No thoughts just dragging price out from battle, and he's lost a lot of blood as well as any filter for his words, right?
He's mumbling in the back of the humvee while soap tears through the streets, kyle leaning out the window with his gun while you kneel in the footwell with a kit open on the seat. "Where are you hit, sir?"
Price blinks, eyes unfocused for a moment before he looks down at you. He doesn't seem to be fully aware of his surroundings, because his response is "bloody 'ell, kid, you look good."
You blush, lips pressed together to hide how those simple gruff words make your stomach flip. Instead, you feel around his abdomen until price makes a pained wheeze, and begin cutting away his shirt. "Sir, do you know where you are?"
"Mmh, I know ah've got a pretty young thing kneelin' fer me..." price grunts, shifting in his seat. He chuckles when you peel his cut-open shirt off, knees spreading wider. "Eager, aren't you, kid?"
You stay silent, and pointedly don't look at the obvious tent in price's pants when you press a wad of gauze into his side. Somewhere up front, soaps laughter gets caught in the wind.
Price keeps mumbling nonsense, head lolling as you pack the wound. You bat away the hand that tries to settle on the back of your head, and definitely don't wonder if price usually leads his partners in bed.
"C'mon, I wanna see yer pretty face chokin' on it...can you 'andle it, love? Need help?" He tries again, hips shifting forward towards your face. Oh god.
You keep pressure, ignore any more words out of prices mouth, and pray to god no one is listening. Hopefully he doesn't remember this when he's recovered.
