Chapter Text
Price and Nik sit in Price's bunk in their boxers. It's a compromise; Nik's managed to get Price out of his office with only a single folder of paperwork and a half-chewed biro. Just one more form, Nik. It'll keep me ahead tomorrow.
It's a delicate operation, prying John Price out of his office and his clothes. To hang Captain Price on the coat hook for the night, to let John stretch his legs. Slowly, slowly.
Nik sits patiently at John's back, nosing the soft hairs at the base of his neck, savouring the awful cologne he insists on wearing while on base. He needed a better one, really, and Nik had spent half an hour in a 'John Lewis' pawing over scents a week or so ago. A very flowery woman had overwhelmed him with smelly strips of cardboard and jargon he didn't recognise, so that had been mission failed. He did consider asking Farah or Iskra for help, but... Eh, Nik could tolerate the musky shit.
John's hair is scruffy and Nik knows he only has about a day to enjoy it before John goes and gets it cut back into regulation tidiness. Soap has a nickname for it; short, back and slap? Or was it... short, slap and twat? Back and... hmm, Nik can't remember.
But he does know he prefers John like this.
Ruffled, unkempt, just as he looks when they're off grid; rough stubble, scruffy hair, sweat and gun oil, his blue eyes bright, wild. Alive. So confident, lethal, and... Hmm, now what did Ghost call it? Ballsy.
"Da."
"Hm?" John doesn't look up from his paperwork, chewed pen scratching away.
"Ahh, sorry. I was... hmm, mechta. To have dreams that are awake."
"Hm," John huffs softly, shoulders lifting in a half shrug, "a daydream."
"Daydream," Nik repeats, resting his nose against the back of John's neck. He decides he doesn't mind the bad cologne, or the loss of the scruffy hair; he can't have John naked and warm against him when they're in the field. Of course, Nik would be lying if he said he hadn't fantasised about sex in his helicopter. Maybe, one day...
Nik moves over to John's shoulders and spends some time admiring another favourite thing. Something he can only enjoy in these moments when the world is locked out, and danger is a million miles away.
The freckles.
When he'd been a boy, his grandmother had likened them to kisses from angels, and Nik quite liked the idea that some were watching over John when he couldn't be, leaving their footprints on his skin beneath his Kevlar vest. He shifts closer, runs the backs of his fingers down John's spine to settle his hand at his waist, and noses those freckles with a contented hum.
He imagines John in the sun, perhaps on a beach in Croatia or Montenegro. Nik's always liked that part of the world; it lacked the touristy aftertaste of the coastal towns in the Mediterranean, and maintained some of its unique character. They could take a boat out to the sunken wrecks in search of ancient pottery and glass, swim in the Adriatic with the reef sharks and turtles, visit the museum full of maritime weaponry and stories of pirates, and each day John's skin would sprout more freckles for Nik to kiss.
He kisses them now. Languid, lingering. His thumbs stroke in circles, and Nik closes his eyes with the taste of John's skin in his mouth. They would drink good beer, smoke good cigars, sit together at the end of the pier in Dubrovnik perhaps and watch the lights twinkle on the surface of the ocean, John's hair would be ruffled and soft with sun and sea salt. He'd laugh, relaxed and unbothered, no paperwork. Half cut, they would stagger back to their hotel, and Nik would--
"Nik."
Nik blinks. He can see the side of John's face where he's turned to look over his shoulder. There's a hand over his at John's waist, goosebumps over John's shoulders and down his biceps. The biro sits forgotten on the manilla folder.
"Da."
"You were holdin' tight. Want to tell me about these daydreams?"
Nik feels his ears warm, and perhaps his sheepish response gives John the wrong idea. "One day they might not be dreams. I will keep them as a surprise."
"You dirty bastard..."
"They were not dirty! Eh, not all of them."
"Don't believe you, mate. Too much filth for you to even tell me about. Shocking."
"Chtob u tebya hui vo lbu vyros, Price! Your mind is in the gutter."
Nik grabs John around the middle and pulls him back into a tight embrace. He tries to gain the upper hand with a grapple, but John takes up the challenge and they tussle for some minutes, giggling and guffawing like schoolboys. The folder and pen scatter onto the floor, along with the blankets and a pillow.
Nik gains the upper hand through sheer bulk, and because he's not afraid to play dirty and grab at John's underarms, making him bunch up and wriggle in surrender; John is still far too honourable in the bedroom. They settle into a kiss, Nik's arm curled beneath John's head to keep it tucked close, one of John's legs trapped in his. He slides a hand down the curve of John's body and into his boxers.
The first gasps are always the sweetest; John's always so surprised by pleasure, sometimes tries to cling onto the gruff, abrasive masculinity he uses as a shield from the world, but Nik knows how to handle him, how to coax him open. His body relaxes, his legs spread and he buries his hand in Nik's hair, chasing kisses and touches like a man starved.
One day, Nik promises himself, he will have John like this every night and in the morning he will not have to rebuild his walls again. One day. Hm. A man can dream.