Chapter Text
John Price, unfortunately, does not call you.
You debate for a couple of days whether or not you should text him, finally biting the bullet and sending him a basic ‘Hey, thanks for saving my ass!’ text that garners no response. Despite your hopes, the text doesn’t come within the week, or the week after that, and you find yourself caught up in exams and projects.
He hasn’t even read it yet.
You toss back another shot with a hiss, eyes burning, and flash your girlfriend a grimace. The music is low, the clicking of glasses and pool balls a gentle background noise. It’s really, really not your scene, but your friend had all but begged you to come. ‘It’s where all the hot military guys go!’ You shift on the uncomfortable bar stool, grateful for your baggy cargo pants instead of a tight, web-thin dress.
“Come dance with me!” Brooklyn drawls, dark hair beginning to fall out of her intricate twists. She grabs your hands gently, pulling you from the stool and into the semi-crowd. It’s a sad excuse for a dance floor, the ugly mash of pop music muddled together with the soft rock that plays from the opposite end of the bar makes your head spin, alcohol not required.
The conflicting songs make you grimace, briefly wondering how your friend managed to keep up with the shitty pop song buzzing through the speakers, and you find yourself falling out of rhythm shortly after Brooklyn sidles up to the guy she’s had her eyes up all night. You offer her a genuine smile when she turns to you, and you resign yourself to drinking alone at the bar for the rest of the night, hands tucked in your pockets as you space off into the ceiling.
“Awfully interesting up there, huh?” A voice loud enough to hear over the music startles you and you snap around, glaring up at the man standing behind you. He’s just a tad too close and you shrug, stepping away to create some space. “Awh, I don’t bite.”
You look him up and down, an unimpressed brow raised. He’s… cute. He’s got the regulation haircut and hasn’t bothered to change out of his fatigues, but he’s tall and lean and if you were in a better mood, you might’ve humored him with a camo joke. He’s got sharp green eyes that crinkle as he smiles just a bit too wide, a bit too fake, showing off his chipped incisor.
“No,” You hum, giving him a wide berth as you make your way off the dance floor. “But you probably have fleas.”
You don’t hide the groan when he follows you, but it’s swallowed up by the music regardless. You hail the bartender for a water, not interested in drinking anymore -especially since Brooklyn seems to have found her own ride home for the night- and ignore the man beside you. He makes himself comfortable against the bar, trying too hard to look nonchalant, and you barely suppress an eye roll.
He might’ve been your type in another setting, all fresh-faced and cocky. Unfortunately for him, your type has a glorified Franz Joseph and is probably somewhere in Uzbekistan right now, rendering his mid-tier charm null.
“I’ve never seen you around here before.” He says, leaning just a smidge too close, and you curl your lip, scanning the floor for your friend as he hails the bartender for a rum and coke. She’s nowhere to be seen, unsurprisingly, and you drop your chin onto your propped-up hand. “You come here often?”
“I try not to make a habit out of it.” You respond flatly, sipping your water with pursed lips. You’re the epitome of Uninterested right now, and you’re hoping the greenie will get the hint and piss off, but you’ve really never had the best luck with men.
“Well, you seem like a really nice girl, I was wondering…” He trails off, eyes focused behind you as he swallows thickly. Behind you, you can feel the heat of a body, their shadow dwarfing your frame. “C-Captain.” He says, and then he’s scrambling from the bar and into the crowd, not even looking back.
You turn in your stool, an eyebrow raised when you realize who it is.
“John Price.” You drawl, taking him in. He's dressed casually, a simple t-shirt and jeans, but he manages to make it look nearly indecent , the way his thighs fill out his pants. His arms stretch the sleeves out nicely, tanned and scarred and you don’t hide the way your eyes travel across his body. He clears his throat, drawing your attention back to his quirked brow and you smile impishly at him.
“Or should I call you Captain?” You nearly whisper the word, delighting in the way his pupils dilate in the dim lighting. He settles a large arm on the bar, caging you against the warped wood in a way that sends something a little sharper than butterflies off in your stomach.
“You never called me.” You say, sipping obnoxiously from your straw as you stare him down, taking extra care in making sure your cheeks hollow out just a bit. “That’s not a very nice way to treat a lady.” You watch his eyes trail down your face, watches them hesitate on your lips, and then hesitate again on your cleavage you’ve so helpfully supported with a push-up bra.
“Had some work to do.” He says vaguely, and you know better than to pry, not in his line of work, nodding instead with a hum. “Is… that my coat?”
“Hm?” You swallow, breaking away from the straw with a thin string of spit that Price narrows in on immediately. You pretend to take in your outfit like you didn’t meticulously plan it around the jacket hours before you went out, eyes wide as you shrug. “I guess it is.”
Something hungry and dark fills his gaze, lips quirking up in a devious grin. “Keep it, love, you look betta’ in it.” A flush spreads up your cheeks, aided slightly by the alcohol in your system, and you take another sip of water in an effort to cool yourself.
You turn to face him fully, letting your legs drop open with a raised brow. He takes the hint immediately, stepping closer until his thighs are brushing yours, legs spread wide to accommodate his bulk. He’s close enough you can drop your head forward to prop your chin on his chest, batting your half-lidded eyes up at him.
He tilts his head down, and the hand that brushes the hair gently from your face slides down to cradle your jaw. There’s a scant few inches of space between you two, his eyes zeroed in on your lips.
There’s a wolf whistle from across the bar, sharp enough it shocks you both and sends Price’s head swiveling around. There’s a group seated at the back table, a shit-eating grin on a familiar mohawk-wearing man who's standing up in the booth, shooting you both a thumbs up.
Price lets out a bone-deep sigh, pulling away from you with an apologetic grimace before he’s turning back towards the group, shoulders squared in annoyance. You can’t help the intrusive thought that pops into your head, and before you can stop yourself, you’re tugging Price’s hat off his head and plopping it down on your own.
He whirls around, gaze sharp, but it melts into something softer as he takes in your stolen accessory. The grin that he gives you sends a visible shiver down your spine, heat pooling sticky sweet in your core. He reaches out to thumb gently at your bottom lip, breath hitching when your tongue darts out to wet the tip.
“You look good in it.” He rumbles out, mirroring his earlier comment with eyes blown nearly completely as a lascivious grin spreads across your face.
“I bet I’d look even better in just it.” You purr, and watch the moment he understands, jaw clenching visibly as his eyes rake over your form, no doubt undressing you in his mind's eye. A white-hot flash of heat runs down your spine, slick beginning to pool in your underwear.
There’s a tense moment of charged silence, eyes locked with his, before he’s turning with a displeased grunt and an ‘I’ll be back.’, heading back towards his table. You watch as he approaches, too far to make out words, and can’t help the smug smile that creeps onto your face when you realize that Soap is staring slack-jawed at you.
You tip your hat at him with a wink, delighting only a little bit when Price visibly snaps at him to get his attention. Whatever he’s saying gets a few hoots and hollers from Soap and Gaz, though they’re quickly silenced with a sharp look from the man. He plants a palm firmly on the table and points a finger at each and every one of them.
Except, you notice with no small amount of mirth, Ghost. Definitely the oldest of the 'siblings'. Or at least the smartest.
Price snags his coat from the back of the booth and borderline stomps away, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure as he comes to stand before you. He wrestles a few bills from his pocket and slides them under your half-empty glass of water.
“Paying my tab?” You quirk, lips fighting a smile. “You want me outta here that bad?”
You’re unprepared for the molten heat that’s in his gaze, lips tilted up at the corners as he stares you down hungrily. He uses your own dirty tricks against you, his icy eyes taking in every inch of your body, and you can’t help the flush that spreads down your neck.
“Figured I’d speed things along.” Price says, and you quirk a brow, silently urging him to go on. His voice is low and rich, accent thick on his tongue as he leans down, breath ghosting over your ear. “M’ gettin’ real tired a waitin’, and I’d rather not fuck ya in the bathrooms.” He straightens up and tugs his coat on, smirking at you as you scramble off the stool in a semi-haze. “That’s no way to treat a lady, after all.”
Bastard.
—
The beard burn, you have decided, is so, so worth it.
You’re sure your neck is a mess of hickeys, skin slick with spit as Price bites and nips, soothing the sting with open-mouthed kisses. Your fingers of one hand are gripping tight to his hair, your other sliding down to rest along the long stretch of his neck. He’s insatiable, has been since you two managed to stumble through the door, and you’re quite positive your underwear are ruined.
“Jesus- John ! ” You can’t help the startled cry as he hoists you up, guiding your legs to wrap tight around his waist. He presses you back against the wall, a rumbling chuckle is muffled into your neck, his hands sinking into the soft skin of your thighs.
You tighten your grip on his hair, delighting in the muted groan he lets out, and lean down to kiss him. It’s soft and sweet at first, slow kisses that make your head go fuzzy, before he’s tilting his head up to deepen the kiss, tongue creeping into your mouth. You teasingly bite down on it, just a hint of pressure, and Price nearly growls into your mouth.
Your world spins for a moment and you lose your support, arms scrambling to wrap around his shoulders as he carries you through the dark living room. You’re in the middle of marveling over his strength when he suddenly trips over something, momentarily stumbling before he rights himself. You can’t help the sharp bark of laughter that escapes you, and to your relief, Price himself chuckles.
“Haven’t been in this place very long.” He murmurs, steps a bit more measured as he makes his way down the hall. He nudges open a door and steps inside the room, and before you can even think to say anything, he’s throwing you through the air.
Your shriek is cut off with a soft ‘oomph’ as you hit the pillowy mattress. You take a moment to try to collect your bearings before you’re yanked to the edge of the bed, legs held in Price’s tight grip. He works your boots off with expert precision, uncaring of the audible thumbs that they make when they hit the floor.
“You sure do like manhandling me, Captain.” You purr, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. He nearly glares down at you, expression unreadable as he runs a hand teasingly down your leg.
And then he’s letting go, crossing around the bed to flip on the nearby lamp. In the soft glow, he looks almost picturesque, an oil painting in motion. His skin is suntanned and rough, evidence of his work strung along his arms in the shape of slashes and holes. His beard has flecks of grey in it, and even from a distance, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes.
I’m gonna fuck the sad out of him.
The thought makes you giggle as you make yourself comfortable in the middle of his bed, and Price raises an eyebrow, hands on his hips as he stares down at you from the foot of it. You sit up, legs shut tight as you peel your shirt off, bra following soon after. His eyes jump across your body like he’s not sure where to start, jaw just a little slack. You pop the button on your pants and let yourself fall backward, legs dropping open lazily as you brush the hair from your face.
“Well?” You say expectantly, staring up at the popcorn ceiling with a look of faux-bordem. “If you’re gonna throw me around like a doll you might as well undress me like one too.”
There’s a moment of hesitation, just a single breath, before your pants and underwear are very nearly ripped from your body. They bunch around your ankles and Price ruthlessly tugs them, pulling you down the bed in his haste. You can’t help the startled laugh that escapes you, but it turns sharply into a moan when his tongue licks a broad stripe up your pussy.
He wastes no time and eats like a man starved, sucking gently on your clit before his tongue is dipping into your heat. You can’t help the way your legs try to slam shut, but the width of his shoulders keeps you spread almost embarrassingly wide. His arms sneak around your hips and settle across them, pinning you against the bed.
He pulls away for a moment, choosing instead to bite at your thighs. Again, he soothes with open-mouthed kisses, though the scratch of his beard is sure to leave your thighs bright red after everything’s said and done.
Like you said. So, so worth it.
One of his arms breaks away, though his grip remains steady, easily pinning you to the bed despite your best efforts. A choked-off moan forces its way out of your mouth when two fingers slide easily into you. He’s thicker than any fingers you’ve taken before and your eyes roll as he hits that little spot inside you.
You whine and raise a hand up to cover your mouth, though the arm around your hip darts out, viper-quick, and snatches your wrist. You raise your head and find Price already staring up at you, eyes dark and molten.
“Don’t,” He whispers, breath fanning across the sticky mess between your legs. “I wanna hear you, love.” He releases your arm and resettles his own back over your hips, pressing you farther into the mattress.
Price drops his head back down and gives your clit a deceptively innocent kiss before curling his fingers. Heat pools low in your hips, spreading quickly up your back until you’re breathing in quick hiccups, hands instinctively reaching down to grip his hair. He moans against you, the vibrations sending an extra spark through your core, and you clench your jaw tight as fire rips through you.
Your orgasm is intense, even more so because Price doesn’t stop. It’s like you never came at all, his pace the same as before, and you thrash uselessly in his iron grip. Overstimulation creeps into the edges of your body, a different kind of fire building as you hurtle towards another orgasm.
You can’t go anywhere, pinned in place by one massive arm, and you can’t help the moan, breathy and stuttering, that tears from your throat as fireworks explode before your eyes. In the back of your mind, you worry that you may tear his hair out, knuckles clenched so tight your arms are shaking.
Well, all of you is shaking.
He finally pulls away after your hiccup sounds more like a sob, eyes blown as he stares up at you. It takes a bit of effort to unclench your fingers, hissing out a warbled apology as you flex the life back into your hands.
“S’right, love. “ He breathes, straightening back up to loom over you. He licks his lips with a grin, beard visibly wet from your slick, and lifts his hand to suck noisily at his slick-glossed fingers. “I quite liked it.”
You don’t even have time to react to that piece of information before he’s stripping his shirt off, flinging it somewhere into the gloom.
An epiphany rattles your sex-hazed mind, and you hold a finger up for a moment as you roll toward the side of the bed. You struggle not to sink into the mattress when a large hand runs down the curve of your spine, and you just barely manage to snag your prize.
His hat, which you place proudly on your head.
The look he gives you actually makes you nervous , of course in a terribly horny way, but it still pulls a breathy giggle from you, a timid smile on your face. You scoot back on the bed and Price reaches out to grab one of your knees before pushing . Your legs fall open with a gasp and you instinctively move to close them, but Price tuts above you, eyes dragging along your body.
“Jesus,” The bastard makes sure you’re paying attention as he takes his time unbuttoning his pants, dark boxers pulled taught across his hips. Once he’s bared to you, cock red and weeping against his stomach, a dirty thought fills your head.
If there’s a next time, You think, fingers mentally crossed. Let me suck this man’s dick.
You’re brought back into the moment when he climbs onto the bed until he’s hovering over you, one strong arm braced beside your head while the other slips down to stroke his cock. He lets out a questioning hum as his fingers dip into you, coaxing a breathy moan from you. “Jus’ thinkin’ about how sore m’ gonna be tomorrow.”
“Aye,” He says, teasingly rubbing himself through your folds. “Yer’ gonna feel me for fuckin’ weeks .” And then he’s sliding home in one smooth thrust, the stretch burning in a deliciously pleasant way until his hips press up against your thighs.
You’re not sure who groans louder.
He sits up, leaning back on his heels as he settles one of your legs over his shoulder with a wicked grin. The first roll of his hips pulls a sharp gasp from you, lightning skittering up your spine when he grinds against that perfect little spot. He thrusts shallowly, obviously testing the waters as he watches your face intently for any signs of discomfort.
“M’good.” You sigh, offering him a syrupy smile. “ Fuck me, John.”
He pulls out slow, grinning down at where you’re connected, until just his head is notched inside. The air is sucked from your lungs all at once as John sets an utterly punishing pace. He’s a wicked man with wicked tricks, you decide when he rolls his hips after every thrust, pushing that much harder against your G-spot.
His free hand snakes down to your hip, holding you in place while his thumb strokes gently along your hipbone, conflicting heavily with his previous pace. You reach up, grabbing him none-too-gently by the jaw to pull him down into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. It’s more a spit swap than anything, but it allows you to scratch your nails through the short hairs on the back of his head. He breathes out a slurred swear, hips stuttering for a moment before his pace resumes.
His hand burns a path from your hip down to your clit, thick thumb swirling syrupy slow. A strangled cry rips from your chest as he grins down at you, eyes wide and just a little wild. Backlight in the light like this, he looks almost holy, though distantly, you think that might be a bit sacrilegious, given the circumstance.
“C’mon love,” He cooes, nearly folding you in half as he drives into you relentlessly. “Cum fer me, yeah?” He mouths at your jaw, a hint of teeth along your throat as he groans into your ear. “Be a good girl n’ cum .”
It’s like a shot’s gone off, your brain whiting out as you tip off your precipice into ecstasy. You’re distantly aware that you’re nearly screaming his name, though it seems John doesn’t much mind, if the way his hips are stuttering is any indication. His neighbors might mind, but you couldn’t give a shit less about their opinion right now.
“Shite, ” Price spits, grip tightening on your thigh until you’re sure you’ll have his fingerprints stamped onto your skin. His eyes catch the lamplight, blue nearly electric in the yellow haze, and you fold first, eyes rolling shut with a whine. “M’gonna cum, love, m’go- Where? Where ? ”
“Inside.” You’re speaking before your gooey brain can process, infinitely grateful for the implant in your arm. “Cum inside me, Captain .”
He lets out a long, drawn-out moan, hips stuttering once, twice, before he’s grinding into you as deep as possible, sinking you farther into the plush bed. Warmth fills you as he prys his hand off your leg, straightening up to press an apologetic kiss to the bruised skin. You must make a face when Price pulls out, because he huffs softly as he gets off the bed, trying and failing not to wobble.
“I’ll clean ya up.” He mumbles, disappearing into the connected bathroom. You listen to the water run for a minute before he returns, wiping gently at your cum-stained skin. He’s thorough, you have to give him that, and within minutes your skin is tingling pleasantly, sufficiently clean for the time being.
He tosses the rag away carelessly, reaching down and picking you up like you weigh nothing. You manage to swallow the shriek that tries to claw its way out of your throat, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He strips the bed of the now-ruined comforter before he’s setting you gingerly down in the middle of the bed.
You let your eyes flutter closed as your body hums, content to fall asleep like that, when a ball of fabric hits your face. You splutter and sit up with a frown before you realize it’s one of Price’s shirts. About three sizes too big and definitely going home with you. You shrug it on and scoot over as Price all but collapses on the bed, dressed only in a pair of black briefs, though you’re quick to snatch the hat back up.
“I tire you out, old man?” You tease, lips curling deviously at the half-hearted glare he sends you. He pulls you closer, slinging an arm around your waist as he stares up at you with a suspiciously soft look in his blue eyes. Price rests his cheek along your arm, fingers tracing patterns across your skin. You take advantage of his proximity, picking a scar at random to trace. “What’s this one from?”
“Classified.”
“Phfft.” You snort, smacking his arm gently. “I don’t want the juicy details, Captain, I just wanna know what made them.”
“Knife.” He says simply and you nod, sliding over to a quarter-sized hole that seems to be the oldest out of all of them, faint but still indented into the skin. “First time I got shot.”
“First time, huh?” You quip, moving on to the next one. The pattern continues until you reach his back, fingers hesitating along a patchwork of healed burns. They stretch along his shoulders and down his back, though the worst of it seems to be his left shoulder. “Classified?”
“Shot down my fuckin’ choppa.” He muses, and you can’t help the disbelieving laugh that escapes. “Scout’s Honour, ya can ask Kyle.”
“Kyle was the one who was all shy about his callsign, yeah?” You ask, and Price snorts, rolling his eyes. Another thought pops up into your head, and your smile turns devilish as you tilt your head up toward the ceiling. “He’s a cutie, huh?”
All he does is laugh, rumbling and amused as his arm tightens around your waist. A better man than most, to not rise to the bait you’re oh so graciously offering him and you huff when he pulls the brim of his hat down over your eyes. In all honesty, you’d forgotten the thing was even on you.
Silence envelopes you, though you find it more comfortable than awkward. Your eyes flutter shut as your breathing evens out, unknowingly matching the man beside you. You’re quite content with your makeshift sleeping mask, and the smell of cigars and smoke begins to drag you under. Distantly, you think you hear a soft, “Goodnight, love.” , but you’re pulled under the blanket of sleep before you can dwell on it.
—
You wake up to a slew of text messages from Brooklyn, each one more panicked than the last.
not dead,
You text, a smile curling your lips as you listen to Price begin breakfast out in the kitchen.
got dick :)