gift-exchange . I’m super glad I committed myself to this because I nearly gave up on it many times but didn’t wanna fail my solemn duty as a Secret Santa. I may be a bit of a Grinch from time to time but I won’t let that stop me from spreading the holiday magic.

Seriously though, I thought this wouldn’t get done because I kept scrapping it and starting over and then it all came to me at once this morning like miracle. A…Christmas Miracle…? Nah couldn’t be. Anyway, please enjoy—you most of all Owlie!

Can also be found on AO3.

The Misadventures of Angry Armor and the Lovesick Rogue

Summary:

From Sir Jonathan Price’s point of view, this was a nightmare. It was bad enough that he got stuck with the weird bloke that insisted he was a Rogue despite being built like a tank engine and kept giving Price funny looks that sent Price on edge and definitely did not make warmth pool in his belly—no sir, not at all. Then it was worse that they were sent out by the guild to kill a dragon that heretofore had killed everyone sent after it.

And now, the idiot had gotten them trapped under rubble!

From Nik’s point of view, this was heaven. Well, minus the stalactite impaled in his right shoulder, but he took the pain for Angry Armor so it was worth it. Nik knew his name was Jonathan Price but Nik took to calling him Angry Armor because he hid under that armor everywhere he went around the Guild Hall and was easy to rile up—and he was cute when he was riled up. Angry Armor got angrier when Nik called him cute, which, naturally, made him cuter.

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From Sir Jonathan Price’s point of view, this was a nightmare. It was bad enough that he got stuck with the weird bloke that insisted he was a Rogue despite being built like a tank engine and kept giving Price funny looks that sent Price on edge and definitely did not make warmth pool in his belly—no sir, not at all. Then it was worse that they were sent out by the guild to kill a dragon that heretofore had killed everyone sent after it.

And now, the idiot had gotten them trapped under rubble! Well—Price did that with a poorly aimed holy blast that went to the cavern ceiling inconveniently littered with stalagmites instead of the scaly hide of its intended target. But he only missed because—well, because Price asked that idiot if he trusted him and he had the nerve to give Price another of those funny looks and said “with my life” in that rich baritone and thick accent that didn’t make sense and—fuck, he knew what was he was doing. He wanted Price off his game; wanted Price to make a fool of himself so he could look like a hero. So when the blast brought the ceiling down and he dove over Price, it was just a part of his master plan—Price was sure of it.

From Nik’s point of view, this was heaven. Well, minus the stalactite—Angry Armor called it and its brothers stalagmites but he clearly does not know his speleology—impaled in his right shoulder, but he took the pain for Angry Armor so it was worth it. Nik knew his name was Jonathan Price but Nik took to calling him Angry Armor because he hid under that armor everywhere he went around the Guild Hall and was easy to rile up—and he was cute when he was riled up. Angry Armor got angrier when Nik called him cute, which, naturally, made him cuter. Beyond what was potentially a fatal injury though, Nik couldn’t imagine a better use of his time. He happened to land perfectly atop Price, barely managing to keep Price from being speared straight through the heart. That meant all of Nik was covering all of Price, and they laid chest to chest with who knows how many pounds of stone sitting precariously above them leaving just enough room for a pocket of air their size. So, it could be worse—that’s what Nik figured, anyway.

“Are you hurt?” Nik ignored the nearly-blinding pain in his shoulder and looked at Price’s intense blue eyes. Nik never cared much for the color blue—until he met Price.

“What the—“ Price had to fight to keep himself from tensing up or moving, or else he might bring the rubble down and fully crush them both. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” He hissed indignantly. “You’re the one with a bloody spike through you.”

“I have been through worse.” And dammit if Nik didn’t say it so easily. It must’ve been true. “You did not answer the question.”

“I—fuck me, I’m fine, I think.” Price’s head wasn’t screwed on straight. Couldn’t be. Was…was the idiot actually concerned with his health? But…no, that’s ridiculous. This is a part of the ploy, ain’t it?

“Good. Then I have done my job.” Nik sounded far too satisfied for himself for Price’s liking. “You may heal me now.”

“What?”

Nik lifted his head and looked into Price’s eyes. “My shoulder. You may heal me; it is not cursed, I do not think, and I’ve only bled for a few minutes now so it shouldn’t be hard.”

Price blinked twice. “I…am not a healer. Did you think I was a healer?!” Suddenly offended at the notion.

“You are Paladin, no? Big swing, soft hands and all?”

“No! I mean, Paladin, yeah, but not like that! What in the—why the hell would I—have you bloody seen me heal anyone before?”

“I have not seen you smile before but I’m sure you do it—and look cute when you do.”

“I’m being seri—what the fuck did you say to me?!”

A roar shook the cavern around them and a jet of fire blasted over the rumble above them, turning their pocket of safety into an oven. John roared in pain while Nik struggled to grit his teeth.

“Bloody thing is gonna flame broil us.” John grumbled as the flames let up but the heat suck around. “Knew this was a suicide mission.”

“Then why did you agree?” Nik asked innocently. “Do you have death wish?”

John grumbled. “No! And what’s it to you?”

“Why not get to know the man whose arms I will die in?”

“Sonuva—“

“Do you really wish to act like a brat in your final moments?”

“I’m not a fucking brat!”

“Then stop acting like one.” Nik winced as he snuggled into John.

A few moments of silence followed before the sound of the dragon above them huffing sounded like a death bell—ready to blast again, sure to kill them this time. John tried to ignore the blush at his face but also didn’t even bother to scold himself for holding Nik against him a little tighter. Fuck it, he was about to die, it’s not like Nik could go yapping to the world about it. John closed his eyes and dared to let himself enjoy the contact—gods, it had been so long—as he readied himself for death.

The rush of cool wind washed over them and for a half second, John thought it was the dying of his nerve endings before the flames engulfed them until he noticed two things wrong; one, the wind came from beneath him, not above like the dragon was and two, he began to feel the sensation of falling. Before he could interrogate that any further, he felt his back collide hard against a cool marble surface—an undignified “oof” tumbling out of his chest. John opened his eyes at the impact and saw the rubble that had been above them but now it was framed by a bluish purple ring of magic. Nik looked up and around at the change in air pressure and immediately felt woozy, like the blood was rushing to his head—how much blood has he lost so far? As the dragon roared and pebbles from the pile crumbled from the dragon flame to fall and pelt John’s face and Nik’s back, John’s brain caught up with him—a portal?

It closed just as the flame licked from their faces less than a centimeter away and the visage of a tomb of fire and stone vanished, replaced by a ornately decorated marble and ivory roof that Price immediately recognized.

“Nice of you to drop in, I’ve got a quest for y—“ Kate paused as she finally looked up from her desk a few yards away—if you could call a stone slab the size of a dinghy a “desk”. John once joked that it was her “war table” and it stuck. “John. Why the hells are you tracking soot into my tower?”

John looked back and saw Kate hunched over her war table cloaked in her white robes lined with animal furs—ethically sourced, of course, “I killed more than a few men, John, but I’m not a monster” John recalled Kate’s unwarranted defense of her clothing choices—John hadn’t even asked, it was clearly a touchy subject in the Wizard community. He coughed to clear his throat, then answered her question. “Dragon.”

“That explains the scorch marks on my floor.” She waved a hand in his direction and the soot and stone and blood was swept away but an air of lilac. “Did the dragon give you a boyfriend for the trouble or is that a damsel in your arms?” Kate gestured at the still bleeding Nik in John’s arms.

John spluttered offended and indignant but before he could fire back, Nik turned his head towards Kate with a lopsided grin. “Greetings. I’m not boyfriend yet, only coworker. Thank you for savenn mm lyffee—“ Nik slurred through his speech before all out failing to speak altogether at the end, head drooping hard.

John and Kate locked eyes as the man passed out—Kate was poorly holding in a laugh and John was glaring daggers at her.

After a private chuckle Kate would deny for John’s dignity, she helped John up and they both took Nik to a chaise lounge near the tower’s balcony. It was easy for John to yank the stone out of Nik’s shoulder when he was too unconscious to cry out in pain and Kate forced one of many health potions down his throat with the expertise of a woman who’d saved far too many reckless idiots in her time—and she wasn’t even a fucking healer. She couldn’t be too mad though, it’s how she met John. Tale for another day.

As Kate made sure Nik wouldn’t keel over, her curiosity ate at her. “What possessed you to go after a dragon?”

“Guild quest.” He huffed when Kate rolled her eyes. “‘Ts work.”

“It’s shit is what it is. I keep telling you that guild is full of bunch of idiots and nutcases.”

“And I keep telling you they’re not that bad.”

“I don’t think the one man who doubles as your surrogate father is enough of an exception to disprove the rule.”

“Don’t bloody call him that.” John turned away and crossed his arms.

Kate sighed. “You and I both know you see Sir Macmillan as a father just like he treats you like a son, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“John. They let you go after an adult dragon alone. That’s suicide.”

John stood quiet for a long moment. He knew she was right but…he couldn’t face that right now. Really all he wanted to face was a goddamn nap. As if she could read his mind, Kate broke the silence.

“Look, I dragged you here for a job but…you’re clearly beat. Take a breather in guest room. I’ll get tea.” It was a mighty kind offer but it was equal parts an order.

John sighed. “I—alright. Thanks. Thank you. For…thank you.”

Kate snickered. “Gods above you’re emotionally constipated. Get out of here.”

John frowned but there was no heat in his gaze as he turned towards the door.

“Oh, John, one more question.” He paused and turned back to Kate, who then nudged her head at the unconscious Nik. “‘Not your boyfriend yet?’”

John blushed hard and seemed to try and shrink into his armor. “I—he, it just—that’s not—he’s a fool you can’t trust!”

“A fool I can’t trust that you held in your arms?”

John groaned and harrumphed as he turned and all but stomped out of the room. Kate laughed more earnestly in a soft and chiding tone—the one person alive who could set John off without eating a fist for it…well maybe one of two people now, but John wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

[profbuppy]

mission: christmas dinner

haiiiii hai hai :3 i did it !! this is my nikprice exchange fic for @whimsicallygrotesque, who asked for established nikprice, sub price, and praise kink. i hope this meets the brief <33 many kisses and flowers and yaois to @nikprice-gift-exchange for organizing. happy nikprice winter to all <33

tags: gross disgusting domestic bliss, feminization/wife kink (a lot. my boner took the wheel.), so much detail abt food, sub price, handjobs, spit. this is lowkey over 2k but nobody tell the gift exchange mods shhhhhhhh (i had to cut down the food desc a bit lol)

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What minimal sentimentality John Price has is restrained for special occasions and trusted comrades, ground down to a nub by years of bloodshed. 

He’s using every drop of it for this endeavor, consulting his meticulously detailed action planning documents, and pausing every few minutes to tamp down the voice in his head telling him to book a same-day flight to Canada and never come back. For one, Nik would absolutely find him. For another, he would come back immediately if Nik called. The whole mental endeavor is a bit of a dead-end.

Thankfully, he isn’t given much time to worry. There’s fragrant gingerbread in the toaster oven, a plump roast in the full-size oven, olivier salad in a glass bowl on the table, and a heavy paper bag of warm piroshky from the stand two neighborhoods over that Nik always stops by when he has the chance. A bottle of Distiller’s Edition Lagavulin sits in the front of the pantry, and a bottle of Stolichnya rests in the freezer. Nikolai is inbound from something in South America, and Price is enjoying the plausible deniability granted by not knowing what it is. John got a text almost an hour ago that he had landed, followed by another text that he had to put his phone down after reading.

Suffice to say, he could be home any minute, and there’s plating and carving and place setting to do. Price bought a table runner and some tasteful trivets. Nik would be happy even if Price presented him with a Christmas Eve takeaway next to a twig on fire, but Price’s goal isn’t to prepare something adequate. Like all his endeavors, this needs to be ruthlessly effective. There are so many things Price can’t say, that get stuck in his throat when they’re tangled up in bed or patching up after an op. And Nik doesn’t mind, but he’s waited so long already. Price wants to give him this, this whole domestic concerto, this peek into a life neither of them thought they’d get to have, let alone share. Soft landings are a rare luxury for men like them.

So there’s an action plan document. It’s about ten pages long, includes recipes and annotations from Simon, who’s actually worth a damn in the kitchen. John’s been planning this in bits and pieces for at least three months. He still feels like a blushing maiden meeting a sweetheart for the first time, his stomach turning so he can barely taste his own cooking for seasoning. More nervous than he’s been in years, more nervous that he’s ever been at the end of a gun. He puts his hand over the roast in the oven to reorient himself with the near-pain of the heat. He takes the temperature of the roast in two spots, consults the table on page 8 of the plan, and then checks it again. He wraps his hands in a tea towel and takes the roast out.

He’s halfway through carving it when he hears Nik’s heavy boots at the doormat, and the click of his key in the first of three locks. His hands fly to check the pockets of the combat vest he isn’t wearing, and he redirects them to run a hand through his hair, damp with steam. He walks to the door, which opens right on cue.

Nik’s bouquet walks in before he does. It’s a ridiculous thing, bursting out from the crook of his arm in a riot of reds. It’s mostly poinsettias and roses, with some tasteful greenery and pinecones slipped in. Price crosses his arms and leans against the nearest wall in the mudroom and doesn’t move to help him.

Nik grunts and fumbles for a few seconds before he seems to spot Price over the petals, and his eyes crease with delight so quickly it makes something thaw in Price’s chest. “John! How lovely to see you again!” He manages to get the bouquet on top of the shoe rack.

Price scoffs fondly. “We both live here, Nik.” He goes to his knees and starts unlacing Nik’s boots while Nik shrugs off his overcoat and closes the door. Nik gives him a heated look when he does, and Price distracts himself from how hard his cock twitched by pretending his knees hurt from the motion. They don’t, but they’re certainly not as reliable as they were twenty years ago.

“Ah, but you are still lovely, hm? My pretty wife, making the house a home, yes?”

Price swats him on the knee. There’s sand and mud in the welt of Nik’s boot’s, and the laces are cold from the winter air. “Don’t say that until you see dinner. I could still slip something into your soup.” He pats one of Nik’s boots once it’s loose enough to slip out of, and Nik obliges him, landing a quick press of lips to his forehead as he leans down. Then another as he comes up. Then a quick nibble over the shell of his ear.

“You would not do it. No one else would agree to live with you.” Nik puts a hand in Price’s hair, and then it’s as if he’s magnetic. Price undoes his other boot, but Nik refuses to take his hands off of him, so Price nudges his foot up and takes the boot off himself. “I thought we were having dinner first? You look like dessert down there, lyubimy.”

“Geroff’ me,” Price says as he stands and gently bumps Nik’s hands off himself. “We are having dinner, keep it in your flight suit.” He starts walking back into the house, trying to move fast enough to keep Nik’s hands out of his shirt, but— “Ow, bloody Christ, that’s cold! Ya bastard.”

Nik chuckles, still attached, warming up his hands on Price’s soft stomach and kissing him just high enough on the jaw to be suggestive without being lecherous. “Miliy, I’ve missed you while I was away in the cold. You would deny me my comforts?”

“Hardly cold, it was 30° on half the continent. Sit yer ass down and have some dinner.”

Price feels Nik register the decorated dining table from his space in the crook of Price’s shoulder, and his hands tighten their grip on Price. Price knows his keen eyes are sweeping over the roast with the knife still sticking out, the electric candles, the red table runner, the olivier and piroshky and mashed potatoes and bottles on the counter.

Nik sighs like a man sinking into a hot bath and Price’s ribs give a little with the strength of his hold. “Ah, your cruel words mean nothing to me when you treat me so well.”

“Sit down.”

Nik does. Must be honestly tired then. Usually he tries to bend John over the kitchen table a few more times. John dishes him up a plate and pours him a glass of the good stuff, ignoring both the flush creeping up his ears and Nik’s gaze from the table. “You were feeling festive this year, old friend?” Price knows he’s asking what’s the occasion? It’s not their first Christmas, and they don’t do nothing, but this production is rather excessive for Price.

He shrugs. “Three, four years now? Figured it was time I did something nice.”

“Mmh.” He hears Nik taking a long, slow sip of whiskey. “Could have dolled up for me.” Price sputters, and spins to see Nik grinning. “Is sweet of you to make a whole op of it, lyubimy.” He nods to the counter, to the packet Price has been working on and from for months.

Price can’t help feeling a bit embarrassed, defenseless. He puts Nik’s plate down in front of him a bit harder than necessary. He ends up making a kind of strangled sound in his throat, coughs to cover it up. He sits down in his own chair decisively and stares decisively at the mashed potatoes as Nik tucks in.

And Nik takes his sweet time, savoring every bite like a five-star meal. Letting out little moans and hums. Staring John right in the eye while he lifts soft forkfuls of roast ham into his mouth. John takes a pull of Lagavulin very quickly, and then regrets it. Fuck, that’s good whiskey.

Nik clears his plate. John doesn’t know how long it takes, just that it feels like forever. He picks at his own mashed potatoes, at the roast and the salad, and thinks about how much of it can fit into their scant Tupperware. He thinks about other things Nik can do with that mouth. He gives gruff reports on where he got his recipes, where he bought the table runner. Nik’s eyes glitter while he does.

But eventually, Nik sets his fork down for the last time and leans over the table like a predator. “Is the chef taking orders for dessert?”

Price knows this dance, but he still doesn’t skip any steps. “I’ve got some cookies in the oven. It depends on what you want.”

“Ah, is a secret. Come lean in and I will tell you very quiet.” Nik scoots back in his chair a bit and John stands from his own chair, standing over Nik, starting to lean in.

Nik spreads his strong thighs and sweeps John’s knees, one warm hand at the nape of his neck pulling him off balance. He finds himself in Nik’s lap, with Nik’s erection pressing up against his thigh. “Much better,” Nik purrs. “A man misses his wife when he must be away. What a sweet little welcome, sladkaya.” And his voice rumbles against John’s neck as he slips a rough hand between John’s thighs, shamelessly groping his steadily-hardening cock. “So good to me, so tame, hm?”

John tries to find something to say as Nik sucks a mark into his throat. “Welcome home, Nik. I-” It catches in his throat. “I thought you’d like it. Thought it’d be nice, havin’ a little somethin’ home-cooked.”

Nik kisses him hard, like a blizzard. Puts his palm against John’s stomach, where his thick hair gathers and leads down, peppered with greys. Chuckles breathily as his hot fingertips dip into John’s waistband. “Very nice. I would marry you all over again for this.” He swirls his thumb in a tight circle over John’s dense hair, then freezes. He pulls the waistband of John’s sweats towards himself, and peers into his groin.

John swallows, keeps his eyes on Nik, trying to gauge his reaction. It could be a miscalculation, it could be-

Nik groans long and low, like it’s being ripped out of him, when he sees the lacy red jockstrap John’s been wearing for the past two hours. “Oh, miliy… You did doll up for me, after all. Such a pretty little thing. Fuck.” He runs a rough fingertip over the spot in the lace John’s been leaking into, and John twitches in his arms. “Shhh. Let me enjoy my gift, lapochka? Open for me?”

Price does, but he can’t help groaning, arching a bit as Nik gently pinches at the head of his cock, feeling the lace against it. “Nik, fuck, get on with it, c’mon…”

“Mm.” Nik uses his grip on John’s thigh to grind his ass down into Nik’s thick cock, but shifts a bit, kissing along his collarbones. 

John loses track of his hands, then he hears the metallic snick of a pocketknife opening, and yelps, thrashing a bit. “Fuckin’ hell, Nik, the fuck are y-”

“Hold still for me, hm? Be sweet for me.” And against his better judgement, John lets Nik put the sharp edge of his utility knife down where it could do real damage. Nik carefully cuts across the gusset of the jock, freeing a flap of lace. John’s cock pops up to attention, fat and hard, leaking desperate little pearls of precum. The knife never touches his skin, but the feeling of it puncturing through the tensioned fabric has John getting unimaginably harder, knowing Nik could really hurt him. Knowing Nik’s careful enough not to. Nik flicks the knife closed and sets it on the table. “Shh, sh, it’s okay. Such a good, sweet thing.” He brings the hand that isn’t gently fisted in John’s hair to John’s mouth. “Now get it nice and wet for your papochka.”

John throws his head back, as much as Nik will let him, and groans. He rolls his tongue around his mouth, licks Nik’s hand a few times like a shy deer, then spits in it. Nik brings the pool of spit down and spreads it over John’s needy dick with a filthy shlick, starts pumping him firm and slow. John’s been too busy putting all this together to take care of himself, and he finds himself panting and whining with sensitivity as Nik strokes him. He finds himself close far, far too fast.

He covers his mouth with his hands, flinches away as if it would make the sensation any less perfect. “Nik, Nik, sorry, please, I’m—”

And Nik rumbles into his ear again, which sends a shiver up John’s spine at the best of times. “Go ahead, lyubimy. Spill all over papochka’s lap, make yourself feel good.”

And John comes so hard he almost whites out, feeling it pulse through his balls and ooze over Nik’s fingers. Nik keeps fucking talking as John’s orgasm rocks through his core. “Good, beautiful, lovely. My wife loves me so much, miliy, that right? Getting your clit rubbed over the dinner you made for me? So fucking pretty.” John’s cock gives one more valiant twitch, Nik milking out the last of his sticky come, and then he just keeps stroking, doesn’t stop while John twitches and tries to wiggle away. Holds him down.

“Where are you going, lyubimy? I have to say thank you for the meal. Have to taste you like a good husband should.”

All John can do is groan helplessly as Nik bends him over the table. 

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author's notes:

nik's gift to john is a box of excellent cuban cigars. he forgets this until like the next day because hes too busy fucking his wife

simon helped with the cooking, kyle helped with the home decor, and soap helped with the brainstorming and logistics. team effort :3

nik's in his flight jacket and flight suit for this entire fic. gets me hard idk abt yall

boots......

[niresenrab]

Price and Nik just got home after a long mission, only for Price to immediately pass out the second the cat climbed onto the couch with him. Nikolai loves his husband and their fluffy daughter.

(For the @nikprice-gift-exchange for my secret santa @nascencee)

[phantom-lives]

For my ever tolerant santa, @mysticeclipses.

I've been told to post it here so imma do just that. Idk if you already read it or not but I hope you like/liked it and I hope whoever is curious enough to read this does too. I did my best, it's been a while since I've done a fic so don't judge me. I also don't know how to act all British.

Thank you organizers for letting me be part of this and making it possible, I feel special @nikprice-gift-exchange

Merry Christmas to everyone and enjoy the fic:

Also on AO3

-No need for those three words-

When Nikolai’s helicopter crashed, John panicked.

He knew missions had their risks but this mission had been particularly suicidal: Having to intercept a convoy carrying a potential bio weapon or gas weapon. And Nikolai had been victim of forming part of the collateral damage. An RPG headed his way and the helicopter crashed.

The whole mission itself had gone sideways, while the weapon had been secured, everything else was a mess. Injured soldiers, roads blocked with crashed cars and of course, Nikolai.

John first had to follow protocol, which meant confirming all downs and whether or not they’ve achieved their goal. As much as John had the urge to simply go out to look for Nikolai, he couldn’t.

So he followed protocol.

“Weapon’s secured, at least 3 casualties, no civilians, Nikolai’s M.I.A.” John called through his radio, voice breathy and ragged as Laswell answered.

“Nikolai got hit?”

“Aye, helicopter went down. Took an RPG.”

“Did you see where he crashed?”

“Negative.”

“Did you see if he jumped?”

John went silent. He hadn’t seen Nikolai jump, and he hoped he had “No.”

“Sending a search unit then. I suppose you wanna join them?”

“That’s right” John sighed “Permission to start ahead of them?”

“Sure.”

Problem was, John was no professional. He had no idea where to start, he had no clue where Nikolai crashed, but he could see the smoke coming from what he guessed was Nikolai’s crashed heli.

Even though he himself was injured, he guessed he was in better shape than Nikolai. He began walking, following the giant smoke, visible through trees, though that indicated the helicopter was inside the forest.

Walking through the trees, bushes and avoiding the wilderness, he felt like it took hours before he found the helicopter. It was on flames, near to exploding. He could see the helicopter was empty, which meant Nikolai had in fact jumped. Now the question was where.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Nikolai had been flying above the convoy, watching and waiting to extract John and the other soldiers. Of course, the enemies didn’t like that. With one of them on the back of a pickup, a man stood with an RPG in his hand. “Captain.”

“I see him.” John’s voice came through the comms, clearly agitated. But he was focused with the rest of the hostels that were shooting at him.

Nikolai moved away from the convoy and used flares when the beeping of his helicopter went off. They worked once, the rocket followed the heat from the flares and exploded behind Nikolai. Then the man reloaded and fired again. Nikolai used flares again. The rocket missed and exploded once more behind Nikolai. The man reloaded and fired just before John shot at him, Nikolai used the flares again but they got stuck and didn’t release.

The rocket hit the tail of the helicopter, all alarms went off in Nikolai’s cabin “Fuck, I’m hit!”. Pulling the throttle up was no use, the alarm kept blaring “pull up, terrain, terrain, pull up.”

The helicopter spun once, twice, then headed down. Smoke followed it as he came crashing onto the forest, trees catching the fall. Nikolai was unconscious momentarily before he woke up due to the scorching hot flames, cutting off his seatbelt, he got out and crawled out, panting heavily as his leg didn’t respond to him. Dragging himself away and up, he leaned against a tree before looking around and walking, limping, towards the north. Why? Because he had seen a farm there.

Fortunately, the forest wasn’t dense, so he soon was out of the trees and fell against the fence of a farmland, the nearby shepherd dog barking. That was the last he saw.

The search unit used the crash to pinpoint Nikolai’s location, using a perimeter amongst the crash and following logic, going to nearby towns and hence, farms.

They didn’t take long to find Nikolai, when one of the soldiers knocked on the door, the farmers already had an idea as to why they were here. Nikolai was put on a stretcher and loaded into a helicopter as they called in the finding “Watcher -1, this is Search Unit 42A, we’ve located your man, he’s in our corresponding aircraft, heading to base.”

Laswell responded “Status?”

“Alive yet unconscious, the medic declares there’s a possibility of several broken ribs, as well as a visible wound on his leg, impaled by a metal bar. Most reflexes are fine but he does need medical supervision upon arriving.”

“Copy that, thank you 42A” And then Laswell turned to John. “John. They found him.”

Before John could even speak, Laswell knew what he was going to ask “Alive but injured. Head to base and meet them at the medical bay.”

With only a hearable sigh, John did as told.

John arrived at the base long after Nikolai did. He immediately walked into the medical bay to look for Nikolai. He asked one of the nurses, who led him towards Nikolai and then she left.

Nikolai had just gotten out of surgery and was now resting on a bed. He wasn’t in a coma but he was unconscious. When John approached, he grabbed a seat and just sat next to the bed, staring at the man.

Nikolai and John didn’t exactly have a label. No words were said, but things were done. Kisses, intimacy. Yet, they never confirmed or denied whether this was a relationship or something casual. In a way, it was better this way. John couldn’t get caught fraternizing with a comrade, much less a man. And it’s not that he was disgusted by this, or afraid, but he’d grown around an environment that painted it as wrong. And despite the new years, it still didn’t mean they were safe to be public, not only is fraternization against regulations and they could get court martialed, but also other soldiers might not take it kindly. There was no need to say those three words that always got stuck in their throats.

Despite all, John rested his head on the edge of the bed and his hand found Nik’s, staring at him only looking away when he fell asleep.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Nik woke up with a gasp, jolting awake and sitting up in an instant, his injuries protesting and reminding him that he shouldn’t be moving. Only then did he feel a weight by his thigh. John’s head rested carefully, eyes closed. He almost didn’t look 35. Moving slowly, he placed his hand on John’s hair and slowly caressed said hair, and with a jolt, John woke up. They both stared at each other before John sighed and sat up, eyes brightening up.

“Nik, you’re awake.”

“Da.”

“I need to tell a nurse.” John stood up, hand leaving Nik’s as he walked out to look for a nurse.

Nik immediately sighed, his hand clenching the sheets gently, only easing when the nurse arrived.

The nurse checked his vitals, temperature and changed the IV bag with a new one. Then she turned to John to start explaining how Nik’s healing process would go.

Nik had to use a clutch and was off duty until the doctors confirmed he was in shape to return, so John took care of him.

Having John as a caretaker meant having him fuss over Nik like a mother hen, but in this case with a partner. He fed Nik for a few days, although he soon stopped when Nik made it clear he could eat himself. He helped him with showers and to get dressed. John still had duty so it wasn't as exaggerated as Nik made it sound, after all, there were times he missed John by his side.

So, he often had Gaz accompanying him whenever the Captain couldn’t. Gaz brought him flowers, getting him food and they played card games. One day he even bought Nik an oldie he found somewhere in the armory room while looking for ammo for the shooting range. It was a VHS, looked like it was from the 50’s and was titled “Singin’ in the Rain”.

And after watching said movie, Nik had an idea.

It was rain season, and it had constantly been raining, so one day, as soon as he heard water drops hit the window, he put his plan into motion. Everything had aligned; John would be visiting today after finishing paperwork, so he waited, watching the window until he received a message “Coming over, be there in 8”.

Nik stood up fast, grabbing his clutch from the side, putting on his slippers and using the excuse of going to the showers to leave his room. Slowly but surely, he walked outside through the back door of the medical bay, the one that led to the training field for emergency uses. Standing outside, the rain fell on him slowly, carefully. It was a gentle shower, not a full on storm. And he timed it perfectly.

As he’d predicted, John panicked as soon as he saw Nik’s room empty. He started searching around until one of the nurses told him he’d said he’d gone to the bathroom, but of course, he wasn’t there. He walked outside and looked all over the training field before he saw Nik.

John hurried over “Nik, what are you doing here?”

“Enjoying rain.”

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“They have medicines.”

“That’s not the point-”

“Dance with me.”

There was a silence between the two, Nik staring at John expectantly, John staring at Nik surprised.

“What?”

“You heard”

There was another quiet pause before John sighed, nodding. His hand moved, resting on Nik’s waist, Nik’s hand did the same. Their free hands met each other and intertwined.

“Your leg okay to move?” John asked, gaze moving to Nik’s bandaged leg.

“No.” Nik looked at the same leg, then at John again, eyes meeting.

“Lean on me.”

Nik pressed closer, his hand resting more on John’s lower back. He pressed their foreheads together and rested his leg on John’s, leaning slightly against him. John sighed, closing his eyes, Nik followed. Then John started swaying them just barely, only rocking back and forth, their breaths mingling together, feeling each other’s warmth despite the rain that fell on them.

Was it dangerous? Yes, could they get caught? Also yes, but it didn’t matter when this moment felt right, no matter how random it was.

Foots shuffled together against the wet dirt, which slowly turned into mud. John’s boots compared against Nik’s medical slippers, John’s grey t-shirt and olive camo pants against Nik’s medical gown. Nik’s face leaned down to bury itself in the crook of John’s neck, sighing against it “Spasibo, John.”

“Mm, anything for you luv.” John's voice was a whisper

They rocked together, moving in circles without actually moving from their place. And John only stopped when Nik suddenly pulled back.

Before he could ask why, if maybe he’d done something wrong, Nik sneezed against his inner arm and sighed “Maybe I get sick.”

John stared at him before shaking his head, smiling gently, that smile that made his cheekbones more visible “Lets go inside.”

When they did walk inside, they both got scolded by the nurses, especially John for 1, staying outside in the rain, 2, filling the floor with water and mud, and 3, John risking opening Nik’s injuries.

John was given spare clothes while Nik was given another clean medical gown and then they were both sent to shower. Inside, they faked going into separate stalls but in reality, they didn’t when the nurses left, John moved to Nik’s shower, closing the curtain behind them. His eyes instantly went to the stitches, and he couldn’t contain his sigh. Approaching, his hand rested on said stitches and gently caressed them, earning a grunt from Nik, which immediately let John know it hurt.

John looked up at him, worry clear in his eyes.

Before he could say something though, Nik leaned in, pressing their lips together. Both men sighed and John returned the kiss. Their lips moved together, eyes remained closed. Gentle, soft, short. They pulled back and then embraced each other.

“I am okay.” Nik murmured against John’s hair, and John, whose head was buried in Nik’s neck, nodded.

“I know..”

“You act like you don’t”

That earned him a chuckle

“Love you.” The words left John’s mouth easily, even though he’d never said them before, not to Nik.

And the other was quiet, too quiet. It made John freak out, think he’d messed up.

“tozhe tebya lyublyu.” Nik murmured and John understood nothing, but he didn’t have to ask to know Nik had said the same.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

John asks Nik for help with a private matter.

cw: bear hybrid Nikprice, omegaverse, mention of arousal. Merry Christmas, @callsign-selkie! For the @nikprice-gift-exchange.

Brown bears no longer existed in Britain.

That's what Nik’s mother had told him as a boy, anyway. They were hunted to extinction over a thousand years ago. So, imagine Nik's surprise when a young brown bear had sat down next to him in a bar one evening and asked him whether he'd like a pint and a chat, his British accent carrying the harder edge of a northerner despite his best efforts to train it out.

He was stunning, with fierce blue eyes and a strong, powerful body hidden inside his padded jacket. His scent was mouthwatering, virile; an omega. Every instinct in Nik's body had fired, like the young bear’s presence had flicked a switch and awoken a part of him that had long since gone dormant because he had believed, heart and soul, he was doomed to be alone forever. But fate had seen fit to place another brown bear in his path; handsome, roguish and, Nik quickly discovered, brilliant.

John Price kept his soft ears hidden under a hat. Most people assumed he was a large dog, perhaps even a wolf, but Nik had known the moment he'd sat down. Of course they would send another bear to tempt him over. But an extinct one? It had been too good an opportunity to pass up. Nik had tested him a little, but he had made up his mind by the time that cold pint had hit the bar.

Nik was meant to be extinct too; ursus arctos beringianus, the Kamatchka brown bear or, more simply, Bergman's bear, named after the Swedish zoologist that had found the pelt of one of his ancestors in the 1920s. They were both the last of their kind. Within months, Nik knew he needed this handsome, strong, cunning…

“...krasivyy.”

“Wot you lookin’ at?”

Nik blinked out of his reverie as John returned to their table with a pint in each hand. The captain had twisted to peer over his shoulder at the rest of the pub, and Nik realised he had said that last part out loud.

Nik smiled. “Well, it is not the pint in your hand, captain.”

There was a red flush on cheeks as he sat down, the thud of heavy pint glasses dulled by the beer mats beneath their base. The blush couldn't be from the cold. There was thick condensation on the pub windows, the fire roaring high in the grate, and John had been queuing at the bar for well over ten minutes. Nik wrapped his palm around the cold stout, thumb brushing over the etched logo on the side of the glass as he watched John fall into the chair and gulp down half his drink.

“Ahh, tha’s the spot,” John sighed as he leaned forward, wiping the foam from his moustache with the grasp of his palm. Nik saw the top of his beanie hat twitch as his ears moved beneath, and he longed to swipe it from John's head to free them. They softened his face in a way that made Nik ache, and he wishes John was freer with them.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. More customers poured through the doors, dressed in Christmas jumpers and stomping the snow from their boot-treads. Nik pretended to watch others while savouring John's scent over the bleached wood and stale beer odour of the bar, and John gazed at the screens along the walls for the latest scores. But Nik got the sense he wasn't really watching. It was the way his eyes moved, casting to the side like he was forgetting the ruse, his fingers tapping lightly against his arm. He was… preparing.

“What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?” Nik prompted.

John sniffed, considering his glass as if contemplating another drink to ward off the question, before he finally sighed. “I… uh, we’re uh… we’re good friends, yeah?”

“Of course,” Nik said.

“Nik, I… I got some bad news from my last medical,” John continued, and cleared his throat. His eyes widened a fraction when he looked up, because Nik's face must have failed to mask his horror. “No, no, bloody ‘ell, nuffin’ like… it ain't cancer, Nik.”

“Blyat, John… you are an arsehole for leading with that.”

“Yeah, fair,” he said, smile faint. “Look uh… the medic says my readings aren't healthy for a bear my age. She says I'm… it's like my body is agin’ faster, workin’ too hard. S’not just the stress. It’s… she says I need to uh… I need to hibernate.”

Nik was rendered momentarily speechless. John was studiously avoiding his gaze, picking at the edge of his beer mat instead. When Nik finally found his voice, he couldn't much restrain his exasperation. “When was the last time?”

John didn't answer. He glanced to the side.

“John…”

“Fuckin’ ell, ol'right, it was… I was fifteen.”

“Twenty. Three. Years,” Nik grated out, his heart dropping through his stomach. “John, this is self harm.”

“I didn't c’m’ere for a lecture, Nikolai. Lay off…”

“Why?”

“Why I don't want a lecture?”

“No, why have you not hibernated in twenty-three years? How are you still functioning?” Nik had forgot his pint, he was leaning forward now, studying John’s every hair, the lines in his face, the exhaustion so clear in his blue eyes. It was in that examination that he could see John shutting down, shutting him out. Nik swallowed, and put a proverbial foot in the door. “Tell me how I can help.”

John didn't answer immediately. His nail scratched at the edge of the beer mat, his shoulders tense, and then he sighed; long and slow, like the air in his lungs had been keeping him stable. “I need you t’... Come wiv me, to the uh, to the cabin I've booked for it.”

“You do not wish to hibernate in your flat.”

John shook his head. “S’too noisy. Postman, traffic, next door… too much goin’ on. But, uh… I won't be able to sleep, if there's no one watchin' my back.”

Nik's heart stuttered a little in his chest. John wouldn't be able to relax without someone he trusted watching over him. Hibernation was a bear’s most vulnerable time. Even in heat, an omega could rip the throat out of an unwanted mate and leave them bleeding out in the snow. But in hibernation? John would be thoroughly defenceless.

“I wouldn' trouble you wiv it, but I… uh, I ain’t got anyone who… and, uh… doctor says it's going to start affectin’ my operational viability. Threatened groundin’ me with permanent desk duty.”

This was hard for John. Nik could see it in the tightness of his jaw and the way his shoulders rose a little, defensive. Nik swallowed his first instinct to make light of it, dropping his eyes to search for a sincere answer that wouldn't sound trite. “When do we leave?”

John looked up sharply. “Really? S’two weeks, Nik. Two weeks of sittin’ on watch duty.”

“The perfect holiday. I am due one and I have a to-read list longer than one of Laswell's missions reports.”

“Cor, that's long…”

“Da,” Nik said, seriously.

John licked his lips, blue eyes shifting from side to side as he looked at the table, before lifting again. This time there was a smile crinkling at the corners, his cheeks perked up. “Cheers, Nik. It's next weekend,” he lifted his glass, “I owe ya.”

“Anything for a pretty face,” Nik said, lifting his pint to meet John's before taking a drink. He almost missed the flush that had spread all the way down John's neck. Almost.

-+-

The cabin was nice. There was a single open plan floor with a raised mezzanine floor for the bedroom that sat at the top of spiralling wooden stairs. The sofas and armchairs were wide and deep, with furs and throws over the arms, a heaving bookcase, a dining table with four chairs, and a huge fireplace framed by an ornate mantle piece.

There was a Morrisons order waiting for them on the porch when they arrived, Nik's helo parked neatly in the clearing behind the hut. Nik cracked a bottle of wine as they put the shopping away in the cupboards, and there was a roaring fire in the grate by the time they had got to the bottom of it. The snow was already well past their ankles, and they were due more overnight. There was running water and electricity, much to Nik's relief, and Nik showered while John went out back to chop some more wood before the sun set completely.

Bedding down was an easy rhythm to fall into. They had shared a safehouse many times and a bed more often than Nik could count, but they had never managed to cross the threshold to something more. Something Nik yearned for, and so did John. Nik could feel it. John was closed off and reserved when it came to intimacy; he patted and scruffed his men, sat back to back with them smoking cigars and sharing drink, but there had never been a mate. Not in the fifteen years Nik had known him. Such a thing required a vulnerability he feared.

When John returned, sweat clammy on his skin beneath his multiple layers, Nik was already cooking their supper. John had been feeding up for two weeks - a whole week before he had even asked for Nik to join him - and this would be his final meal before he slept. Nik listened to the slosh of shower water above his head over the simmering of the pan, and began dishing up a handful of minutes after he heard the squeak of the tap closing. Hungarian goulash; simple, hearty.

John appeared at the kitchen counter about five minutes later, dressed in a white cotton t-shirt and flannel trousers. His figure was fuller than usual, the significant number of extra calories padding him out in preparation for two weeks without food. He looked delicious, mouth-watering, his thick tits testing his t-shirt, his belly sat on top of his waistband. Nik bit his lower lip and paused mid-spoonful to admire.

“Sommat on m’face?” John asked, rubbing his hand over his beard self-consciously.

“I think I prefer you with a fuller figure. You look…”

“Like a middle-aged dad.”

“Mm, perhaps that is it. Fatherhood would suit you.”

“Nik, I’d be bloody shit at it.”

Nik slid a full plate over the kitchen counter as John climbed into the first stool. “I disagree. Beer?"

“Yeah, g’won then.”

They talked softly as they ate, John remarking on the beauty of the view as he had chopped wood and Nik agreeing to admire it while he slept. It would be pretty in the summer too. Perhaps they could come back and enjoy the lake, the fishing. They were deep in the Scottish Highlands, civilization and society left far, far behind so that a bear could sleep in peace.

After dinner, they played a game of cards by the fire and finished their drinks. It had been a long day of travelling and it didn't take long for John's eyes to start growing heavy. He tried to resist it, pacing by the windows, checking the lock on the door, rummaging through their supplies. Nik flicked on the kettle and left John to fidget until he had a steaming mug in his hand. “John, here,” he said as he held it out.

John looked at the broth like Nik was offering poison, his mouth pressed in a thin line, and took it gingerly in one hand. He blew across the surface needlessly, because Nik had made it only warm enough to dissolve the herbs and powders they used. The broth would trigger hibernation in lieu of the natural rhythms they had lost through centuries of evolution. The urges and needs were still there, but the chemistry was all gone. Well, most of it. John drank the concoction down in several gulps, wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth with a grimace. “Was there honey in that?”

“Da, my mother's recipe.”

John nodded mutely, scruffing a hand over his head and looking hesitantly at the sofa. He was expecting to drop into sleep instantly, his shoulders and back rigid with tension.

Nik placed the mug on the kitchen counter and held out his hand. “Do you trust me still?”

“Course, Nik…” John said, although his hands didn't move.

“Let me help. It is easier if you stop fighting.”

“‘m not fightin’. Here, an’I?”

“You look like you are expecting Makarov at any moment,” Nik said, eyes crinkling. “Let me help,” he insisted again.

John hesitated, a wave of tension passing down his spine, and then, slowly, he placed his hand in Nik's palm, a resigned sigh rattling from his chest. Nik led him up the twisting stairs to the bed, dropping his hand only to lift his own shirt over his head and crawl beneath the furs. When he looked back, John's face had flushed from more than the warmth of the cabin.

“It is simple biology,” he said. “The scent and heat of an alpha you trust will help your body let go. It will help it realise it is safe.”

“Bloody ‘ell, Nik… I…” John swayed, and Nik surged up to catch him. “Fuck… wossat.? Nik... I'm...”

“It is strong, but if you stay awake, you will feel sick and dizzy, come. There… easy, John.”

Nik helped John beneath the blankets and furs, gathering him close to his side. The feel of John’s body against him, the soft give of his belly, the curve of his tits, was a sweet torture. One of John's ears twitched across his nose as John rested his head against Nik's chest, tension easing from his body slowly, his breathing hitched and reluctant. Nik tried not to imagine turning him onto his back and spreading his thighs, but it was a lost cause as his cock twitched against his own.

“S’good shit, ya ma’s brew,” John said, his voice melting into a slight slur, heart rate slowing.

“She was a big believer in the importance of good hibernation. It is, what do you say, a family heirloom.”

Nik chanced it. He curled his arm up and pushed his fingers into John's hair, claws raking gently over his scalp, fingers and thumb shifting over the fur of his ear when he reached one. It was softer, plusher, than he'd ever hoped; thick brown fur streaked with tufts of red. Full, and round, and perfect.

The stubborn bear pressed against him shivered, one leg shifting over the top of Nik's as he curled closer. His eyes were still flickering, straining to stay open, even as his breathing slowed. “Nik, I… don't… don't leave…”

“I will not.”

“Don't… leave…”

“Let go, John. I will be here.”

“Don–...”

John's claws had been pressing slightly into the skin of Nik’s chest, and now his hands loosened. The tension melted slowly from his body as his consciousness sank into the deep, warm bliss of hibernation coaxing him deeper. Nik continued to stroke John's ears, his hair, until his body was completely lax, and then, with great reluctance, he began to extract himself, replacing the warmth of his body with pillows and blankets.

If the press of John's body hasn't made him hard, then the picture of him sleeping peacefully would have. It was something about the vulnerability. The openness of John's face and body. All that strength rendered beautifully soft. Nik took a deep breath through his nose, filling his head with the scent of John and woodsmoke. If he was lucky, John might hit a heat cycle when he woke and want…

Nik squeezed his eyes shut. Best not to hope. But absolutely fine to dream. He covered his sleeping omega with the duvet just as the first flakes of that night's snowfall settled on the frosted windowpanes.

[nekrosmos]

This is my NikPrice winter exchange gift to @profgamer ! I went with an Alpha x Alpha NikPrice idea, sorry the piece has to be censored to please mighty tumblr guidelines.

Uncensored version can be found here or here

I hope you'll like the piece, thank you to @nikprice-gift-exchange for organizing this and happy holidays !! 🎁​🐻​

[hatsbuckets]

A Gift, Perhaps

My @nikprice-gift-exchange gift!! To the awesome and wonderful and amazing @on-a-lucky-tide! Happy Holidays, Jack!! Hope you enjoy!

cw: 18+ soft smut nikprice. lieutenant!price x nikolai first time. grumpy price. them being gently. nik leads. making out and hand jobs and blow job. they're sweet on each other and the make me wanna puke (affectionate) word count: uh about 1750 me thinks a/n: I'm fucking shaking. so is Price bc I keep putting his ass in the cold and he hates the cold.

AO3 Link (i'll upload there it after my flight <3)

December settles in gently, calm drifts of snow and cold that seeps into the walls and lingers. Their base of operations, a small house just north of Prague, smells like cheap pine cleaner and something burnt in the kitchenette, and someone—Johnson, probably, after his half-hour spent rummaging in the attic—has strung a line of mismatched Christmas lights along the exposed beam in the lounge. They blink lazily, red and green and one stubborn white bulb that refuses to so much as flash.

It’s ridiculous. Whimsical, even.

Lieutenant John Price hardly acknowledges it. In fact, he looks more pissed off than anything.

He stands near the bedroom's doorway with his arms folded, jaw set, watching the others make the best of it.

Someone’s produced a dented tin of biscuits. There’s laughter echoing off the wood.

They won’t make it home this year. Everyone knows it.

So they decorate instead, scavenged tinsel looped over their weapons crate, a paper star taped crookedly to the wall.

Nikolai approaches him from the edge of the room with two mismatched glasses in hand, amber catching the blink of the lights as he weaves around a folding chair.

He looks young—still older than most men here, including Price—stripped of his coat, dark hair falling loose around his face. The bomber jacket he's wearing is unzipped just enough to show the line of his throat, pale against the worn collar of his shirt.

He offers one of the drinks to Price. Price shakes his head once, curt. Nikolai hums, unbothered, and takes a sip from his own, eyes never quite leaving him.

“Cheerful,” Nikolai murmurs, settling against the wall beside him, voice warm with amusement.

Price grunts. “If you say so.”

Nikolai’s been drifting in and out all evening, an informant still, not quite one of them, but close enough now that no one questions his presence.

At least… not with Lieutenant Price around.

Nik's sleeves are rolled, shoes off and in one of the duffle bags around the room, relaxed in a way Price never quite manages, even here, even tonight.

“You look offended,” Nikolai says, leaning closer. “Like someone has personally insulted you with… what is this?” He plucks at a strand of tinsel. “Festive spirit?”

Price shoots him a look. “It's called tinsel," he huffs. "We’re on deployment.”

“And it is December,” Nikolai replies easily. “These things are not mutually exclusive.”

Price opens his mouth to argue, then stops, opting to roll his eyes instead.

Price can't stand the cold. Never has.

December used to mean a couple of stolen days off-base, a fire going in his flat, boots kicked aside. A pint in a familiar pub. Warmth earned and predictable.

This—standing in a half-frozen safehouse on active deployment while someone tapes decorations to a wall—is not that. This is exposure. This is waiting. This is pretending that blinking lights can make up for the fact that they're exactly where they shouldn't be.

Cold is deadly. And snow deadlier when it traps twenty good men in a small house for too long.

His hands ache, fingers stiff from the cold that’s settled into his bones. He shoves them into his pockets, shoulders hunching despite himself.

Nikolai notices.

Silently, he reaches out and takes Price’s hands, tugging them free. Price stiffens, glances around, but no one’s looking.

The fire crackles. Someone laughs.

Nikolai cups Price’s hands between his own and lifts them, breath warm as he blows gently across Price’s knuckles. Nikolai steps back, drawing Price into the bedroom.

“Christ,” Price mutters.

Nikolai does it again, slower this time, eyes flicking up to Price’s face. Their gazes catch and hold. Something familiar and dangerous and suddenly impossible to ignore drifts in the space between them.

“Mmm, it is all good for morale.” Nikolai says softly. "Fire and light."

Price swallows, quirking a brow. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much,” Nikolai admits, smiling. “You are funny when you sulk.”

Price huffs, a breath of a laugh he doesn’t quite mean to let out. His hands are warmer now. So is everything else.

They stand there, close enough that Price can feel the heat of Nikolai’s body. December—the cold, the warmth, the light, the quiet—presses in around them, the hum of the safehouse. And if Price allows it, perhaps the fleeting mercy of a night that asks nothing more of them.

Nikolai leans in, slow and unmistakable, giving Price every chance to stop it.

Price closes the gap.

The kiss is gentle, almost tentative, more of a question. Nikolai’s mouth is warm and unhurried. When Price pulls back, it’s only an inch, breath catching.

“This—” Price starts, then stops. The weight of it settles in all at once.

Nikolai nods, expression softening, understanding written across his face. “We do not have to,” he says quietly, setting his drink down on a windowsill. Then, after a beat, with a hint of something hopeful beneath it, “But… it is Christmas. Perhaps a gift.”

Price exhales, eyes closing for half a second.

“Just—” he murmurs. “Just tonight.”

Nikolai’s smile is gentle. “Of course.”

The second kiss is deeper. Hungrier. Hands come up without thinking, Price’s fisting in Nikolai’s jacket, Nikolai’s sliding warm and sure at Price’s waist. It’s desperate, something long denied, two men finally giving in to what’s been circling them for years.

It feels a little reckless. It feels a little earned.

[Smut below]

Nikolai closes the door behind them with a quiet click. Price slides the lock home.

Price's hands hover at his sides. Nikolai watches him from across the small space, eyes soft in the low light.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Price mutters.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re… expecting something.”

Nikolai hums. “I’m not. I am hoping.”

Price exhales through his nose. “That so.”

The silence stretches. Nikolai steps forward slowly, like approaching a skittish animal. He touches Price’s arm, light as anything, fingers brushing over the fabric of his sleeve.

“We can stop,” he says, voice low. “You know that.”

Price looks at him, the lines around his mouth, the slight shine of sweat at his temple, the calm in his eyes. He’s solid. He means it.

Price nods once. “Not stoppin’,” he says. “Just… slow.”

“Mm, good,” Nikolai replies, and leans in.

They kiss carefully this time. Nikolai opens his mouth to him, warm and steady, and Price sinks into it by degrees.

One hand finds Nikolai’s jaw. The other grips his waist. There’s space between them, electric and waiting.

When they break apart, Price’s mouth is red, his cheeks a little flush. He stares down at Nikolai like he’s just realized something and doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

“I’m no good at this,” he mutters.

“You’re doing fine,” Nikolai says. “Better than fine.”

“Shut up.”

Nikolai smiles.

They undress without ceremony, not trying to make a show of it. Price gets as far as his thermal shirt and boxers before he pauses, hesitating beside the bed.

“We’re gonna be sore enough in the mornin’,” he says, frowning at the mattress.

“I wasn’t planning to fuck you, Johnathan,” Nikolai replies mildly, then smiles. “Not yet.”

Price’s ears go a little red. “…Right.”

They lie down. The bed creaks. It’s barely wide enough to hold them both. Price breathes in slow through his nose.

Nikolai leans in, kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the side of his neck.

“Let me take care of you,” he says softly.

Price doesn’t answer, but he tilts his head to let Nik kiss and nip at the skin there.

Nikolai slips lower, fingers skating down the line of Price’s stomach, over the thin fabric of his briefs. He palms him through the material and Price shudders.

It’s rare anyone touches him like this. It’s rarer still that he lets them.

He’s hard, has been since the door closed behind them, and Nikolai slides down between his thighs, eyes dark, lips parted, and Price watches him like he doesn’t quite believe what’s happening.

When Nikolai mouths him through the fabric, warm and wet, Price chokes on a breath, one hand flying to Nik's shoulder.

“You don’t have to—” he starts.

Nikolai pulls the waistband down.

The first press of lips around him is almost too much.

Nikolai is unhurried, dragging his tongue along the underside, taking him in slow and steady, until Price’s hips twitch and his breath stutters.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price murmurs, hand tightening in the sheets.

Nikolai’s eyes flick up to him. He hums around him, and Price’s hips roll despite himself.

"Ah—fuck. Nik."

Nikolai moans in satisfaction. Price's nails dig into Nik's shoulder. Each swallowed moan and strangled breath he draws from Price only fuels his greed.

Taking with patience and reverence until Price reaches down.

"Wait. Fuck—fuck, Nik, wait. Wait."

Nikolai pulls off immediately, lips wet. “Okay. Are you—?"

Price's hand slides to the back of Nikolai's neck and tugs.

Nik moves, climbing up over Price until they’re chest to chest again, breath mingling. He kisses him deep, then reaches down between them.

One warm, steady hand wraps around both of them. Cocks pressed together, his thumb swiping slowly across the heads, slick spreading easily between them.

Price groans in his throat, mouth breaking from the kiss, head tipping back against the mattress.

Nikolai moves his hand in long, practiced strokes. His hips roll with the rhythm, dragging them both closer. Price’s fingers curl into Nikolai’s back.

Nikolai does take his eyes off him. And Price is trapped in those endless dark eyes like a moon to gravity.

That’s the worst part, maybe. Or the best.

Price doesn’t know.

"Fuck—Nikolai—" Price's eyes squeeze shut as he comes. His spend smears hot between them,

Nikolai slows, watches him ride out the high, hips rutting lazily into his own hand.

Nikolai finishes with a soft groan, hips jerking, cock twitching in his palm, his release mixing with the rest across the trail of hair on Price's stomach.

He exhales, head dropping to Price’s shoulder.

They breathe.

Eventually, Nikolai lifts his hand, wipes it with his shirt and tosses it aside. He rolls off to the side only far enough to not crush Price, but stays close. A blanket is dragged over them again. His hand settles on Price’s chest, fingers brushing along the hair there.

"Good?"

Price hums. "Sure."

"Good gift?"

Price doesn't answer, but he exhales, deflating under Nik. Nikolai just keeps his hand gently brushing against his chest.

“…should shower.” Price whispers eventually.

“Mm, perhaps,” Nikolai murmurs, eyes already closed. “Perhaps after short nap.”

“…Right.”

Price closes his eyes too.

And maybe… maybe he doesn’t mind the cold.

[oncosis]

NikPrice Winter Gift Exchange

Something Green, Something Red

Happy holidays and early Merry Christmas to @phantom-lives, I hope you'll enjoy this silly, cozy fic from me :3 There is also an extended version of this fic that is scheduled to post tonight. Many thanks to @lucy-stone for proofreading my fic <3

Tags: maximum fluff (no angst I PROMISE), alcohol Summary: John pays a visit to Nikolai during the festive season Word count: 2,187 words @nikprice-gift-exchange

Dividers by @/cursed-carmine

Also available in Ao3

John has been pacing around his office for the past half hour or so.

On his desk sat a plain brown paper box with a red tape at the corner, which, upon closer inspection, has been peeled and reapplied multiple times.

In his effort to try to make the gift more festive, John wanted to add a sprig of pine to the gift box.

…Or not.

He taped it. Removed it. Taped it back again. Flattened the leaves. Removed and threw it to the bin. Retrieved it from the bin. Taped it back again at a different angle.

He exhaled sharply. "This is ridiculous."

"You're telling me," Ghost drawled from the doorway which made the old man jumped.

"Christ, when—"

"I've been here for the last 10 minutes," Ghost replied with a dry tone. "You're nesting, sir."

"Oh, don't start."

But Ghost had already crossed the room with that slow, deliberate swagger of someone who clearly lived to instigate.

He looked down at the box, then at Price, then at the box again.

"Nik, eh?"

"None of your business."

"Keep the pine, makes it romantic."

"It's not romantic, it's—"

"Christmas gift, you've unwrapped and wrapped the present four times and fought with the leaf with even more time."

"Didn't," Price mumbled, tweaking the pine to turn juuuust a bit more to the left.

"Just go see him."

"I'm thinking."

"Overthinking that he won't like the present."

"It's a possibility."

"He crashed the heli for you multiple times."

"That's different."

"Is it?" Ghost shot him that deadpanned look again.

Price glared and rubbed his face. "Get out."

Why was he nervous? He'd gone through the trouble of securing the gift from across the globe just because Nikolai once rambled about the old Soviet designs after three sips of whisky.

No, he wasn't worry about the gift.

"It's not a damn proposal." Ghost grumbled softly this time, like Price wasn't pacing his office for the nth time.

"…You never know with Nik," Price whispered, but Ghost only snorted behind his mask before finally shoving him towards the door.

The air outside bit at John's cheeks once he stepped out of warm cab. He clutched the gift box unnecessarily tight under his arm, checking every few minutes and adjusting the pine again and again, as if the tape would somehow dislodge itself or the leaf would fly away because the wind was strong on that particular walkway.

John thought he was done, that the gift was long sorted, his nerves have been dulled by the frosty air. He was well on his way to surprise his frie—

Lover. (He corrected internally with a blush)

Until he caught sight of himself in the reflection of a window.

A grown man, holding nothing but a plain brown box that houses something that was perhaps, at his slow, mortifying realization…something suddenly childish and—

Not enough.

His gaze drifted to the other pedestrians on the street. Some carried bouquets wrapped in bright colours, some carried boxes of fancy pastries, some held gift bags stuffed with tissue papers.

Shoes. Scarves. Things with ribbons, frills and jolly-green tags.

Proper, Christmas-coded holiday gifts.

His gift, on the other hand…was meant to be simple.

Because John told himself Nik wasn't the type to fuss. Because he didn't want to come off too…eager. Because…because…Gods— because he didn't know what he was doing.

He could have gone all out, thought about it.

Shiny green present paper with red hollies pattern, with a glossy card printed with his wishes, signed and tied neatly on the left.

Nik would've loved it.

…Maybe?

John didn't know. He didn't even know if Nik properly celebrated Christmas. All he knew was they shared drinks in the years past, leaning on bar counters while holiday lights blinked around them, laughing and admiring the loud, buzzing chaos of the season.

It wasn't the same as celebrating.

So John does what he defaults to, playing it safe.

Regrettably, too safe.

With a newfound panic, he veered himself into a cramped shop at the corner, decorated in festive cheer with balloons, ornaments and bells, with the typical painfully loud Jingle Bells blasted from all angles. It was one of those cramped little places that sold everything and nothing.

His eyes darted across shelves, a little bit frantic as he mentally crosses out items by items. Snow globes. Chocolates. Candles. Socks. Magazines. Socks again but in blue—

Wine bottles.

Not the most luxurious and certainly not a lavish selections of red wine, but…

Adult enough. Christmas-y enough.

He grabbed the fanciest-looking one his eyes could settle on; It's got gold lettering, a nice red bow, a dark label, and looks expensive if you don't stare at it too long.

He paid in a hurry without waiting for change.

The snow deepened near the hangar path, settling into a thick, powdery blanket that covered the landscape. Pointed pieces of ice hanged off tree branches and grass blades poking through the white shine under the pale winter light.

John trudged through it patiently, boots sinking a little with every step on the familiar path, breath puffing in and out of his bundled form.

He looked down when the wine bottle knocked against his chest, inspecting it in annoyance, glaring at the label as if seeing it now would somehow make it look more expensive.

Nope.

For a split second, he consideredtossing the wine into the lines of trees to his right (maybe the grizzly bears would enjoy it) and turn back to get another better bottle.

(Fortunately, the sensible part of his brain not fully frozen over chimed in with reason and decided, no, he was already late to a visit that neither of them had scheduled.)

Nikolai straightened from where he was leaning over an engine panel when the metal door groaned open, his eyes softened immediately when he sees him.

Properly bundled to the ears, coat dusted with snow, hair messy from the wind. Red nose, redder cheeks…

John stomped once, twice, shaking off snow and muttering something British and offended under his breath like a disgruntled bear, probably something about soggy boots.

Nik could feel the fluster beneath the grumble and shyness under John's scowl even before he descended the stairs. The man carried a box and bottle with hesitation, like John wasn't sure he should be here, even though he had always showed up unannounced.

Nikolai gathered it may be because this was his first visit after being official.

Cute.

"John." Nik called warmly, smiling wider when he saw John's beard dotted with melting frost now that he has finally reached ground level with him.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," John mumbled the words Nik anticipated.

"You could never interrupt." Nik replied simply.

Price's red-tipped ears warmed painfully at that.

"Bought ah…sum…" John shoved the box and bottle forward.

The single sprig of pine, the damn leaf he'd taped and fussed over a hundred bloody times, slipped off slowly and landed on top of Nikolai's boot.

Of course it did.

The tape stopped sticking.

Nik, seemingly oblivious to John's silently murderous stare at the offending sprig, simply bent down and picked it up, happily plopping it back on the box where it belonged.

The Russian's brown eyes returned to John, taking him in slowly, fond, as if The Johnathan Price Himself was the real present, and not the bundle and bottle in his arms.

"Wot?" John grumbled out, feeling sheepish under the weight of Nik's eyes.

Nikolai, to his relief, just shook his head and rolled the bottle of wine in his hands, reading the label and smiled like he was handed gold.

"Perfect."

"It's a cheap red…"

"Ah, but it is perfect for glintveyn," Nik corrected gently. "I was about to make some tonight, needed a wine exactly like this one," he tapped the bottle with delight.

Price stared at him in disbelief and relief, mentally glad he didn't toss the bottle to the bears.

Then, Nik reached for the second package, peeling off the brown wrapper (somehow securing the pine on it) to reveal the gift.

Nikolai held his breath.

He had seen hundreds of planes and machines alike in his life, many aircraft gutted down to their bare skeleton, loud engines that roared menacingly and rotor blades that could slice the sky in half— but none of them compared to the little Mi-24 Hind sitting in his palms.

Because, it was not just a toy in his hand. Because, under the assembly of plastic and paint, he could see John Price.

He imagined John bent over his desk late at night, glasses perched low on his nose as he read the manuals with focus. The kit came in pieces no larger than a coin, just the idea of John holding a tiny rotor between his thumb and forefinger and cursing for fuck's sake when it slipped already had Nik smiling helplessly.

John didn't have surgeon's hands. They were big, warm, build for shoving men against walls and handle recoils from rifles.

Those hands would've cramped. But knowing John, he would've just shake out his wrist and gone right back to applying glue in tight spaces without wasting a single second with a determined set of jaws.

Nikolai turned the helicopter around gently, the green paintwork had uneven strokes with crooked red star patterns. It was a few shades off military standard, like Price had mixed the colour by instinct rather than following the instruction sheet.

"боже мой…John," he brushed the little gun mount. "You drive the Mi like a beast, but this? this…you build with heart."

Price swallowed hard, sniffed, rolling on his heels and kicked the invisible snow off his left boot.

"Just a toy, Nik. Yer mentioned about it last time."

"Yes," Nik moved to hang the helicopter carefully above his worktable with a bit of twine. "Once."

John tore his eyes away from Nik's flexing arm and let his gaze wandered instead, pausing when he noticed a neatly wrapped red box under the table.

A "JP" marked on the surface of said box.

"…fer me?" he whispered, picking it up slowly.

Nikolai's guilty smile said everything.

"Unbelievable," Price breathed, realising Nik prepped ahead of time.

"You think of everything."

"I had faith you would show up," Nik shrugged as he looped the twine around the hook twice, "And Englishmen…they love their celebrations."

"…And do you?"

"Hm?"

"Do you, uh…celebrate, Nik?" John mumbled, smoothing his hand across the wrapped box slowly, pinkie twitching with nerves he couldn't quite hide.

For a moment, Nik searched for words, rolling the question slowly around his palm, brushing the dust from his gloves.

"No, I do not," he admitted gently in an apologetic tone, not wanting to disappoint.

John's brows twitched, not lifting his head up from his gift. "…Roite."

"But…" Nik continued, stepping closer till their shoulders touched.

"I like the joy. The parts people share."

Nikolai's eyes slowly dragged up from the gift to those blue eyes, and John felt the air left his lungs instantly when Nik slowly leaned in.

"The lights, the food, the gifts…"

Nikolai was staring at John's lips, which parted eagerly despite his own nerves.

"…The company—"

Clatter.

The little helicopter slid off the hook, Nik fetching it just in time before it fell.

Unable to hide his annoyance at having their moment interrupted, Nikolai grunted, mumbling unintelligible words that sounded like Russian curses under his breath.

John breathed out shakily, equally irritated.

Both men stared at the dangling toy, which bobbed left and right tauntingly.

"It's hanging real low, mate." John moved and adjusted the twine.

Nik squinted up at it, picking up the greens, the reds...

His eyes flickered with a bright mischievous idea, overcome with the desire to carry out an old tradition, purely inspired by the similar colour scheme alone.

"Hm, it looks like a mistletoe from this angle."

John opened his mouth to deny that— no, it bloody didn't —but Nik's teasing look stopped him.

"That is how your…English tradition works, da?" his smirk widen as he pulled Price to his side again.

"Stand under something green and then—"

"That's barely—"

Nik leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of John's lips, finishing the thought himself.

John froze.

Nikolai froze four seconds later, as if just realizing his actions too late.

John lets out a low exhale, nudging the toy out of the way and grabbed Nikolai's coat, kissing him properly on the lips.

He pulled back after a beat, smirking when Nikolai stared in bewilderment.

"Yeah," he licked his lips slowly, rendering the Russian speechless. "Somethin' like that."

Nik's breath stuttered, letting out a disbelieving chuckle as they pressed their foreheads together for a moment, basking in John's cheeky smile.

He always knew how to catch him off guard…

"Stay." Nik whispered quietly with his eyes softened in ways that made John feel seen down to his bones.

"Mmh," John nodded, "wouldn't want to skip out on the mulled wine."

"Of course, of course…that is the only reason you stay, солнышко."

He always knew how to catch him off guard…

"Stay." Nik whispered quietly with his eyes softened in ways that made John feel seen down to his bones.

"Mmh," John nodded, "wouldn't want to skip out on the mulled wine."

"Of course, of course…that is the only reason you stay, солнышко."

[jgvfhl]

Lovers' Tiff with A Side of Veggies

Behold, my gift for the @nikprice-gift-exchange 2025 winter edition! I was tasked with gifting @imallergictomyself some nikprice goodness, and I am here to deliver! I went with the character study prompt (with a hint? a sprinkling? of internalized something idk if it's homophobia in this case....), and I hope this is something you'll enjoy. Link to this story on Ao3 here!

John wasn’t even sure he knew what this fight was even about anymore. He wasn’t even sure it was still a fight, or that it had been one to begin with. But when two men with more military training than socialization tried to “talk something out,” it sounded an awful lot like an argument. It had started slowly, a quiet build-up of passive remarks from Nik when he’d come back to the flat after a month tangled up in the latest mission his group had completed. He’d been damn near chipper on the phone from the airbase after touching down, so clearly, the job had gone well. John had been grinning right along with him just listening to him after the limited contact during the time he’d been away.

Making dinner had seemed a nice surprise, in his mind. He knew how draining missions could be, even the wildly successful ones. He knew how much Nik had invested in his operators, in his work, in all he did, and that investment hardly stopped at time and money. Just like John, he cared about the work, and that could take its own toll. Besides, Nik had done the same for him time and time again. Countless nights, mostly just back on base in the shitty little kitchen there, making sure he had something hot on his plate when he needed it. Probably showing off at first, earlier in their relationship. Some confounded method to impress upon John that he was everything someone could want—not that John had needed much convincing in wanting, more in the taking and having. But those early days were a few years behind them now.

All of this in his mind, John could not for the life of him figure out why Nik seemed upset that he had started preparing a meal. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island, but they might as well have been across the fucking English Channel, considering the utter lack of understanding between them right now.

Half of dinner was halfway ready around John. A baking pan of chopped carrots, sprouts, and potatoes, all seasoned and oiled, was waiting to get into the pre-heated oven. A pair of steaks, likewise prepared, were ready to sear and join the veggies afterwards. Was it a terribly exciting meal? No, but considering a few months ago, John had been worried about burning anything that wasn’t just-add-water, he had been looking forward to the two of them enjoying the fruits of his labor.

“Nik, I don’t need supervision chopping vegetables!” he said sharply, gesturing to the vegetables.

“No, of course not,” Nik allowed, but it wasn’t convincing. He’d barely settled in since coming in the door a few minutes ago. His bag was by the door, but his shoes and jacket were still on.

“Then why on Earth would it have occurred to me to wait for you to get home to start cutting vegetables?” John asked, throwing his arms out to the side. He hated raising his voice with Nik, absolutely hated it, but the man was being completely obtuse.

“It’s not that long to wait!”

He exhaled through his nose, looking up to the ceiling for any clarity. He found none. “Look, I asked you on the phone if all this was good for dinner—” he said, once again gesturing to the food around him.

“It is good,” Nik cut in, a bit indignant perhaps. He knew that John knew what his favorite meals were, and this one ranked fairly high. There was still something shifty in his expression, though, and it was driving John absolutely mad.

“Oh, bloody fantastic, it’s good,” he responded with a bit too much sarcasm. “Then what th’ fuck’s the problem with it right now?” Nik’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t get any words out. “What, ‘s’it the wrong cut o’ meat, then?” John went on, struggling to keep his voice down, and only somewhat succeeding. “Y’want bloody purple carrots or some shit like that?”

“No, I don’t need purple carrots!” Nik rubbed his face roughly with one hand. “The food is fine, John—”

“Then what in the fuck’s got into you?” he demanded. “’M tryin’ to do somethin’ nice—”

“You didn’t need to start it before I got back,” Nik interrupted.

John barked a laugh that didn’t have much humor in it. “Oh, fuck me—Nik, that’s the nice part!”

Again, there was this shadow behind Nik’s expression, one John didn’t recognize. Something was eating at him, and for some absolutely asinine reason, the man wasn’t owning up to it. “Well, it does not need to be so nice,” he countered, folding his arms. It only made him look more petulant and poked the thorn deeper into John’s side.

He tried changing tactics. Clearly, that one wasn’t going anywhere. “Luv, ya look half-dead on your feet,” he said, managing to soften his voice a touch despite his frustration. “Ya really wanna fly across how many time zones, deal with god only knows how much paperwork to start debriefing, then drive all the way to this flat, and then worry about dinner?”

“Why not?” Nik’s voice was even sharper now.

“Hell d’you mean ‘why not?’” John wanted to know. “You wan’ that over kickin’ yer feet up on the couch—”

“Is not a crime if I do want!” he shot back before John could even finish his sentence. Now he looked properly pissed off, which was pissing John off, because he still didn’t know what the hell had pissed him off in the first place.

“’S not a crime if you don’t, either!”

“Da, well, I do want,” Nik said, his dark eyes flashing. “And you are keeping me out of the kitchen.”

What? How was John keeping him out of the kitchen? He had merely suggested Nik didn’t have to be in the kitchen, and suddenly he was keeping him out? “Not keepin’ you outta nowhere, fanks, ‘cause all I’m tryin’ to say is you look tired, had a long day, and I can deal wiv’ dinner for once. Been learning!” He brandished the tongs intended for the steaks.

“I’m not tired!” John blinked, momentarily silenced by the Russian yelled in his direction. Actually yelled, which almost never happened to him. In his silence, Nik went on, still in Russian. “I am not tired! I can come home and I can cook. I can cook in my fucking sleep! Long day? Long day—no, not so long I can’t sear a damn steak. No, I don’t need to put my feet up like some lazy fuck who lets his wife do all of the cooking because he cannot imagine being of actual use in a home.” He rubbed his eyes again—he really did look tired—and gestured to the prepped meal. “Will you just let me do this?”

Forget the English Channel between them; there was the entire Atlantic Ocean there. John stood there, still holding the tongs, and just gawked at him. It was a good thing the stove wasn’t on, because he didn’t want to explain to first responders that an argument this inane had started an oil fire. Eventually, his silent staring got to Nik, whose harsh expression started faltering the longer it went on.

He had to say something, though. Something.

“Uh.” Fucking brilliant. He set down the tongs and folded one arm across his chest, using the other hand to cup his chin. “Nikolai.” The man shifted, his brash, indignant confidence cracking. “What did you hear me say?” he asked, pulling it out of something Kate had told him months ago about a tiff with her wife. When Nik’s brows only furrowed, now out of confusion, he tried to explain. “When I said you looked tired, and that I could deal with dinner,” he said, all traces of anger gone from his voice, “what do you think I’m saying to you?”

Another moment of silence stretched, though this one felt less strenuous. Nik stared back at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the countertop and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. After a moment there, he picked his head up again, and John caught a glint of shame flicker in his face before he spoke. “I want to take care of you,” he said plainly, back in English. “Now I feel like I cannot.”

John blinked at him. He glanced at the vegetables and the steaks and the tongs around him. He dropped his arms and started around the kitchen island towards his partner. “Nik…” he said. “You take better care of me than I do most days.”

One corner of Nik’s mouth twitched. “That bar is a bit low, though.”

“Yeah, awright,” he said, allowing a soft smile. “Did it never occur to you I might wanna return the favor every once in a while, luv?” Now that he was close enough, he reached for Nik’s chin, running his thumb over the silver and black in the short beard there.

Nik leaned into the touch, but there remained some hesitation in his face. “You don’t have to.”

“Didn’ say nuffin’ ‘bout having to, darlin’.”

He glanced sideways at the food set up around the stove, like there was still something telling him he should be over there. John wished he knew what to say to shut it up, whatever it was. It was a sweet notion, but not when he could see how much Nik needed to rest and recuperate. At length, Nik sighed, leaning heavier into John’s hand and closing his eyes. “I missed you.”

He smiled, feeling something bright and warm bubble up in his chest at the admission. He stepped closer and took Nik’s face in both hands now, running his thumbs over his cheekbones. So fucking handsome. There was still lingering awe that someone this bloody stunning had waited way too long just for him.

“Aye, missed ya too, Nik,” he murmured.

“I should not have yelled at you.”

He shook his head even though Nik’s eyes were still closed. “No, but I’ll forgive you. On a condition.”

Those dark eyes flicked open again. His hands moved from his pockets and slid into place around John’s waist. “Condition being…?” It sounded like he had his suspicions already.

John hummed, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth spreading from those big hands. “Condition being,” he said, “you actually go over ‘n’ sit on the couch with yer feet up while I make us dinner.” He watched Nik’s brows draw up and the corners of his mouth twitch down as he clearly resisted the urge to pout and complain about the condition. With a smile, he went on before he stopped resisting. “I know, I know, that’s askin’ a lot. Think of it like this: when I tell you you look tired and to let me handle dinner, I’m not callin’ ya useless, ‘m not callin’ ya a failure, an’ I’m definitely not callin’ ya a lazy fucker who can’t imagine being of any use around the house.”

The reminder of his own words made Nik wince slightly. “That was… a bit harsh.”

“Yeah, a bit,” John agreed. “An’ I’m not your wife. But I’m not sayin’ any o’ that, right? I’m sayin’ this is a place where you can jus’ exist an’ not worry about the little things, ‘cos I can help take care o’ the both of us, aye? I’m doin’ it ‘cos I love you, absurdly capable man that you are.” Unable to resist himself any longer, he leaned in to press his lips to Nik’s. The gesture was returned without hesitation, and Nik’s hands slid around his waist to his back to draw him closer.

It was a sweet kiss, unhurried, but clearly something Nik had missed while he was away. He’d missed it too, of course. When they parted, Nik kept their foreheads resting against the other and sighed quietly. “I will… try better. To be better. It’s… I do enjoy cooking for you,” he said apologetically.

“I know,” John said. “I like it too. ‘M not takin’ anythin’ away from you, learnin’ all this. ‘M givin’ you options, Nik.”

“Options…” he repeated. He lifted his head, once again looking over at the kitchen and the food laid out. There was still a pinch of conflict in his brow, but he dipped his chin faintly. “Do I have to sit on the couch?” he asked, turning up the puppy dog eyes as he looked back at John.

He chuckled, letting his hands slide down Nik’s jaw to his neck. “Awright, no, ya don’ have ta sit on the couch. But if you start backseat cooking, we’ll be ‘avin’ another chat.”

Nik nodded very seriously. “Agreed.”

[parvulous-writings]

A Night Out

Special Secret Santa gift for @oncosis ! Wishing you a very happy festive period!!

@nikprice-gift-exchange

Summary: John and Nik have a meal with one another, and John has something to tell Nik (again).

Warnings: None, besides a sappy drunk! This is just fluff <3

Read it on Ao3!

There was no real occasion acting as a reason for the meal they had arranged that evening. Some quiet time together, and a treat, that was all. After all, they deserved it, did they not? After all the hard work they had done in their lives — though that was mostly in the past, now — they deserved a treat or two once in a while.

It was a cosy little pub; one the couple frequented quite often. Family owned, with meals made from as much local produce as the management could arrange for, it made for a lovely little getaway. The staff were wonderful, to boot. It probably helped that Nik knew the owner.

John ordered his usual; the steak and ale pie with chips, peas and gravy. A hearty meal that he always enjoyed — he could hardly get enough of it, which naturally led to him ordering the same dish week after week. It was homey, and warmed both his heart and his belly. Nikolai, similarly, ordered one of the three dishes he rotated between; homemade burger with chunky chips and homemade onion rings. Greasy at times, sure, but he loved every second of getting to devour it.

There was no particular reason for the shared meal; it was nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse to spend time with one another, some quiet time in each other's company, not that they spent much time apart anymore. They had their own hobbies and alone time, sure, but there was little that could beat being in the other's presence. After spending so many years with their lives on the line, scrambling to spend time with one another was still a habit, and one that was hard to kick. Though, neither man really wanted to kick it. It had become an unspoken tradition between the two of them, an unofficial date night of sorts. They went out about once a week or so, typically on a Wednesday or Thursday to enjoy a much less crowded pub, just to exist with one another for a few hours.

Naturally, they drank over dinner. Not much for men who had been in their line of work, but enough for a buzz — occasionally more, if they so felt like it, which John clearly did tonight. You may have thought, that after so many years together, the pair wouldn't have anything much to talk about; but such was not the case. They reminisced on times gone by — missions and ops, times from before they knew one another — and they made plans for the future, mostly to do with travel. John was more than happy to just stay at home, but Nik… Nik enjoyed travelling, and seeing the world. And who would John be to deny the man something that brought him such joy?

Nik was normally the one to take the lead in those conversations; where he'd end up taking them one of these days. John tried to suggest places that he had never been before, somewhere where there was something new to see or do whenever he so wished. He had briefly considered trying to suggest places that neither he nor Nik had been to, but quickly discovered that it was a lost cause — despite naming some of the more obscure holiday destinations he could think of, Price had yet to find a place that Nikolai hadn't been to at one point or another. Nikolai, on the other hand, repeatedly tried to suggest destinations that were warmer — John didn't need to be a mind reader to know that the sole reason was seeing him in budgie smugglers to avoid tan-lines, or maybe even less.

The pair went on and on, swapping ideas and quasi-thought out plans with one another as they go through pint after pint, the words flowing easily.

Sweden. Greece. Greenland. Italy. Brazil.

They never actually settled on a destination — neither of them ever seemed to want to. There was a joy to be found in the planning, a thrill in the sheer potential of it all. Nik had noticed John's pupil dilation midway through their back and forth, but hadn't touched on it. He knew John could typically handle his alcohol well. The former Captain stared over at Nikolai, empty pint glass sat idly in his hand, forgotten. His eyes were filled with nothing but love — a glimmer of something ever so tender, that was ordinarily hidden away and out of sight in everyday situations, it was a sight that only Nik ever got to see. To say that the Russian was thankful for such a trusting connection with Price would have been a gross understatement — he wasn't just thankful, he was honoured, to say the very least. The very thought that John loved and trusted him enough to let his guard down so completely filled his chest with nothing short of euphoria; he didn't feel he had ever deserved such a wonderful thing, but John's heart clearly felt otherwise.

Often, Nik quietly lamented to himself how that particular look of Price's never seemed to be captured by any photo. On one hand, he was a greedy man and somewhat thankful that there would never be the chance that someone else could see this. On the other… His imagination and memory hardly did the sight justice. It was never too far away or out of reach, and yet, Nikolai wanted to behold it as often as was possible. Just as he was about to open his mouth to tell John just how beautiful he was, his partner beat him to it — and one up-ed him whilst he was at it.

"I love you." It just tumbled from John's lips, almost like he hadn't really meant to say it out loud. The words hung in the air between them as Nikolai took a moment to simply bask in them. "Yes, John. I know. You tell me often." And it was true; half a dozen times a day, John found a way to remind Nik that he was loved — even if it wasn't always with those three special words. "No, yeah, but. I love you. I love you, Nik." Despite the insistence and emphasis, Nik's face didn't waver from the warm, love-struck smile that had settled there. "I don't even know how to tell you how much I love you," John went on, as he reached across the table. Nik indulged him, as he so often did, grasping his lover's hand in both of his own, squeezing it firmly so that John knew that he was seen, that Nik saw him and the heart he was trying to lay before him.

"And I love you. Very much — you are as dear to my heart as I am to yours." At his partner's heartfelt words, John snorted in laughter. The sound brought a pleasant buzz to Nik's chest that spread up to his cheeks, though that could have been chalked up to the alcohol. "Yer a fuckin' sap." The Brit told him with a shake of his head. "But… I guess you're my sap, aren't you? Eh?" "And you are mine, no?" "Mmyeah… I s'pose so…" Nik couldn't help but chuckle at John's almost flippant tone. It was always an amusing sight to see his lover enjoying himself so much — more than simply amusing, it filled Nik with a joy that could not be described, something so strong that it forwent all words. "Perhaps we should consider getting ourselves home, Рыбка?" Nikolai suggested. He knew that John wasn't quite at his limit yet, but he was starting to get close to it. As much as he loved the man he was not sure if he himself was in the right state to haul the shorter one home over his shoulder. Price scoffed at the suggestion, vehemently shaking his head. "Nah — 'nother pint?" Nikolai smiled; what man wouldn't want to indulge those rosy cheeks? "Хорошо, любовь моя. Just one more." His tone sounded firm on the surface, but with no stakes other than stumbling home drunk, there was no bite to his words.

One pint turned into two. Then three. They lost count after that. And as they stumbled down the small step out of the pub, shoulders bumping into one another as they tried to regain more confident footing, the pair felt at peace. They were together, living life as normally as they could do given all that happened to them, and they were happy. That was all that mattered to Nikolai, and that was all that mattered to Price.

[loneliest-selkie-deactivated202]

❄️ A Serviceable Kind Of Christmas ❄️

- Happy holidays to @nikpetrovnha! I hope you like your gift. Shoutout to @officiallyallmight for being the most amazing beta reader ever and @nikprice-gift-exchange for making this all possible.

Prompt - Ghoap, Grumpy/Sunshine, Retirement, No Major age gap.

John MacTavish had always believed the world was loud enough to drown out anything he didn’t want to face. Gunfire, engines, explosions, chatter over comms, all of it had once been a sea he could float in. Now, with partial hearing loss and a knee that flared at random, the world had gone strangely quiet. This quiet left room for thoughts he wasn't sure what to do with..

Leaving the Taskforce hadn't been his choice but he knew deep down that he couldn't push himself and risk the others because he was too stubborn to accept it. He couldn't run, he couldn't hear shite on comms, he was a liabillity and he already had enough enemy blood on his hands to add the blood of those he cared about.

But the day he heard or more felt than heard, that THE Simon Riley got discharged too, something inside him clicked like an explosive charge being switched on. He, like most, had assumed that Ghost was invincible. He'd seen Ghost bounce back from just about everything, but even a tank can't function if its core functions were compromised and for Ghost, it had been his hand.

His firing hand crushed beneath a pillar after an explosion. The surgical team had managed to save the hand, more steel rods and screws than bone, but he couldn't hold a mug on bad days.

Buddy system, the board had said when they reached out to Johnny. Something to keep the veterans from sinking. Johnny mentioned it to his Ma one evening and she had laughed, saying it was like tying a stubborn mule and a fussy farm animal together to stop trouble. Johnny hadn't minded the comparison.

Johnny was thrilled. Simon… less so.

Lt, no, Simon, now that they weren’t wearing masks or ranks, looked like he’d been told off like a naughty child. Which was honestly rich coming from a man who’d survived on dodgy missions and pure spite for years.

“Don’t see why I need a bloody babysitter,” Simon had muttered in the hallway outside the apartment, wrist brace peeking from under his sleeve like it was ashamed of itself. Johnny knew he was humiliated, he understood it himself.

Johnny grinned, leaning on his cane. “Good thing I’m no’ a babysitter, Simon. I’m yer buddy, government said so.”

“I don’t need a buddy.”

“Then I’ll be yer nuisance who reminds ye to take yer meds.”

Simon groaned like an old door. But he didn’t walk away, and that was the bit Johnny paid attention to, baby steps and all.

The weeks that followed were messy in that new way that left them feeling a bit lost. In the past, civilian life was a treat, a respite of two weeks between deployments. Together they'd learn the intricacies of the local grocery store, the good pharmacies stocking days and deal with mornings where Simon struggled to lace boots because his hand wouldn’t cooperate, and evenings where Johnny’s knee locked up so badly he needed help standing and the endless doctors appointments. Between doctors and physiotherapy, they were out most days. It made sense to schedule their appointments on the same days and just go together, waiting in the plastic chairs that Simon once called “doll furniture” because it was tiny beneath him and creaked ominously with the slightest movement.

They developed a rhythm. Not graceful, but theirs. Much like how their lives had been on deployments.

And when December rolled in like a curse waiting to unravel, Johnny realized something uncomfortable. Simon had no plans for Christmas.

Not even introvert eacapism. Just… nothing.

It felt counterproductive to their little life moving forward if Simon was left alone like an orphan cat and Johnny wouldn’t stand for it.

So he bundled Simon into his truck, cranked up one of his Ma’s holiday playlists that probably counted as war crimes, and announced, “We’re going to Scotland for the holidays.”

Simon stared at him, scandalized in that strangely stoic way of his. “You’re kidnapping me.”

“Aye,” Johnny said cheerfully. “And I’m not above makin’ it official. It’s tinsel and snow, not Al Qatala.”

Simon muttered, “Would prefer the latter.”

Johnny only laughed as he cheekily pressed the child lock to activate. Simon didn’t know why he liked hearing Johnny laugh so much. Didn’t want to know, really.

They drove through falling snow, the world blurring. Johnny talked the whole time as if incapable of silence, mainly about old missions, about the time Gaz walked in on Captain Price having a “meeting” with Nikolai and was scarred for life, about his mum’s shortbread recipe and a new baby in the family.

Simon provided noncommittal grunts, which Johnny responded to like they were whole paragraphs. The man wielded enthusiasm the way he used to wield knives.

But as the snowfall thickened into blinding sheets, the road turned slick. Even Johnny had to admit defeat.

“Cabin village up ahead,” he said. “Looks cozy.”

“Looks like a tourist trap.”

“Aye, the best kind.”

They pulled in just as the storm intensified, wind screaming like it wanted in. The lodge staff seemed thrilled to take them in and pointed to a small cabin, assuring them that they'd bring meals by as cars would be useless by morning with how heavy the snow was coming down.

They got a small cabin: two beds, fireplace and kitchenette. Cute as a postcard or perhaps one of those Christmas movies Johnny's sisters loved.

Johnny felt it in his knee first. The cold making a sharp, twisting ache like someone trying to pry the joint apart with a screwdriver. An excellent escalated interrogation tactic but definitely not something he wanted to deal with.

Simon felt it in his hand around the same time. The shattered bones woven together with steel rods and tiny screws properly stiffening until he couldn’t even bend his fingers. He hissed under his breath, trying to flex them. The cold made it impossible.

Johnny noticed instantly.

“Ye alright?” he asked gently, the humor dropping from his voice.

“It’s fine,” Simon muttered. “Just can’t… close it.”

Johnny rummaged in his bag, pulling out heat packs like he was some sort of nurse. “Here.”

“I don’t need anything, it'll go away on its own”

“Aye, ye do,” Johnny said, in that soft, bossy way of his. “No shame in it.”

He cracked a heat pack and took Simon’s hand carefully, like it was something precious instead of something mangled.

Warmth seeped in slowly. Simon’s jaw unclenched. The frustration that had been burning at his edges dimmed slightly.

“There we go,” Johnny murmured. “Blood’s movin’. Yer alright.”

He massaged the stiff tendons, thumbs working in slow, steady circles. Simon stared at him, at the way Johnny focused, at the care in it, as if he wasn’t used to being tended to. Because he wasn’t. Not really. When had Johnny learned this? Had Johnny always known or did he learn specifically for him?

When Johnny finished, Simon’s hand wasn’t as bad.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

Johnny shot him a smile warm enough to melt snow. “Anytime.”

The storm worsened overnight. The lodge brought meals to their door, little luxuries. The world outside vanished behind whiteout conditions, so they sat by the fireplace, nursing heat packs and mugs of tea.

Johnny, being Johnny, eventually filled the comfortable silence with chatter.

“Do ye ever miss it?” he asked. “The banter?”

Simon shrugged. “Sometimes. Wasn’t much of a talker.”

“Aye, but you always sounded like ye were flirting,” Johnny teased. “Especially in Las Almas.”

Simon gave him a flat look. “You were bleeding out. Pretty sure that disqualifies flirting on a moral basis.”

Johnny snorted. “Well, if ye were flirting, it kept me alive”

A beat of quiet. Soft. Charged.

Johnny glanced at him sidelong, nervously. “Listen… now that we’re retired… there’s no fraternization rules.”

Simon blinked. “…Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Johnny’s words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m not gonna push, yeah? I just… I like ye. A lot. And I know I talk too much, and I know you're still tryin’ to adapt to normal life, and I don’t want to overwhelm ye, but…”

“Johnny.” Simon’s voice cut through the ramble like a knife. “You’re not overwhelming me.”

Johnny flushed, it made his eyes seem all the more blue.

Simon shifted, looking almost shy. “I’m… not great with subtlety. Never have been. Hard to read people, hard to trust intentions. It’s easier when someone says things plainly.”

Johnny swallowed. “Alright then. Plainly: I’ve tried dating. Didn’t work. Nobody fit what I was lookin’ for.”

“What were you lookin’ for?”

Johnny hesitated briefly then described, in stumbling detail, someone steady, someone loyal, someone who’d understand it, the trauma, the nightmares. Someone funny in their own dry, sarcastic way. Someone who didn’t run when things got complicated.

Simon listened… and realized Johnny was describing him.

He cleared his throat. “…Johnny. I’m not who I used to be. Some days, my hand barely works, I can’t hold anything. Some days getting out of bed feels like too much.”

Johnny smiled at him, soft and sure. “Aye? I’m not the same either. Doesn’t change what I feel.”

It was such a simple thing. Such a profound one. Something eased behind Simon’s ribs.

That evening, they set the small cabin table for a holiday dinner the lodge delivered — roast, veggies, a bit of tartan ribbon. It felt almost domestic. Almost normal.

Johnny lit a candle, just for fun. Simon rolled his eyes but secretly liked it.

They talked softly. Laughed a little. Johnny reached across the table at one point to wipe a smear of sauce from Simon’s lip, and Simon forgot how breathing worked for a second.

By dessert, Johnny was fidgeting.

“Can I…” He swallowed. “Can I kiss ye?”

Simon’s heart stuttered. The fact Johnny asked, that he wanted clear consent, tugged at something deep, something old and half-healed.

“Yes,” he said, voice low. “You can.”

Johnny leaned in, slow and reverent, like he wasn’t kissing a man but a prayer.

Their lips met. Soft. Warm. Careful.

Simon hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d missed being touched with gentleness.

Johnny pulled back with a bashful grin. “S’that alright?”

“Yeah,” Simon murmured. “More than.”

They drifted to bed together, easy as breathing.

The cabin had two beds, sturdy built and big enough to drown in. Simon settled behind Johnny, one arm draped over his chest, hand tucked carefully so the bad wrist wasn’t strained. Johnny’s bum knee nestled between Simon’s thighs where the heat soothed it.

Shared pain, shared warmth. A little makeshift ecosystem of comfort.

Johnny fell asleep first, soft snores like quiet waves.

Simon followed, slower, but for the first time in months… he didn’t dread waking up.

Christmas morning cracked open gentle and pale.

Soft light seeped through the curtains. Snow lay heavy outside, muting the world.

Simon woke to the steady rise and fall of Johnny’s breathing. For a moment, that old familiar dread, the memories and the crushing weight he’d carried since his youth simply hovered at the edges of his mind, always ready to swallow him but today seemed content with just observing.

But then Johnny stirred in his sleep, pressing closer without waking, seeking Simon’s warmth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And the dread…didn’t vanish, it never would, but it eased, like someone had handed him a life preserver in human form.

Johnny blinked awake eventually, smiling up at him, hair a mess.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.”

Simon swallowed around something thick. “…Merry Christmas.”

And for the first time since he’d hung up his mask, Simon Riley believed quietly, fiercely, that maybe retirement wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Not with his Johnny in it.

Not with someone who saw the broken bits and stayed anyway.

Not with someone who thawed the cold places.

Snow fell softly outside.

Inside the cabin, warmth bloomed.

And Simon held his Johnny close.

[nikprice-gift-exchange]

Hi! With the upload, do we just upload on our own blogs here on Tumblr and tag our recipient?

Thanks!

Yes, please!

If you tag us too, we can reblog it here for others to enjoy.

We also recommend posting it to AO3 for ease of return/access, because Tumblr's search function leaves a lot to be desired.