A Short Tibbit Since It’s 2 In The Morning And I Can’t Sleep, But I Think Price And Nik Take Snow

OMG??😭😭(hm.. that’s a thought).

…

@on-a-lucky-tide @homosexualgirlandbags👀

I feel like Nik’s been kicked to the couch before, but the reasons could vary as to why.

Did he make John’s tea wrong?

Did he not give him his morning hug?(which is impossible because he always does)

Is it because he found out that Nik accidentally put bleach in the washer and ruined his favorite shirt?

Or maybe he finally found the plant Nik accidentally water-boarded when he was washing dishes.

Either way, the possibilities are endless and Nik will live to see another day. The real issue is if John decides that he can’t touch him anymore.

Pretty privilege is gonna be the death of this world.

Like— tf do you mean you won’t say excuse me when you bump into me but will take some 5’3, clear skinned, 163 pound, A cup girl to the ER if she even trips??

And ‘popular’ kids are the fucking worst.

“Why don’t you wear make-up?” Or, “Why do you always wear joggers?”

Bitch this is community college, who is there to impress? The fucking janitor? Grow up.

Mhm, so when I tell my lawyer about this little post, what will your defense be?

The idea of Price going from fine in the morning, nothing wrong, perfect day, to dead by the evening from something no one could prevent is so gut wrenchingly horrific, it’s one of my favourite ideas to do with NikPrice.

The confusion Nik would be left in, the whirlwind he would go through. The funeral, the planning of said funeral. Having the team find out, Laswell too. His family, if he even had any. Everything descending into chaos within Nik, the questions that need answering, that he will never receive.

Those blue eyes closing for the final time in front of him fearful and guilt-filled, it’s a memory forever burned into his mind, the paleness of them, forever haunting him.

No because like imagine Nik and Price just went out the day prior.

Everything was amazing, with no signs of what was to come. Lovers falling into bed together, hands familiarising themselves with sun kissed skin.

Then the next morning, John wakes up throwing up blood. Too much blood. It paints the sheets red, staining the mattress below as Nik panics. A peaceful morning, turned into chaos as John falls over from his feet, unresponsive as Nik shakes him. He didn't wake up when the ambulance came, didn't wake up as Nik sees him wheeled into the emergency room.

Hours later, and Nik stands there in the lobby, desperately hoping for whatever it was to pass, for the doctors to come out and declare that it was just a wound that John could get over. (He would be fine, right? I mean, after everything he's been through, the fact that he's a captain in the SAS accounts for something, right? Nik assures himself, calming the ringing in his ears)

Everything seems too loud, the clocks, the chattering, it buzzed like wordless drilling into his ears. He hears people around him, sobbing, laughing, he wants nothing more than for them to shut up. The doctors are chattering now, something about losing too much blood. He stands there, helpless as he sees people rushing in and out. Nik wants to go home, to lay down on silk sheets with John in his arms. He wants John to be safe, he wants to cry, and he wants to yell. He wants a lot of things right now.

But maybe God is nothing but an unfeeling mass, capable enough to give humans hopes and dreams before crushing them down with malevolence in his fist. As the ringing in his ears comes to a stop, he could focus on the two way mirror in front of him. It has been an hour? Two? The clock was still faintly ticking in the background, though he could only focus on John in front of him. Broken, helpless, hooked up to far too many machines. John seems...wrong... Too pale. Too green, too... Everything. He didn't come back right, what went wrong?

He stood there, hands trying to reach into the room, to hold John against him, to ensure himself that he'll recover. The words of the doctors slips into his mind as mindless chatter. His brain barely processing the few details it could make out of.

Total organ failure. Spurred on by his drinking and smoking habits. Hereditary. Barely an hour to live.

No, no, this can't be right. John was healthy just days ago. He should be fine, should have been fine. Why is he dying? Why is he laying there on the bed, rotting in front of his eyes??

It took him an hour to process the news, and an hour for the machines to fall into a synchronized rhythm, a flat tone as doctors whizzed past him into the room, trying to fight the grim reaper for whatever time he had left.

When he comes to, he was sitting in John's apartment. Three things came to mind as he slowly sits up:

1) John was gone

2) His throat was dry

3) John was fucking gone. Not away on a mission, or somewhere in a pub. But gone. Gone forever, to be buried 6 feet underneath the dirt, to be remembered for however long people around him lived until he became nothing but another headstone in the cementary. His body rotting somewhere.

He didn't leave the apartment for days afterwards, his voice barely keeping it together as he breaks the news to people John was close to, Laswell, the 141, Farah, some relatives, his old captain... The phonecalls seems endless, the sounds of people crying over the phone and condolences merges into one entity in his mind, shoving themselves down his throat until he couldn't breathe.

The pain still vast, endless. With so many things to do on the way, funerals to be planned, people to meet. It had barely been a week and he's already tired. Like a child left without any answers, it hurts in parts so deep in him, impossible to reach, impossible to carve out.

John's pillow was still sitting there, stained with brown crusted up blood. The bedsheets that would never be warmed again sits haphazardly on the floor. He feels cold, empty in parts of his heart that he doesn't want to move. His limbs feels numb, and everything else seems so boring now that John wants beside him.

He misses the mornings with John, misses the smell of his cologne when it was still clung onto his pillows. He misses everything about John's from his scarred skin to the tattoos that decorated his body.

Nik doesn't stay in John's apartment now, with too much memories there waiting for him. The pain of a love lost, the pain of memories not yet made too much for him to bear. The pain that there was nothing else to remember John by now, nothing but the tattoo on his wrist and the home he had abandoned.

Months past, and Nik grows a little older. He refuses to think about how John would have gone grey now, how he would have pinched Nik for teasing him.

No, instead he reverts back into his old ways.

Nights spent in hotels with another person next to him, desperately trying to fill the void that John had left, clinging onto whatever remains of John in this world.

He gives up after one night, stands at the edge of a rooftop. The cars below him whizzed by, he could feel the wind on his face from up here. Blue eyes still haunting him from some crevices of his mind. He doesn't intend to jump, to just watch the skies above. Familiar cologne wraps around his body like a snake, the only remnants of John he could carry around with him.

The night sky seemed so inviting when he falls.

I don’t see a lot of posts where characters get old, so I think this was a good change in pace. It reminds me that they’re not gonna be young forever and will get old someday(as will everyone if they’re not taken out early).

…

Why am I being poetic about fictional characters? Christ, I need help.

We've come out for an end of half term pint and he's having to go for a piss every five minutes, I stg...

Thinking of John teasing Nik, smirk on his damn face, whiskers twitching, as Nik stands for the third time in an hour and a half. "Hittin' the head again, old man?"

Nik raising an eyebrow. "Just wait, captain. A handful more years and you will be joining me."

"Never."

"Your fate is inevitable. Face it with dignity." Nik wipes a thumb over John's moustache, removing the foam left behind by his stout, before he leaves.

John watches him swagger into the gents, heart warmed by the idea that Nik intends to stay to watch him get old.

Mmmmm, poetic.

Ghost hiding his face? Ghost hiding Simon.

Somewhere out there, in the infinities that exist, there probably exists a version of John Price who hates himself for liking men. More than he ever does in this one. (Religious trauma btw)

He hates himself for loving Nik, for letting down his defenses in front of him. He watches the man slip through his office door, and the gap in his heart widen when the russian slips off his jacket.

He shouldn't be doing this. This is a sin against god. He could hear his father's boots getting closer somewhere in the background. The belt clinking echoes in his mind. He looks at the beau in front of him, all warm and inviting, yet disgust could only bloom in place of whatever romantic feelings he would have felt for him.

It felt wrong to enjoy the man's attention, to crave him so deep in his heart, he's afraid he can't tear it out and stop it. It feels like a crime against god, against his father, a man he could never compete with to let the man disarm him so easily. Dirt and sweat might not stick to his skin, but no amount of scrubbing under hot water could remove the disgust he feels for himself for even wanting Nik.

He doesn't look up at the pilot as he sits opposite him, talking about something irrelevant. John feels fucking dirty for even wanting Nik's eyes on him. What was he? A proper slut waiting to be appraised? He wants to set himself on fire, to remove his skin entirely, to be laid out under the sun, tortured, only if it means stopping the feelings he has for Nik. He wants to pray for forgiveness for a god that has long since abandoned him, and every second of smelling Nik's cologne so close to him only serves as a reminder that he was disgusting.

"Get out. For Christ sakes, get out"

He doesn't look up, his hands never stop as he writes and writes. A confession to some higher being, to cleanse him of all sin. A recycled prayer he heard from conversion camp years ago cycles through his head, the guilt all consuming in his heart. He deserves to rot in hell for his delusions, that Nik would ever like him back, that he would accept John for what he is. He ignores the confused russian muttering opposite him, focusing his attention on an uncaring god for cursing him with these feelings.

He doesn't look up as he hears the door close with a soft click after Nikolai.

Hours later, John sits alone in his office, halfway through a frantic prayer. A plea for help, a guidance to change his ways. The cross sits heavily across his chest, a reminder of his illogical feelings towards Nik. He thinks about what he's done, how it had all led up to this moment, his breaking. John doesn't move from his spot from the window, tears quietly streaming down his face as he mumbles out another prayer. His throat is sore and his knees are aching, yet the internalized disgust doesn't go away, nor does his feelings for Nik.

He avoids Nik the next month in a futile attempt to curb the feelings before they get out of hand. It doesn't work, and the longing for his the pilot's (when did he start to refer to Nik as his? Christ he must be cursed) attention only grows stronger each day he denies himself of Nik. His attention feels like a need now, an ever growing sense of guilt and shame blanketing over his need for Nik. The need only grows stronger when he sees Nik chatting up some guy years younger than him, unfamiliar jealousy grows in him as Nik ushers the man into his car, disappearing from view.

He would rather carve out his heart and serve it to god himself before ever admitting to wanting Nikolai in his life, in his bed though.

Cosmic brownies are fucking DELISH when no one’s in your ear telling you otherwise👌🏾🤤

Say if Price got injured and was sent to the ER to get fixed up and the moment he comes out of surgery he’s loopy and muttering nonsense.

His boys come to visit him first, and damn if they don’t take the many advantages that their loopy captain gives them. Johnny draws on his cast, Kyle bribes him for the rest of his sweets in his office, and Simon gets him to sign off on letting him skip recruit-training.

Next is Laswell and her wife Sarah. The two make sure he’s comfortable before teasing him, and John just lets it happen, brain too muddled to come up with his usual sassy retort.

Last is Nikolai.

The man walks in quietly and takes a look at his husband before looking around the room and noticing the little trinkets and things that his boys and their friends had left around the room(as well as the many penises that were on his cast). He then takes a seat beside John and grabs his hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss..

That was until he felt the hand get snatched away and slapped softly across his face.

“Johnathan?” Nik asks with mild surprise, eyes rising to meet a glaring, upset John Price.

“Don’t do that.” The man says with a frown, glaring daggers at Nik. “I have a man, and he’s my husband, and we’re married. ‘M a taken man.”

Oh. The doctors gave him some more pain medicine before he got here. Explains a lot.

“My apologies.” Nik said as he backed off a bit with his hands raised a bit, deciding to feed into his husband’s loopy thought process. “Didn’t know you had a significant other.”

“Yeah I do.” John says with a roll of his eyes. “Bes’ damn husband a man could ask for.”

“Mhm, and how so?”

“He helps me cook, clean, loves me lots n’ lots, always helps with missions, loves my boys like their his own. What more could a person wish for when they have the perfect man by their side?”

“True. But doesn’t he irritate you sometimes?”

“Impossible. He only irritates me when he’s not taking some time for himself like he should be. Military work is hard, y’know?”

“Understandable. And what is your favorite thing about your husband?”

“My favorite thing..” John paused for a bit, sighing softly as he seemed to sink lower into the hospital bed. “His hugs. He’s big and broad, so when he hugs you it’s like a blanket draping itself over you. He makes me feel warm when he does hug me, like everything will be okay.”

The room goes quiet for a bit as Nik contemplates John’s words, melting at the way that his husband seemed to have melted when describing him. Suddenly, John added another comment.

“It makes me want to open his skin and crawl inside of it. Like Venom.”

Nik bursts out laughing at that, happy that he managed to get all of that on video to show the boys and Laswell later.

I like to think that John is a doodler, especially when he was a sergeant and would draw penises and what not on his Captain’s very important paperwork(which would earn him a slap to the head).

Now that he’s grown up and more stressed out, he’ll sometimes take a quick break from reports to doodle on a sticky note or on the corner of some old paperwork that he(won’t) has yet to fill out. And don’t let him do it for too long or else you’ll find a spaced out John drawing random shit on any paper available.

(Some doodles)