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Price hated spy work. It’s why he joined the bloody military in the first place and steered sharply away from MI6, despite the many attempts of the Secret Intelligence Services to snag a soldier with his kill count and ability to pass under the radar. But that was exactly the point: yes, he specialized in close quarter combat and hostage rescue, both of which he achieved through highly covert, extremely volatile operations. Yes, Price was no stranger to disavowing either, coming close a few times in his career due to his government’s inability to hold the shit bag for a couple of seconds before the fan hit it. The majority of his work was just as risky, if not more, than one of those darned MI6 agents with suits that have never seen a drop of blood in their overpriced life.

So, yes, Price was well acquainted with the danger of that lifestyle. What he didn’t like was the fanfare. The luscious parties, the pristine looks, the diamond-coated sticks up everybody’s arses, and by God, that awful, atrocious acting. Price has always been a dog shit actor, he would be the first one to tell you. There was some kind of reflex in his expressions, something that activated whenever he smelled the tiniest hint of bullshit in the air. It made his eyebrows drop in an unimpressed glare and his eyes sharpen in small, ice-cold slits. The 141 was well acquainted with it and, from the corner of his stare, he could see them scampering about for their own costumes.

Laswell was another matter altogether. She was a CIA agent, after all, and her no horseshit policy was just as strong as Price’s.

“This is your operation, John,” she agreed, finally, after what felt like a two-minute long staredown. “I’m just telling you the best option for the safety of your men, and the safety of the objective.”

“You’re telling me this–” Price grabbed one of the suits behind him, a jacket and pants set made entirely of gold sequins, and held it up to Laswell’s face. “This is for the safety of my men?”

“Oh, sick!” Gaz immediately quipped. He seemed oblivious to the tension in the air, and he grinned a wide smile at Price. “That would look smashing on you, Captain!!”

Price gestured at Gaz to prove his point.

Laswell seemed to consider the option as well. “You know, that shade of gold would really compliment your eyes.”

Price just sighed, tossing the suit back on the rack. He did not miss Gaz sneaking up to snatch it right out of the pile, pressing it against his chest and giving himself a once-over in the mirror.

“Frankly, sir, I think this is bollocks too!” Soap spoke up from the other side of the room, adjusting the bowtie around his neck. He took a disgusted look at himself over Gaz’s shoulder. “Why do I have ta be the waiter? Do ye have any idea how smoking I would look in that velvet shirt?! No, Gaz gets to wear this boggin’ suit instead!!”

“It’s not a bloody dress-up contest, Johnny.” Ghost was gruff as always in his usual skull mask and dark fatigues, a rifle slung over his shoulder. He was the appointed sniper as usual, although Price suspected he wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit anyway. There was an amused glint in his eyes, behind all that black paint. “Though, Gaz, that is a God awful jacket.”

“I’m pretty sure being awfully over the top is the theme of the party,” Gaz shot back, and he hummed as he pulled the gold pants over his legs.

“Exactly my point.” Laswell was the one to gesture now. “Come on, John. Pick an outfit and ready up. Limo’s waiting.”

Soap turned around in a flurry. “There’s a limo?!”

Laswell gave him a sorry smile. “It’s just for Price and Gaz. You’ll be dropped off by helo with the rest of Echo Team, about a mile from the casino. We can’t let a guest see you come out of a Benz.”

Price almost felt bad for the lad, seeing his shoulders slump and his mouth curve into a deep pout. He looked like a kicked puppy right then and there, and Price had half the mind to switch their roles, but they both knew he couldn’t. Their informant specifically asked for Price, as they always did, and Soap had a horrible poker face; he wouldn’t last a second at any of the gambling tables.

Gaz poked Soap in the ribs with a wide, teasing smirk. “Yeah mate, limo’s for the VIPs only. Have fun on your trek through the woods.”

“Ye fuckin’ bawbag!!!” And there it was, Soap and Gaz’s usual skirmish every time they had a mission together. Price would have laughed at them like he always did, the two grown soldiers slapping the hell out of each other with no real fists or real animosity, but his head already felt swollen from the mission prep. He rubbed at his temples, trying to get his patience under control.

Ever the perceptive man, Ghost groaned all the way to the two sergeants and grabbed them both by their necks, dragging them out of the changing room. Price shot him a thankful smile before turning his attention back to Laswell. “You might want to leave too, for this part.”

Laswell patted him on the shoulder, a triumphant look on her face. “You come out with that hat on your head still, and I’ll throw it at Ghost’s dog.”

Price let out a chuckle at that, shaking his head. He waited until he heard the door close behind her before he ventured to the rack. They really were one gaudy suit after the other, he observed with some abject horror, sifting through feathers and sequins and velvet and shiny, sticky leather. Price couldn’t even recall the last time he’d worn a regular suit–maybe his sister’s wedding, thirteen years ago? Or was it at their father’s funeral? He couldn’t recall which came first. He did know it was a rental, and at the end of both days, he vowed never to wear one of those awful contraptions ever again.

Yet, here he was, at thirty-nine years of age, having to chose between a see-through chiffon blouse and a purple lace button-up. He shook his head, digging through the fabric. He finally spotted what looked like regular fabric, and he pulled the hook off the rack to take a closer look. It seemed like a regular suit in a rich, dark blue color, with gold buttons and matching wrist cuffs. The shirt they matched with it was a bright red… leather thing, so Price swapped it with a white button-up from another suit. It had a faint pattern that you could only see if the light hit it in a certain way, and Price deemed it subtle enough to shrug it on his shoulders and button it up across his chest. The jacket and the pants followed suit, and he prayed that the black dress shoes wouldn’t be a bitch to run in.

He adjusted the wrist cuffs before stepping in front of the mirror, only then noticing he still had his fishing hat on. It made him laugh again, and when he tugged it off, it felt like he was putting away a bit of himself. It was his trademark after all, one that he brought with himself everywhere (Gaz never let him forget the time he stubbornly kept it on through their diving mission, for heaven’s sake). And although jokes circulated on base, like when Soap had recruits convinced Price only wore it because he was secretly bald on top, the hat had become more synonymous with him and his authority than his cigars, or fishing vests, or friendly mutton chops.

Price shrugged his sentimentality off for a second, and he gently placed his hat on top of his folded fatigues without a second look. Now, he looked proper: the suit had a bit of a seventies vibe to it, his collar worn over the lapels of his jacket, the top of his shirt open on his chest. He couldn’t even close it up if he wanted, the buttons completely missing from the middle of his pecs up, but he liked it that way; it allowed him to move and breathe comfortably. He rotated his shoulders and stretched his legs to check for mobility, then straightened his outfit again.

He was already craving a cigar, and it hadn’t even been twenty minutes since the last one.

He finally stepped out of their temporary barracks and walked up to the canopy tent where the rest of the 141, Laswell, and some additional soldiers were talking over a schematic of the hotel. It was one of the privates that first saw him, a sleazy smile on his young face. “Looking good, sir! You look like a proper mafioso!!”

The rest turned to look at him. Gaz was the first one (and definitely last, Price would make sure of it) to look him up and down with a slow whistle. “Yeah, seriously, did we raid Al Pacino’s wardrobe for the mission?”

“And you still chose to dress like a Christmas tree decoration,” Soap teased the sergeant.

Ghost was characteristically silent, but he was eyeing the thin, golden chain laying across Price’s collarbones with an unimpressed glare. “What is it?” Price asked him.

“Strange to see you without your horrendous fishing attire, ‘s all,” he deflected.

“Sir, please, when it all goes to shit in there you’ve got to take out your gun and say ‘say hello to my little friend’!!” Another private popped up next to Soap, the soldier next to him imitating the way Tony Montana guns down everyone at the end of Scarface.

Price was thankful that Laswell didn’t make him shave his mustache so he could still hide his smile underneath it. “Lads, come on, let’s debrief. Soap, you’re good to follow Echo Team and infiltrate through the basement?”

All in all it wasn’t a difficult mission. They knew of a meeting that was supposed to happen at the Grandhotel Pupp in Montenegro between two Russian private bankers and some Al-Qatala operatives to discuss an imminent terrorist attack on a car manufacturer in Modena. The plan made sense, from what Price understood: the Al-Qatala would get the funds necessary from the Russians to go through with their attack, and the bankers would make money by shorting the stock of the manufacturer, quid pro quo. They just needed to iron out a few details for the attack tonight, and Price’s informant had provided the perfect space for it in a sophisticated and, more importantly, heavily guarded casino party. This is why having old comrades turned billionaire financial magnates was an incredible upper hand to have.

But that’s where Price’s gut feeling started to stir. Why meet in Montenegro, of all places, if they were planning to attack Italy? Why not meet there, or better yet, somewhere politically neutral and close to the border–like Switzerland? Farah, bless that girl’s heart, did a bang-up job keeping Russian forces out of Urzikstan and searching every transport route between them and the Middle East; Price was positive terrorists were now hard-pressed to meet with Russians either in their home turf, or in any nation in between. But there were still big extremist groups in London, Berlin, pretty much every other big European city out there. Why Montenegro? And why in a hotel like this one, with plenty of ventilation systems and maze-like floor plans and underground tunnels that lead to the middle of nowhere? They must know something’s up. Or, they were just idiots.

Yeah, right. When did something ever go according to their plans? No, something was definitely up, which is why Laswell called the 141 instead of those wankers from M16.

Price slapped his hands together. “Alright everyone–let’s get to position. Be careful out there and let Laswell or I know if you see anything or anyone out of place. Understood?”

It was a chorus of loud “Sir, yessir!” and then Soap and the Echo Team were whisked off to the helo. Ghost was gone shortly thereafter too, preferring to trek the distance to the hotel so he could scout the surrounding area and find a good vantage point. Laswell came up to him and Gaz with the same miniscule mics she handed to Soap, one of those gadgets Price swore he only saw in spy movies.

“Now this is some CIA shit,” Gaz joked with her, pressing the microphone in the inner curve of his ear. “How does this work? Do you copy?”

Price slipped it on too, right as Laswell pressed on the bigger device curled around the shell of her ear. Her voice came crystal clear through the small microphone. “Copy. Soap, Ghost, everything ok with you two?”

“Affirm,” Ghost grunted back.

Soap came through a moment later. “It’s sweatier than a glassblowers’ arse in here and this penguin suit is squishing me bawsack.”

Gaz and Price both chuckled under their breath, even as the captain said, “thank you for the tactical rundown, Sergeant.”

“Yer welcome. What would ye do withou’ me?”

“I wouldn’t know nearly as many ways to say ‘scrotum’, that’s for sure.” Gaz shook his head.

“Baws, bawbag, boaby, banger, knob, toorie…” Ghost listed off, earning another guffaw from Gaz.

“It was a metaphorical question, ya numpties!!” Soap argued back. “Whatever. A’body loves a good accent. Why do ye figure Ghost knows so many ways to say tadger, eh?!”

“Oh, shove it!” Ghost shot back, with the same clipped tone he took on every time he’s embarrassed beyond his wits.

“Aww, don’t be shy, babe.” Soap cooed over the comms. “‘Sides, yer hardly the only one with a raging boner for sexy accents, heh, Captain?”

Price was only paying half-attention until that point, used to his soldiers’ pre-mission banter. There weren’t many commanding officers that allowed this kind of talk even on base, but it was a nice habit to get into, something to shake off the nerves before a tense battle. Now he realized why so many of his superiors wouldn’t allow anything beyond a ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’, and he cleared his throat before replying. “I have no idea what you mean, MacTavish.”

“Oooh, the captain last-named you~” Gaz teased the other sergeant, the sequins of his suit jacket crinkling as he danced in place.

Soap sputtered right back. “Ah–I mean–come on, just–Ghost, will ye agree with me here?! Nikolai never wants tae speak with anyone but Price, so obviously the mutton chops must do it for ‘im too!!”

There was nothing but radio silence from the forest, even though they all knew Ghost was very much still out there and probably choosing his vantage point now. No, this was a very deliberate silence, which felt much colder than when Ghost told all of them where they could shove it.

Price let out a chuckle, and in the corner of his eyes, he saw Gaz’s shoulders shaking as well. “Well put, Lieutenant, conversation’s over.”

“Boys,” Laswell reprimanded them, her hands on her hips. “The limo’s here, if you’re done with the locker room talk?”

“Great job, Soap,” Gaz muttered under his breath as both he and Price made their way to the car.

Soap was on a loud helicopter surrounded by rowdy privates, but he still whispered back, “what the feck did I do now?!”

“You just had to talk about Nikolai, you daft di–”

“Shut it, both of you.” Price opened the door to the limo and gestured for Gaz to climb in first. “Unless you want to serve champagne to rich assholes like your friend Soap?”

There were nothing but complaints from both Gaz and Soap in both of his ears but faintly, in the very back, he could hear the low rumble of Ghost’s chuckle. It was enough to put a new smile on his face, and he was just about to file in right behind Gaz when Laswell stopped him.

“John, the same goes for you. You see something off, I’ll get exfil to you right away.” Laswell leaned over the car door with a small grin too, her hand on her hip. “Good luck.”

“No luck in gambling,” Price quipped back, winking at her as he stepped into the limo. “It’s all in the bluff.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.” She closed the door behind him and gave two strong pats on the hood of the car.

Their limo sped off through the difficult terrain and, after a few minutes of tires slipping through mud and rolling over rocks bigger than a man’s head, it brought them to another smooth road. The forest around them was so dense and dark Price couldn’t see anything out of the windows beyond his own reflection, more harrowing than anything out there. God, that necklace was so flashy, what was he even thinking? The very thought of putting it on for a certain someone to notice made his skin crawl. He was thirty-fucking-nine, for Pete’s sake, not to mention one of the most decorated SAS soldiers of all time and a fucking bastard one, at that. And yet…

“Where did Nikolai say he stashed our guns, again?”

Price leaned over to make sure his shirt was still tucked into his pants on the back. The traverse through the mountain had rattled them both, and he saw Gaz straightening his velvet lapels in his own dark mirror. “Yours is in the men’s bathroom, second stall from the door. Should be taped to the inside of the canteen. Don’t forget.”

“Ah, yes.” Gaz snickered again, his tone suggestive. “And yours is at the bar, right?”

“Yes,” he responded, dead serious. “Anything you want to say about that, Chuckles?”

“Nope, nothing at all. Just looking forward to dipping my hand in toilet water while you sip on whiskey, sir.”

“Gin & tonic,” Price corrected him.

“Gin & tonic.”

Yeah, it did make him laugh at first too. That more than anything had Nikolai written all over it, more than the hotel that looked like a baroque Parisian mansion in the middle of the fucking Balkan forest. He thought about the time Soap and him were escaping yet another heavily armed town, and Nikolai had his sergeant dig through an alleyway dumpster for a bulletproof vest while Price got his neatly folded in a golden suitcase by the side. He thought about that one mission where Ghost had gone undercover in some prison camp in Siberia, and when Price came to get him with exfil, their extraction vehicle had an ornate chest containing a single Hello Kitty balaclava and some of the most expensive cigars on Earth.

Was it fair? Absolutely not. But Price never claimed to be a fair man himself, so he could hardly fault Nikolai for his jokes. Besides, they never failed to put a smile on his face and make his men bitch all the way back to base. Win-win.

Price went to pick a cigar, but found only soft silk inside his chest pocket. Ah, yes. Nikolai was also the Russian prick who decided to host this lavish gambling party in the first place and make him dress up like a damn Bond girl for no real reason at all. He could have very well just set up the meeting in the hotel lobby, no party, no ridiculous getups, and no security scanners at the entrance. But he didn’t. Price suddenly wasn’t very impressed by the man’s tricks anymore.

Finally they saw lights in the distance, and before long, the majestic hotel came into view. It stood there, in the middle of a great clearing at the base of the mountain, its flood lights so bright they dimmed even the stars in the sky. It was quite the place–frescoed and polished and gilded to high hell, like something straight out of Versailles. The car rolled by the entrance, and Price and Gaz made their way in. When he saw the crystal chandelier hanging over the two story atrium, Price had no doubt the damn napkin rings in this place cost more than his measly, government-issued salary.

Gaz was in a similar state of stupor, so Price clapped him on the shoulder and steered him through the foyer, up the mahogany staircase, and under the arch with the cherub statues on top. They came to the ballroom, a magnificent area filled with even more glittering chandeliers and wide windows, a vast assortment of poker tables, roulettes, and betting pools across the marbled floor.

A waiter came up to them with champagne flutes balanced on top of a silver platter, and Gaz instantly snatched one off it, looking up at the classical frescoes all over the ceiling. “I’m in the wrong business. You don’t think Nikolai needs a funny sidekick or something?”

“Get your ass in position.” Price nodded impatiently to the men’s bathroom, then made his way to the sleek bar at the very back of the ballroom. Knowing that he was still on a hot mic, he muttered, “funny sidekick. You’re the SAS’ funny sidekick, alright.”

Gaz’s voice came through his earpiece with a slight echo, as if he already reached the empty bathroom. “No way, I’m everyone’s arrogant but lovable little brother. Soap’s the funny sidekick.”

“Yer aff yer heid.” Soap’s breath sounded labored. “When I get up there I’ll give ye a wedgie, ‘little brother’.”

“You under the hotel, Soap?” Price confirmed.

“Aye, no issues so far. Coast is way too clear.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Where the fuck are all the terrorists? He’s never known Al-Qatala to travel somewhere without at least twenty bodyguards behind them, but this ballroom was so full of Russians Price almost thought they accidentally ventured into Moscow. Everywhere around him it was ‘spasiba’ and ‘mudak’ and ‘sigarety?’. “Нет,” he said to that, his fingers itching for something much stronger than a damn cigarette.

“Ghost—ye good?” Soap asked.

“Affirm. Have a good view of the ballroom from the balcony side. I don’t have a visual on Nikolai. Is he at the bar, Price?”

He took a look around the counter. “Negative. Probably fashionably late, as always.”

A distinct flushing rang out through his earpiece. “At least he had the courtesy to wrap it in plastic,” Gaz groaned.

“Wrap what?” Ghost asked.

“Our Russian friend left me a present in the toilet tank. Good gun, too. .40 cal.”

Soap whistled. “Not bad. Maybe he really does have a soft spot for ye since ye almost fell out of his helo.”

“If he had a soft spot for me, he’d be handing me the gun at the bar like he’ll do for the captain.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gaz.” Price turned around to lean his back against the counter, his elbows leaning on the shiny surface. “Handing off something to two different people would be way too suspicious.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure giving me a bloody pink balaclava also had its tactical reasons,” Ghost bitched.

“I personally love that thing.” Soap chuckled, and at that moment, Price saw him come through the kitchen’s swinging doors. He held a platter with one hand and adjusted his bow tie with the other. “Even used it in our down time, if ye know what I mean.”

“We always know what you mean.” Price could basically hear Gaz rolling his eyes, and in a few seconds he was also out of the bathroom, pistol hidden somewhere beneath his jacket. “…ok, but were you guys swapping roles or was it a kidnapper fantasy or–”

“Sergeant Garrick, I’ve got you in my scope,” Ghost warned in his clipped tone once again. Must be blushing to the tip of his darkened eyes, Price guessed.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Soap simply shot back, a brazen smile on his face. “But I do pretend to be the sexy assailant in a hostage situation and tell.”

“JOHNNY!!” Ghost yelled through the comms.

“A sexy assailant with a Hello Kitty mask?” Gaz asked, his voice slightly entertained, but mostly judgemental.

“Lads,” Price interrupted. “Let’s get to the mission. Laswell, did Nikolai’s men send you the communications?”

“Affirmative, Yuri just dropped off the transmitter. They’re at table 7, the one by the fireplace. The Al-Qatala operatives have yet to arrive but the two men in front of the dealer are our targets.”

“Rog,” Gaz made his way to the table in question, and he hung back with the small group of spectators, watching the Texas Hold ‘Em game unfold. When one of the Russian players turned to him, Gaz nodded at him. “Добрый вечер.”

Price laughed under his breath. “That was good, Gaz. You been studying in your down time?”

He saw the sergeant cross his arms over his chest, and he brought his hand up to cover his mouth as if he was pondering what was going to happen in the game. Instead, he whispered into his mic, “I’ve been practicing here and there. Now I know how to say good morning, good afternoon, and good evening.”

“That’s it?” Soap chuckled. “Дурачок.”

“Hey, I’ve been around Nikolai enough to know what that means, you asshole.”

“Since I’m such a great teacher, let me give ye yer second lesson.” Soap cleared his throat before walking up to the group of spectating Russians. “Шампанское?”

Gaz tilted his head and cleared his throat, hiding a ‘showoff’ in between his coughs.

When Soap walked away with a considerably emptier platter, he responded, “say what you will but I bet I just gave those men and Ghost a half chub, at the very least.”

“I’m one millimeter away from shooting that fucking mohawk off your head, Sergeant.”

“Aye, aye,” Soap waved Ghost off, making another round through the ballroom. “I should ask Nikolai how to say boner in Russian.”

“Стояк.” Price hadn’t noticed the warmth next to him until he heard that deep voice in his ear, warming the side of his bare neck. Nikolai slid against his right side, his arm crawling under Price’s jacket and landing at the small of the captain’s back. Price turned to him, and the Russian pulled away just enough to wink at him. “A good phrase to use with your partner would be, ‘У меня на тебя стояк.’ Don’t you think so, John?”

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were nowhere as fluent in Russian as Price was, so he was certain none of them understood what it meant. Still, it made a small shiver traverse down his spine, and the corner of his lips lifted in a smile.

“У меня на…” Soap repeated under his breath. “I have a boner? Is that what it means?”

Nikolai went to answer, but Price interrupted him with a hand on his mouth. “Let’s leave the Russian lesson for the end of the mission, yeah? How are your men doing?”

The man wrapped his fingers around Price’s hand, and he pressed a kiss across his knuckles before bringing it down. “In position. Yuri is keeping an eye on the entrance. He’ll let us know when the other two targets arrive.” Then, he looked at Price up and down, his black eyes lingering on the necklace across his collarbones. “You clean up well, John. I almost didn’t recognize you without your hat.”

Price shrugged. “Laswell threatened to have Riley eat it if I left it on.”

Nikolai chuckled, just a sharp breath out of his nose, then left the small of Price’s back to flag down the bartender. “The hat is not bad. But I will send flowers to Kate to thank her, nonetheless.”

“My wife loves marigolds,” Laswell quipped through comms.

“Marigolds it is.” When the bartender came over, Nikolai’s voice dropped slightly. “Будьте добры, водка и джин с тоником.”

Price laughed under his breath. “You know me so well.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth tilted in a smirk. “We’ve known each other for over twenty years, John.”

And what twenty years they have been. Price remembered their first encounter like it happened just yesterday, that scorching fear that pulsed in his veins when he went to rescue their informant before the ultranationalists executed him. Price had been the one to track him down, after all–managed to scramble together all the secret messages Nikolai left behind for a keen eye to find. His commanding officer had been skeptical and told him it’d be his ass on the line if this ended up being a ruse, but when Price and Nikolai established a secure line of communication, the Russian provided information that saved hundreds of their men. It was the same CO that told him to forget about Nikolai when he’d been discovered, that a rescue mission would be too dangerous, not worth it for an ex-ultranationalist who’d just recently switched sides.

Price was furious. Was it not just as dangerous in the first place for Nikolai to exchange that information with them? Was it not just as dangerous for him to be found out by the extremist faction he decided to betray? Nikolai didn’t even let the ultranationalists know who he’d been speaking with, what information he traded, the operations that were currently taking place in order to dismantle everything the faction had planned for the next few months. No, Nikolai had been in extreme danger this entire time, and Price would not let him stay in it any longer.

Price hadn’t been prone to insubordination until that point, but something about his CO’s dismissive tone had ticked him off like nothing else. He saw something in his brief communications with Nikolai, maybe the same desire to do the right thing, most likely the same disappointment in their superiors, in their corrupt institutions. Whatever it was, it was there, between them, like a tightly wound coil that tugged at both ends. It was painful and undeniable. When he managed to infiltrate their camp and save the Russian, the only reason he hadn’t gotten a dishonorable discharge was the fact that the informant just learned about an attack that would have killed tens of thousands. And that’s where their alliance cemented.

Nikolai didn’t become a direct agent of the British government after that–didn’t trust any of them, not after they’d left him to die–but he still had a web of undercover agents in the Russian militia, so he worked as a private contractor of sorts and provided them exfil, weapons, and information for a steep price. Back then they even used to go on missions together, at least until Nikolai stepped away from military life to become a full time billionaire, but those days were still some of Price’s fondest memories in the service. The late nights spent over floor plans, talking about their estranged families, learning Russian and English from one another, shooting vodka until three in the morning, reminding each other what this was all for.

It was intoxicating. Price didn’t know he was far too deep until Nikolai took a bullet for him, and he swore his own heart stopped beating when the blood started seeping from the man’s bulletproof vest. He dragged him to cover and immediately got to work, not allowing his brain to go into a bottomless spiral, even though his hands were shaking and the bullet hit him from the side and he was certain it hit his superior vena cava and and and–

“John,” Nikolai started, sputtering.

“Shut the fuck up. You fucking idiot. You selfish, unbelievable fucking arsehole.” Price didn’t know where these droplets were coming from, but they were messing up his gauze work, the cloth immediately soaked in salty water and deep crimson. He wiped at his eyes furiously and tore the gauze off him, pulling out a new wrap. “You’re not going to die before me. Do you understand? You selfish Russian prick. I’ll haunt you in hell.”

Nikolai laughed at that, even though the action made him wince in pain. “Listen to me, мой милый.”

“So you can tell me your last fucking words? Shove them up your arse.” He pushed on his transmitter with more force than necessary, but it was inevitable when his other hand had to block blood flow. “I need exfil stat, what’s the ETA?”

The radio crackled to life a couple of seconds later, bullets flying in the background. God, it was an awful mission from the start, he should have known. He should have known. “Two minutes out, Lieutenant!!”

“Любимый, let me speak,” he said, always soft and kind even though Price cursed him out at least five times a day. “Have you ever seen ‘L’elisir d’amore’?”

“Is now really the time to talk about your operas?” Price begged.

“Да. You are my Adina. Do you understand? You are Adina.”

“For fuck’s–” Price kept his left hand firmly on Nikolai’s heart, and he moved his right one to the man’s neck, holding the back of his head with his palm. Their first kiss was disgusting like that, iron dripping everywhere, sweat and mud and gunpowder caked onto their skin. Price didn’t care. When he pressed his lips against Nikolai’s nothing else mattered, just the way his mouth had opened for him and let him explore and had been just as kind and dripping in devotion as the rest of him.

When Price pulled away, his lips trembled. “You think I don’t know what любимый means? Or милый? Or любовь моя? Родной?” His voice broke at the last term, and he hurt like the bullet had actually got him, like this bastard hadn’t thrown himself in the middle. “I’ve always known, you idiot. You and your bloody operas. Next time just grow a pair.”

“Love…” he finally said in English, and he lifted his hand to Price’s cheek even when the lieutenant told him to stay still. “I don’t know if I can—I’m glad that I—“

Nikolai coughed again, and Price screamed more curses at the sight of blood gurgling up that sweet, soft mouth. “Just shut up, ok? You’re not leaving me. Не бросай меня. Do you get that, you tosser?!”

“You need to practice your Russian.” Nikolai just couldn’t seem to shut up. “My Adina. Я люблю тебя.”

“I love you too, you dickhead, and my name is John.” Price sniffled again, his own heart beating to the same rhythm of the exfil helo he could hear in the distance. “Stay alive and I’ll give you the best rub of your life.”

Nikolai chuckled again. His voice was starting to fade, but his eyes were still fixed on Price. “Ah. Well, in that case…”

Price was brought back to present day when Nikolai let out the low, rumbly chuckle that still made the hair on his neck stand, even after all this time, even after all they’ve been through. He seemed to have guessed where Price’s train of thought went because he said, “that did turn out to be the best of my life.”

Price laughed too, shaking his head. “You hard bastard. I bet you stayed alive just for that.”

“That and other things, too.” He gave him a suggestive smirk, then handed him his drink. Cheeky arsehole.

“Are we talking about the bullet story? I wanna hear the bullet story again,” Soap interrupted, sounding as excited as a kid asking their parents how they met for the thousandth time.

Even Ghost chuckled. “I do like that story.”

They obviously didn’t know that part of it, and Price did his best so that Nikolai never let it slip either. He also never told them that they’d jumped each other the moment the doctor cleared Nikolai, or the many, many times that followed. Once they cleaned the area of enemies, Price would grab Nikolai by the collar and shove him in a closet somewhere, ripping the buttons of the Russian’s fatigues in order to get to his underwear. In turn Nikolai would sneak them into their COs’ offices and bend Price over their desks, the lieutenant biting into his sleeve to not give them away. Even after Nikolai left active duty he kept supplying Price with everything he needed, and they still tumbled into bed like a couple of teenagers, and the man kissed him with the strength and reverence of a believer in God.

“You were a vision.” He played with Price’s necklace, his fingers brushing on the back of his neck. Price was torn between shaking him off, the rattle of the chain tickling his skin, or leaning into the sweet touch. “Just like when you disobeyed orders to come save me. Это была любовь с первого взгляда.”

“Закрой рот,” Price said, his tone light and teasing.

“Никогда,” Nikolai bit back, his fingers now trailing down to the edge of the captain’s jacket collar. “Your Russian… вы должны перестать. Я весь горю, Джон.”

Price, who has always found some amusement in poking bears, doubled down. “Заче́м? Малыш, ты возбужден?”

Nikolai’s hand tightened around the back of his neck, and he moved closer to Price’s ear. His voice was low and dangerous, like he was just about to snap. Price loved pushing him to that point, and the rough breath against the shell of his ear made him swallow in anticipation. “He дразни меня. У меня сейчас нереальный стояк.”

“I hate it when they speak fast,” Gaz whispered, sounding disappointed as all hell.

“Why does it matter? You only know four words.” Ghost teased.

Soap popped up then. “Oh, oh, I know what that means! He just said стояк!! They’re talking about boners!!”

“Oh God.” Gaz came to a sudden realization. “Oh God, I feel like I’m listening to my parents flirting.”

“You’re right,” Price said, still looking up at Nikolai’s dark gaze with that low heat simmering at the bottom of his stomach. “Laswell, give us five.”

“Wait–”

“GAZ–” Soap’s frustrated scream stopped suddenly. Price heard his angry curses across the ballroom anyway, and when he turned to look at the waiter, he was already apologizing to the freaked out people around him.

“Thank you, Kate.” Nikolai let his hand fall from Price’s neck to the small of his back, his arm leaning on the bar counter. “I’ll make sure to add a few chocolates to those marigolds.”

“You’re welcome, boys. Be on the lookout.” Her line went quiet, and although Price knew she was still there, she was impeccable at minding her business and giving them their privacy.

Price let out a sigh before he turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose. Nikolai moved just slightly to give him a little space, but he kept his arm where it was, his hand across Price’s stomach. He tightened it once, just to get Price’s attention.

“Talk to me, John.”

Price took a sip of his gin and tonic. “This mission stinks, Nik. When have you known the Taliban to move without thirty armed men attached to their arses?”

“I haven’t,” he responded, calm as always. “That’s why I told you to bring the extra team. They’re under the ballroom right now, correct?”

“Yes.” Price turned to look at him now. When he met Nikolai’s eyes again, the man smiled at him. “Tell me what you know.”

“My guess is, the targets are under pressure. This is the same group you stopped a few months ago in Oslo. Pretty big hit for you both.” Nikolai brought his vodka to his lips, looking out to the poker table in question. “What if they’re down on their luck? Their faction was decimated. Their attack failed. They’re here, so they must have no funding either.”

“You’re saying they’re desperate.”

Nikolai shrugged. “Would explain why they agreed to this place, in this location, with these restrictions.”

Price nodded. It checked out, he just wasn’t sure why the Russians would want to help a Taliban faction down on their luck, especially if their track record hadn’t been great recently. He’d never known bankers to take risky investments either, after all. “Who are all these compatriots of yours, by the way?” he asked, pointing at the rest of the ballroom.

“Some are my own spies, some are millionaires from around here. Most are people I wanted to keep an eye on.”

“Ah,” Price grinned then, taking another sip of his drink. “So this is for yourself, as well.”

“Конечно.” Nikolai smirked back. “Everything I do has a purpose behind it. Yes, I wanted the ultranationalists to suffer. I still do. But seeing you… and touching you, like this… this is also another great purpose.”

“You dick.” Price laughed under his breath. “You’re telling me you’ve been helping me all these years just so you could get your cock wet?”

Nikolai tightened his hold on Price’s hip again, bringing him closer to his chest. It made yet another wave of heat flush down his body, and Price licked his lips. Nikolai’s gaze flicked down to his mouth. “No. It’s so I could get you.”

Price rolled his eyes. “You’re so corny.”

“I’m being truthful.” His thumb rubbed just above Price’s hip, at the edge of his belt, and when he finished his vodka he placed a kiss on his clothed shoulder. “My handsome Rodolfo. You cried for me like I was Mimì, dying right in front of your eyes.”

“Mimì does die at the end of La Bohème.” Price lifted the corner of his mouth as he finished his own drink. “And my name is John, not Rodolfo.”

“Ah, yes. You saved me.” Nikolai put his hand under his own jacket and over his heart, and Price knew he was tracing the edges of his scar like he did every time he reminisced. “I would have bled out in seconds, but your hand saved me.”

“My hand, and the promise of a handjob.”

Nikolai laughed at that, a deep, throaty sound that made Price want to kiss him senseless. “Yes, my love. Your hand, and the promise of much more.”

“Nikolai.” Price stepped away from him to follow the voice. Yuri came up to them with a dark look. When he noticed Price his eyes widened, a warm smile instantly lightening up his expression. “Captain Price! I didn’t recognize you. How are you?”

Price turned around to shake his hand. “Хорошо. А у тебя?”

“Я тоже хорошо.” Just like Nikolai, Yuri always seemed enthusiastic about speaking Russian with him. When he shook Price’s hand he moved his other hand on top in a tight hold. “Wish the circumstances were different. We still need to go to that cigar bar I was telling you about.”

Price grinned right back. “Next time I’m in St. Petersburg, definitely.”

“That will be soon, then.” Nikolai leaned back onto the counter. “We’ll be going there after the mission.”

Price lifted an eyebrow at him. “We are?”

Nikolai waved him off. “I already cleared it with Kate. Have they arrived?”

“Да.” Yuri pulled Nikolai into a brief half hug, and Price noticed the subtle exchange of a package between their chests. Nikolai pocketed it in one swift motion under his jacket.

Yuri stepped away, then nodded at the two of them. “I’ll be joining the game soon. Best of luck to you both.”

“Спасибо, Юрий.” Nikolai smiled at him, and they watched him walk to the poker table, slapping Gaz’s shoulder as he stood next to him in the crowd of spectators.

“Gun?” Price whispered.

Nikolai nodded. He took the empty glass away from him, gently sliding it on the bar counter, then moved to stand in front of Price. The captain tried to look unimpressed but, as always, whenever Nikolai slid between his thighs and put his hands on the Brit’s hips, his breath was knocked right out of him. The Russian leaned into him, tucking his head in the crook of Price’s neck, and he pressed slow, tantalizing kisses from his collarbone all the way up the length of his throat. When he finally reached the edge of Price’s mouth, one of his hands moved to circle his middle and smoothly slide a pistol in his waistband. He felt the long barrel slot against his front.

“Mmmh,” Price rumbled. “Is that a G24 Long Slide that I feel, or are you just happy to see me?”

Nikolai chuckled again, and he pressed another kiss on the side of his mustache before replying. “Only you could guess a gun by the way it presses against your dick. Yes. .40 cal, 150 grain ammo, just the way you like it.”

“You spoil me.” Price’s breath hitched when Nikolai’s hands trailed slowly up his back, tickling the long divot of his spine. He let out a shaky laugh. “Now I see why I’m the only one to get my weapon at the bar.”

Nikolai tilted Price’s head with a slight press of his fingers under his chin and kissed him one last time at the corner of his mouth. It made the captain’s eyes flutter and his lips fall open, wanting to chase the taste of him. His gaze flicked to the entrance archway of the ballroom, and he groaned when he saw the two targets step in.

Nikolai stepped away to lean back against the bar counter, a shit-eating grin lifting the corner of his mouth. “Be careful. I’ll spot you from here.”

“Who’s the tease now?” Price mirrored his smirk as he adjusted his jacket, glancing up at the poker table. “Laswell, get me back in.”

“You got it, John.”

A click, and he was immediately met with Gaz and Soap’s continuous bickering. He made his way to a roulette table that was in line of sight with the targets’, growling under his breath. “Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish, what is it now?”

“Nothing!” Soap hissed out, and he offered a drink to another patron before he spoke again. “Glad to have ye back with us, sir.”

“Gaz?” Price asked.

“Soap was being gross about you and Nikolai, sir.”

“Yer arse and parsley!! Captain, sir, don’t believe him. Gaz, if ye say any more I'm going ta skelp yer wee behind.”

“He said he doesn’t recall reading about groping in the field manual, John,” Ghost ratted him out.

“SIMON!!!”

Gaz joined in. “Yeah, yeah, and then I said I’d bet my arse that he’s never even read the damn thing, and he said how I knew that, and I said that I’ve been on missions with just him and Ghost and I’ve heard at least twenty violations between them, and he said ‘yer bum’s oot the windo’!”

“It’s windae, windae!! God, I gotta teach these fucking Brits everything…”

Price pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced back at Nikolai, who seemed like he was barely containing his laughter behind a new glass of vodka. Well, at least one of them was enjoying this. He bet on a random number at the roulette, then turned to look at the targets, watching the two Al-Qatala operatives take seats next to the Russian investors. “Laswell, can you patch us through to the bug under the table?”

“Roger, stand by.”

There was some static, then four voices speaking in Arabic. He expected them all to be speaking in Russian, given the fact that the operatives were the ones in need, but maybe they were looking for privacy. Price had no doubt most of the group around that table spoke English and Russian, so it would make sense.

At the corner of his eye he saw Nikolai nod at Yuri, and when his second-in-command moved, Price spoke up as well. “You get in position too, Gaz. Let me know if you see them exchange anything.”

Yuri and Gaz sat down at the same poker table just as the dealer started up a new round. That close to the other players he didn’t expect either of them to be able to communicate back, but Gaz was resourceful, and he struck up a fake conversation with Yuri. He’d done this once before on another mission, and just as before he started talking about nonexistent people, Paige did this, Anderson said that. Price mentally kept track of the names and joined their initials together. P-A-P-E-R.

“They exchanged a piece of paper?” Price confirmed.

“Да,” Yuri said, but then continued with Gaz’s train of thought, talking about Olivia here, Frank there.

O-F-F-E-R.

“They’re talking money,” the captain summarized for everyone else.

“Sounds like it,” Gaz confirmed, making it sound like he was answering one of Yuri’s phony questions.

Ghost’s voice interrupted. “Captain, we got a situation out here.”

“Talk to me.”

“There’s activity on the roof.”

He exchanged a confused look with Nikolai across the ballroom. He excused himself from the roulette table to walk up to the windows, pretending to look out at the breathtaking view. “What kind of activity?”

“Armed hostiles. I can’t tell who it is from out here. Could be Russians, could be Al-Qatala. They’re preparing to rappel.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Soap asked under his breath.

“Everybody, prepare to take cover. Keep away from windows.” Price moved nonchalantly to another table, this time on the other side of the ballroom, close to Gaz and Yuri’s positions. He glanced at Soap, who subtly tossed his last couple of champagne glasses into a plant and went to the bar for a refill. Nikolai moved to a more deserted portion of the bar as well.

“They’ve stopped, Captain.” Ghost added. “Seems like they’re waiting for a signal.”

“Keep an eye on them and let me know if you see anything.”

Ghost grumbled ‘rog,’ and Price went back to the muffled conversation between their targets. The words were a bit difficult to understand as they kept their voices hushed, but it was rapidly rising in tone, and Price didn’t miss the curses that one of the terrorists kept biting off. “Gaz, Yuri, I’m having trouble understanding what they’re arguing about. Can you hear them?”

Gaz started speaking, but one of the other players interrupted him. “Do you mind? I’m trying to focus here, and you keep talking about your eleven cats.”

He could see that Gaz was about to tell him to fuck off, but Yuri held him back. They didn’t want to cause a commotion, after all, and that little comment had already caused the targets to stop talking. The Russian waited for the conversations to restart around the table, then he pressed his hand against his mouth in a pensive way. Price heard a very subtle, very low humming, all in long stretches or small staccatos. He furrowed his brows. Was he speaking in morse? Price was way too rusty, and he doubted Soap and Ghost remembered it from training either.

“Something’s up, John,” Nikolai spoke from behind his glass again. “They lowered their offer. The operatives are upset.”

Price furrowed his eyebrows. “Why are they shorting them now?”

They waited for Yuri’s humming to come through, then Nikolai continued. “Sounds like they’re hesitant to put any more money in because of their failed attack in Oslo.”

Soap spoke up. “I have another problem, Captain.”

Price let out another frustrated grunt. “Jesus Christ, what’s going on now?”

“Where are all the other waiters?”

He looked around the room. Sure enough, all across the board were extravagant suits and expensive petticoats, but none of the familiar white uniforms. He glanced at Soap, who was staring back at him with a confused and slightly concerned look. He couldn’t help but mirror that expression for a moment before he shook his head. “Get to the kitchen and see if there’s a party in there they didn’t invite you to.”

Price watched him make his way across the ballroom, taking in anything else out of the ordinary, studying where everyone’s eyes kept flying to. Some kept to themselves, but the majority had twitchy fingers, sweaty necks, rolling shoulders. Any other day he wouldn’t have considered it suspicious–they were playing with €10,000 poker chips, after all–but he saw their gazes flick to the other table too many times to be coincidental. Only the table with their targets, nowhere else.

“Nikolai, you said some of these guys are people you were keeping an eye on?”

“Yes. Investors of the same… caliber, if you will.”

“Do they know about the meeting?”

He saw Nikolai’s expression turn dark. “They shouldn’t.”

“I think I see where this is heading,” Ghost grumbled.

Price cursed softly. “Same here.”

They heard a few grunts and the undeniable sound of a suppressor going off twice. Then, a heavy thud. Soap’s breathless voice came through comms a moment later. “Well, good news, I found where all the other waiters were hiding. Bad news, they were having a party without me after all. The kitchen’s a fucking bloodbath.”

“Did you get attacked?”

“Aye. I’d recognize Russian grunting everywhere. No offense, Yuri, Nikolai.”

Price saw the two share a slightly confused look. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn’t help the quiet laugh. “I wasn’t aware Russian men grunt in a particular way,” Nikolai admitted.

“Of course ye wouldn’t. I bet Price knows exactly what I’m talking about and is laughing his tits off right now.”

The captain hid his mouth behind his hand, turning away from the Russians’ pointed stares. “How are you doing, are you hurt?” he asked Soap.

“No, but I’ve got blood on my shirt. Give me a sec to find another and I’ll be right out.”

“Roger. Laswell, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“John, I’m a mile away from you and I can smell the bullshit all the way out here.”

“Agreed. I think these bastards are trying to off each other. Soap, stay in the kitchen. If someone’s cleaning house, they won’t be happy to see you get out of there. Laswell, give Echo team the go ahead and tell them to meet with Soap in the back. We’ll give them the signal.”

He heard Laswell contact the team. After another click to connect their squadron’s comms with the 141’s, they all heard a loud chorus of ‘yes, ma’am’s. Price kept an ear out for the conversation between the targets, with Yuri reporting to Nikolai that neither party was willing to budge on the price front. He paid attention to the way their voices kept rising and waning in harsh whispers, the way their hands moved to grasp something but stopped midway. Paid attention to the way some of the spectators surrounding the table started flexing their hands, shaking out their legs. Paid attention to the way the man right next to him pretended to tie his shoelaces even though they were not loose in the least.

And that’s when it happened. One of the Russians smashed his drink against the poker table and screamed “Жадная свинья!!” and shoved the broken glass right in the operative’s throat.

“PRICE!!” Ghost yelled, and all of the windows crashed through at the same time.

It was a fucking shitshow. All of the people around the targets’ table started punching the shit out of each other; one tried to shove their shattered glass in Gaz’s eye, but Yuri yanked the sergeant backwards and pulled his pistol right against the Russian’s chest, two effective shots at the heart killing him on the spot. The armed men that came blasting through the windows started mowing down the tables closest to them, and when Soap and the Echo team barrelled through the kitchen another round of semiautomatic fire rained on the ballroom.

It was like the entire place had imploded from the inside out. Or maybe from the outside in, Price wasn’t sure, what he was sure about was that the shoelaces guy had pulled a knife from under his pant leg and swung at him as soon as the fight had started. Price easily evaded him and disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist. He grabbed his pistol from his waistband to complete the job, but someone had already shot the guy right through his temples.

Price sighed, frustrated. “I could have done it on my own, Nik.”

“I know.” Nikolai shot a few more bullets in him even though they both knew he was long dead. He kept going until the cartridge emptied, and he reloaded a new one with a smooth flick of the hand. He gave Price a calm smile. “I’ve got more cartridges behind the bar, come on.”

He put his hand on the small of Price’s back to make him go first, and the captain shot a few people on the way before swinging over the ebony counter and crouching behind the bar. Nikolai jumped down right next to him, opening a cabinet under the hard liquor shelf to take out a Benelli Supernova shotgun and a PTR rifle, two of Price’s favorites. Price’s face lit up at the sight.

Nikolai chuckled at him. “You look like a kid at Christmas. Benelli, I assume?”

“Nothing compares.” And damn, he even sounded like an excited kid. He took the shotgun from him, loaded it with as many slugs as it could take, and stood from behind the counter, helping Ghost and the Echo team take down as much of the shooters that came through the windows. When he ran out of shells and the pump locked in place, he slid back down behind the bar. “God damn, I love this gun.”

Nikolai emptied his own magazine and tossed the empty container over the counter, sliding next to Price. He grinned a hungry smirk at him. “It looks good on you, John. I could have you right here if we weren’t being shot by a hundred angry Russians.”

Price grinned back, reloading his gun in record speed. “We better get rid of them soon, then.”

“I hate to interrupt you guys’ foreplay but I don’t know who the fuck to shoot at!!” Soap yelled through comms.

Price looked over the counter to locate him. He was knocking out the unarmed guys by the poker tables, only reserving his gun for the ones that pulled a pistol on him. “Just shoot whoever’s shooting you, MacTavish.”

Price could hear the roll of his eyes. “Thank you for the heads up, Captain.”

Gaz spoke up from across the room. “Who the fuck are these people, and why are they shooting at each other?!”

“I don’t know, but keep knocking out the unarmed ones and we’ll get answers out of them later.” Price looked over at the windows. “Ghost, you see any more on the roof?”

“Negative, they’ve all joined you.”

“Sir, sir!” One of the privates from the Echo team called out.

“Please don’t tell me we have any more surprises, Private Edwards.”

“No, the team and I just wanted to hear you yell like Tony Montana!!”

Price sighed, looking over at Nikolai. “You see how my recruits treat me?”

The Russian’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting in amusement. “Come on John, I know you want to do it too.”

Price just shook his head. “If you laugh I’ll sick Riley on you.”

“The lieutenant or the dog?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I’ll try my best, душа моя.”

Price breathed a long breath. Then, he stood from behind the counter and screamed, “say hello to my little friend!!”

The Echo team, Soap, and Gaz erupted in similar half-screams and half-laughs across everybody’s comms, nearly blowing out his ear. It didn’t matter, because he was already taking a big chunk of the armed assailants out with his own shotgun, and the rest were overwhelmed by the sheer forces of his men being spurred into action by their captain. And although everyone was still yelling at each other and the sound of guns going off echoed painfully against the walls of this giant place, he definitely heard a laugh behind him.

“Every time I think I figured you out, John, you surprise me.” Nikolai was still shaking with laughter as he fashioned a molotov cocktail out of a bottle of grappa and his ascot. “I see how your soldiers are undyingly loyal to you.”

Price just shrugged. “They’re a fun bunch.”

“If I’d had a captain like you, I might have stayed in the military.” Nikolai tossed the molotov to the group of Russians huddled by the windows, and when the fiery grappa caught on their uniforms, the majority ran straight off the balcony out of sheer panic.

“If you’d had a captain like me, we would have gotten dishonorably discharged.” They got in plenty of shit together as same-rank comrades, Price loathed to think the things he would have allowed as a commanding officer.

“Yes, but it would have been fun. Messing around with my captain…”

Yeah, the thought was pretty hot, and Price found his mind wandering to what could have been. Him sitting with his legs spread, a young Nikolai still in his sergeant rank right between his thighs, sucking him off under his desk. Nikolai roughly yanking his pants off and having his way with Price against his office windows, calling him captain, my captain, sir, is it good for you sir? You’re taking me so well, sir? And Price would threaten him with insubordination if he came before him, telling him to wait for his order to release in him. It was almost enough to get him hard again.

When Price slid behind the bar to reload his shotgun, he gave Nikolai a heated look. “Laswell, we’re about ready to wrap up here. Where’s exfil?”

“A minute out, John.”

They did quick work of the rest of the armed men, and then it was a matter of gathering all the passed out or beaten up Russians and getting them ready for extraction and interrogation. Price decided to get some fresh air, the blood and alcohol and sulfur from all the gunpowder becoming too much to bear. He waited out there until the helo came for Soap, Ghost, and Gaz, and until Yuri and Nikolai rounded up all of the Russians in their own exfil.

Price had just let out a long sigh when he heard steps behind him, his shoulders sagging in relief for the first time that night. “All good with your men?”

“Yes.” He heard Nikolai close the window doors behind him, even though the glass had been blown out of the metal frame in the attack, and he leaned on the balcony railing with him. He let out an identical sigh before reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a silver case with two cigars inside.

Price wanted to say something snarky, maybe even a joke, but he could only feel this sweet, indescribable comfort of having someone know you better than you know yourself. He took a cigar out of the holder and leaned the left side of his body against Nikolai’s arm. “You think of everything, Nik,” he said, his voice thick with deep, heart-wrenching affection.

“Always, for you.” And then, to top it all off, he flicked his lighter out for the captain to use.

Price bent in the space between them, puffing on his cigar to get the fire going. He looked up at Nikolai then, watching his expression soften under the small light, his black eyes catching all the shine from the flame. It made him never want to let him go.

Nikolai pocketed the lighter and they were left in the darkness, only illuminated by the soft chandeliers behind the busted windows. “Some of the men already started talking, John.”

Price braced himself as Nikolai told him about tonight’s attack. It was worse than they thought, worse than Nikolai could have known. There were their targets, but also the Russian investors that had sponsored their previous failed attack, and other investors who wanted to cut the targets out of the deal, and also other groups the Al-Qatala hired to kill off the investors if something went wrong, and of course other hitmen the investors hired to make sure the deal went through exactly how they wanted it. No wonder it looked like the fucking Far West in there, Jesus Christ. Everybody was out to murder each other, and the 141 had been ignorant to it all.

Price couldn’t help the small chuckle. “You’re telling me all we need to do is piss off investors, and these bastards will just kill each other? I should have thought about it years ago. Could’ve retired by now.”

“Sorry, John.” Nikolai passed his hand over his face, and he knew from the tense curve of his eyebrows that he was deeply irritated. “I don’t know how this got past me.”

“It’s not your fault.” Price finished his cigar, pressing the burning edge into the marble railing. Nikolai took the spent end from him and placed it back in his silver case. “You know better than anyone that the Russians keep their cards close to their bulletproof vests.”

Nikolai shook his head, not having it. “I’ll talk to my people. I won’t let this happen again.”

“Nobody died, Nik. Well, no one on my team.”

He went to move away from the railing, but Price caught him by the collar of his shirt, just two fingers around the top button there. It made Nikolai grin at him, his eyebrows shooting up suggestively, and Price patted himself on the back for managing to exorcize that grim expression from his face.

“Nik, seriously. We’ve managed to prevent a terrorist attack, and off most of the financial backing for the Al-Qatala. It might not have gone how we expected it, but this mission was not a complete bust.”

The Russian relented, and he let himself be pulled right back against Price. “I suppose. Yuri informed me we did get some intel from those bugs we planted around the ballroom, as well. And, of course, I got to see you like this.”

Price rolled his eyes, even as Nikolai put his hand back on his exposed collarbones, playing with the gold chain there. “Ah, yes. You and your multiple purposes.”

Nikolai shrugged. “When you have multiple purposes, you’re not too upset when one of them falls through.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking meaningfully at Nikolai’s dark eyes, his fingers teasing the soft, long hair at the base of his neck. “I suppose I’m not too upset about it either.”

“Tы красивый, Джон.” His hand turned flat against the side of Price’s neck, and he slotted himself against him to press his lips against the captain’s pulse, placing gentle kisses there. “Я не могу отвести глаз от тебя.”

“Your hands, either,” Price joked, but the movement of his fingers burying themselves in his hair, Nikolai’s other hand coming around his middle to take the gun out of his waistband, made him restless and desperate. “Nik… here?”

Nikolai kept on, inexorable in how his mouth kept pulling at John’s collar, trying to bite at the muscle of his shoulder. Price groaned at the skin he tugged between his teeth, his tongue soothing the mark of his teeth. “Your post-mission brief is in an hour, and I promised Kate I’d bring you back to base for that before I whisked you away to St. Petersburg.”

“Fuck.” Price took one quick look at the ballroom, just to make sure all of the workers who were cleaning had gone away, then he clawed at Nikolai’s belt, tugging the leather out of its clasp and roughly tugging it open. He thought about slinging it out of the belt loops but he was too impatient, too tense from their teasing earlier in the night. He needed to have his hands on him right now, so he just popped the pants’ button open and slid the zipper down, his fingers curling around the bulge there.

Nikolai let out a ragged breath against Price’s neck, sending another wave of shivers down the captain’s back. The Russian’s hands came down to his dick, but instead of taking it out of his boxers he just pulled Price’s fingers away.

“We’ve only got an hour, you prick,” Price protested, opening up his own belt. Nikolai stopped him from doing that too, and Price had half the mind to rip his head off.

He looked calm as a fucking cucumber as he brought Price’s hands to his mouth, kissing again across his knuckles, even over the ugly scars there. God, classic Nikolai. He was such a damn romantic, tasting all over, singing his praises like a damn tenor, Price would be lucky if he got a blowjob in under forty minutes.

“Nik, please. Я хочу тебя.” Price moved one of his hands to Nikolai’s cheek, looking up at him with that needy look in his eyes that he knew made Nikolai go crazy, that low voice that made him grip Price’s hips like they were his lifeline. “We’ll take it slow when we get to Russia, ok? We’ll do it as you like it, I promise, but I need you right now. Just give it to me hard and fast.”

“John…” Nikolai pressed into Price’s pulse, his lips moving as if he wanted to bite there too, but he stopped himself. He led the captain to a more hidden area of the balcony, where the windows ended and some cascading vines hid a secluded marble bench. A bit of the chandeliers’ lights still shined across the floor, but for the most part it was only the brightness of the moon that glowed there.

Price laughed at the sight. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I just want you to be comfortable. Also, you look beautiful under the moonlight.” The hand on the small of Price’s back guided him to the bench and gently pushed him down on it. It made Price roll his eyes once more. It wouldn’t have mattered to him if the man went ahead and tossed him on the bloody thing, but it certainly mattered to Nikolai.

But there were benefits to Nikolai being an attentive lover, and now that he’d given him orders, Price knew he’d follow through diligently and thoroughly. It took him only a second to watch the captain lay down on the bench and widen his hips to make room for him, his jaw clenching at the sight. Then, Nikolai sat between his legs and reached for Price’s button up, ripping it straight open. Price moaned at the tensing of Nikolai’s muscles, curving into the man’s touch when his hands traveled from his neck to his bare chest, gripping right under his pecs, sliding down his sides and tightening once more around his waist. He held onto his love handles as he tugged him down and against his bulge, and Price and Nikolai both groaned. The captain lifted and lowered his hips to continue the friction, enjoying the downright molten look flitting across Nikolai’s half-lidded eyes.

“You’ll kill me, любимый.”

“Тебе это нравится?” Price asked, coy.

“I’ll show you how much I like it.” Nikolai took to Price’s belt, and he slung it off of him in one quick tug that made the captain arch once more, a long inhale to make himself calm down. There was no time, Nikolai already opened his pants and tugged them off him just as quickly. His boxer briefs followed right after.

“Fuck,” Price cursed, bringing his hands to Nikolai’s hips. “Nik, I’ve got lube in my pocket. I’ll get ready for you, you take off your clothes.”

“No.” Nikolai leaned over to grab his pants, gathering the two packets of lube Price left there. He flashed him an arrogant smirk. “I want you like this, half naked and ass out while I’m still fully dressed.”

Price raised an eyebrow at him. “Cheeky, aren’t we?”

Nikolai finally kissed him then, a long, ravaging thing, the man’s tongue devouring his own, his teeth biting at his bottom lip over and over. Price loved the sting it left in his jaw.

Nikolai leaned back to open one of the lube packets, his thumb swiping the excess saliva at the corner of his lips. “I know it arouses you too, John.”

“Then get on with it before my dick freezes off.” Price shuddered.

“In that case…” Nikolai spread the first packet across his fingers, warming it up between his digits before pressing his tips against Price’s rim. The moment he breached him, his other hand wrapped around Price’s dick, a slow stroke accompanying the long slide within him.

It made Price arch painfully again, his head thrown back in pleasure. Hell yes, now this caused flames to curl and spread all the way down his body, making his toes curl, his veins pulse hot against his sensitive skin. It was so familiar, having Nikolai over him, pressing in the soft muscles of his thighs to spread his legs wider, dip his fingers in that much deeper. Price brought his own hands through Nikolai’s pitch black hair, tugging at the locks, wanting to destroy him a little too.

Price’s breath became labored the more Nikolai slid up his shaft with an increasingly tight hold, his thumb rubbing at the precome pooled at the tip, his index finger pressing at the spot inside of him that made him want to scream ragged.

“N-Nik,” he stuttered, licking at the corner of his lips. “I don’t need much more. I’m ready.”

Nikolai gave him a couple more tugs, a couple more pumps inside of him, his grin growing as Price jerked and keened underneath him. Price would have shoved a foot up his chin if he wasn’t dying to have dick in him. “Love, it’s only one finger. I’ll hurt you if I go in now.”

“No, you won’t. I prepped earlier. Come on.” Price tossed his jacket off his shoulders, then his destroyed shirt after it. He kissed Nikolai slow and deep, just how the man liked it, before tugging at the hair on the back of his neck. “I know you want it. Come on, just have me.”

Nikolai pressed back against him, and it’s like the tables were turned again, the Russian claiming his mouth and eating him alive as quickly and needily as Price usually did. It made Price curl around him just as hungrily, wanting to carve his back with his angry nails, give him the ride of his life.

Nikolai had other ideas. He unwrapped Price’s arms from his shoulders, flipped him over, and pressed his bare stomach against the cold marble of the bench. It made Price twitch, the sensation so overstimulating against his fevered skin. He raised his hips so that his dick didn’t touch the cold surface, afraid it was going to be his undoing, and looked back at Nikolai. He knew the kind of picture he was painting–all stretched out and flushed in front of him, his ass in the air and waiting to be filled. He saw Nikolai swallow heavily before he anchored his hands right underneath Price’s ass, grabbing at the muscle there, spreading his legs even more.

The stretch was mouthwatering, and Price closed his eyes in anticipation, his spine curving up at the feel of Nikolai’s dick coming out of his boxers and rubbing between his cheeks. He heard the ripping of another lube packet, feeling the slick liquid drip from Nikolai’s shaft down to his twitching rim.

Price had an amendment to Soap’s (seldom) right opinion–yes, accents were incredibly sexy. But more than that, it was when Nikolai’s accent got thicker whenever he was irritated or emotional or, well, in their current predicament. And there was nothing more intoxicating, more breathtaking than the long slide of his dick inside of Price followed by the growling of his name, thickened by his Russian accent. It almost made the captain bust right then and there, and he leaned his head back with a groan himself, trying to get his shit together.

It was just hard, because Nikolai knew everything about him, knew all of his buttons and the exact order in which to press them. Without having to tell him anything, he took Price by his wrists and pulled them behind his back, right at his sides. He held onto them as he fucked in him, pulling him back with each thrust, meeting him with just as much strength and claim and sheer devotion. It was intoxicating, and Price found himself moaning at every deep jerk inside of him, overstimulated by everything–the slapping of Nikolai’s hips against his, the faint rattling of his gold necklace, the stretch in his arms, the moments when Nikolai thrust so deep it made his dick rub against the cold stone underneath him and his breath turn labored and stuttery and loud like the wind was constantly being knocked out of him.

Only Nikolai could do this to him. Only Nikolai could use him like this, whisper sweet Russian in his ear, bite and lick and suck at the skin of his neck and back. Only he could tug at Price body and soul like this.

Price met his thrusts with that slow roll of his hips that made him growl, and Nikolai let go of one of his arms to grab at the base of Price’s dick, his shaft in the crook of his hand, his other fingers curling down around his balls. The friction was just enough to make Price arch off the bench in another long groan, and Nikolai’s other arm came around to keep him up like that. His hand wrapped across his chest and grasped at his right pec, pushing him down on his dick.

“Nik, Nik, Nik,” Price chanted, thrusting his hips to get him to move his hand. “Come on, touch me. Коснись меня, коснись меня…”

“You can come like this, мой милый. I know you can.”

“You prick,” Price bit out, and he reached back to tug at Nikolai’s hair a bit more, leave his mark on him like Nikolai always branded him in marks and sucks. “Go faster, then. Harder.”

Again, Nikolai followed his orders like a good little soldier. His arm moved from his pec to anchor at his shoulder and fuck him harder, shoving up with his hips with vicious strength while his hands pushed Price to meet him at every harsh jerk. It made Price cry out even louder, his hands meeting Nikolai’s, once across his chest and the other at the base of his cock. It was too much, too hard, too fast, just how he liked it. The heat swirled at the bottom of his stomach and threatened to burst at the smallest of brushes against his shaft, and he tilted his head backwards to lay against Nikolai’s shoulder, heavy pants against the man’s throat. “Nik…”

“John. Душа моя. I’ll always be yours.”

It was so cheesy. So romantic, exactly what Price was not wired to understand, not wired to ever say or do. But it was Nikolai who said it, and it snapped something in him. He came in long, sudden spurts, all across the marble bench.

Nikolai released him gently, placing his spent body on the bench before moving to pull out. Price stopped him by grabbing his wrists, anchoring them at his love handles. “What the fuck are you doing?” he panted, glaring back at him. “Don’t you dare finish outside. Come on, I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Nikolai let out a hearty laugh, sliding all the way back in with a low ‘mmmh…’, the stretch so much harder now that his muscles were tight from his orgasm. If Price wasn’t pushing forty, that might have been enough to get him going again. “You’re perfect for me, John. I’m almost there.”

Price groaned at the overstimulation, wriggling his hips to get comfortable. “You can come like this, мой милый. I know you can,” he repeated, a lazy grin spreading on his face.

And just like Price was undone by Nikolai’s words, Nikolai was only a couple of thrusts in before he spilled all of a sudden, his hips shuddering against his own as he curled over the captain’s back. When he found enough strength to prop himself up he gave Price a shit-eating grin, placing a strong kiss against his bare shoulder. “Are you sure you must go to the debrief? Your men were there too… surely they’ll be able to survive without you?”

Price breathed out a laugh. “And you cannot?”

“No,” Nikolai said, not an ounce of humor in his voice. And with the way he kept pressing his lips gently across Price’s shoulders, slowly sliding out of him to flip him over and kiss him again, wrapping his arms around his waist to pull him in… Price could hardly argue with him. Surely the boys would be able to debrief their superiors on their own, Price had certainly trained them to, and Nikolai… Nikolai tasted so sweet on his tongue…

“I have to go, Nik.” Price pulled away from him, a chuckle in his voice. “And you can survive without me, you ridiculous wanker.”

“No, I cannot,” Nikolai insisted, and he kept hanging onto Price’s waist even as the man bent over to look for his clothes. Fuck, how was he going to explain the state of his shirt? Some terrorist came and ripped it open and then had his way with him? Not in all seven hells of trashy romance novels.

“Yes, you can. Dick. Help me find my pants.”

Nikolai lifted them by the belt loops with a single finger, smirking. Price snatched them with a definite scowl on his face, standing up from the bench to slide them on, his shaky legs nearly giving out under him. Nikolai steadied him with another hand on his thigh, and when Price was not wobbly anymore, he took off his jacket to put on the bench, right where the captain painted it in come. He pulled at Price’s forearm until he sat back down.

“Relax for a second. We have a few minutes left.”

Price shrugged on his open button up and jacket. He tried pulling the two sides of his shirt over one another, then closing his jacket over them, keeping them in place. Ok, that might work. He relaxed, and the button of his jacket opened, his chest in plain view once more. Goddammit.

Nikolai played with his necklace again, a tense look on his face. “Will you ever leave those darned shackles behind and let me take you all over the world? You’ll never want for a thing. I’ll make sure of it.”

Price scoffed, albeit his heart tightened in his chest at the prospect. Leaving the SAS… forgetting about that ugly, terrifying part of humanity… Price would be a liar if he said he’s never thought of throwing in the towel and have a normal fucking life for once, one where he didn’t have to worry about Russians crashing through windows to blow everything up. It was an inevitable part of service, after all, that nothing was ever enough, that there was always another Al-Qatala group, always another traitorous general around the corner. It was impossible not to get discouraged from time to time. But this was not one of those times, so he steeled his resolve and shook his head. “I can’t leave the service. There’s too much work to be done, still. You wouldn’t like me out of it anyway.”

“The military doesn’t make you who you are, John,” he said, kissing Price’s clothed shoulder again. “You’d have more time to fish… more time to go to the opera with me… more time to fuck…”

Price scoffed. “So you just want me to hunt you dinner and warm your bed?”

“You know that isn’t the case, my love.”

Yeah, if anything, it was Price that could never keep his hands to himself whenever they found someplace quiet and private. The smile they shared told them both they were thinking the same thing.

“I want you for myself. No one else. Just me, just us.” Nikolai placed his hand on his thigh once more, tightening over the thick muscle there. “But I know that the military… that your men are important to you, and that you would not leave them for anything. I understand that, and I love that about you.”

“Thank you.” Price let himself have a moment of honest and open feeling, and he curled his hand around Nikolai’s. “Thank you for not asking me to decide between you and the service.”

“Never.” Nikolai lifted their hands to his lips and pressed yet another soft kiss across Price’s fingertips.

“I’ll go to the opera with you when we’re in St. Petersburg,” Price said, as a peace offering. Part of him thought it was only fair, after everything Nikolai did for him. A bigger part of him whispered that Price just wanted to make the man he loved happy.

That seemed to cheer Nikolai up drastically, and Price laughed at the way his eyes widened in obvious excitement. “Have you ever seen the Turandot?”

“Only some parts when you were watching it on TV, but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“We’ll go to the Alexandrinsky theater. I think you will like it.”

“Is it a romantic tragedy?”

Nikolai looked pointedly away when he said, “well, it ends in a marriage.”

Price rolled his eyes, standing up to straighten his jacket. “You suck at lying.”

“You’ll like it,” he assured him, then he took his phone out to look at his texts. “Helicopter’s here. We should go.”

Price started walking back down the balcony, but Nikolai stopped him halfway there with a gentle tug to his forearm. The captain noticed the pinched expression on his face, and he turned to him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, but… your soldier, MacTavish… he was just joking about the Russian grunting, right?”

Price burst into loud laughter, and he slung his arm over Nikolai’s shoulders to tug him inside, pressing a hard kiss into the man’s temple. He thought about showing the man in their helo, in their vehicle to the conference room on base, and once more before their meeting started, but there was just no time. Maybe there was something to Nikolai’s argument that they could fuck more if he left the SAS.

God, this was going to be the longest debriefing in military history.