Work Text:
They were here again.
He was here again.
Similar crew to the last time, few changed; they always do. Sitting at the other side of the pub, side by side, he sat closest to you - his men by his right. Music surrounded you like a cloud of smoke, the same old songs with a new beat. The conversation ebbed and flowed between them like the tide of the sea, and you found yourself drawn to them; like always.
Only his name was a constant though; years of seeing the familiar face, the same blue eyes, eyes squinting, wrinkles pooling around them as he smiled, laughed occasionally. Him and the skull face; they called him Ghost, you learned early on - other soldiers respected him, he respected him. During your first shifts, that man was someone you avoided like the devil himself; but he was indifferent to you, reverent even.
Soon enough, you found yourself drawn to him and the captain. The two of them a comfort zone during long shifts; as you served the soldiers, avoiding their touches, slaps and whistles; these two offered peace in their silence and nonchalance.
Over the years, your eyes started to search his whenever you entered the pub. John Price, his name a sweet melody, as sweet as honey on your tongue. He was a lieutenant back then; back when you got to know him first.
“What’s with the sad face, darling?” he’d ask one day. Sitting at the pub, he came with a woman; a pretty one, around his age, a civilian; based on her clothes. American, you deduced.
Never before you attempted to have a conversation with any soldier at the pub; most of them left too drunk out of their minds to ever remember you, you believed. He wasn’t one of them - he’d start with a glass of bourbon on ice, savoring the bittersweet taste as the rest of his crew drank one pint of beer after another.
The woman left soon after he introduced himself; John.
Since then, he was the reason you looked forward to your job. The conversations grew longer. Deeper. More meaningful. He offered you a hand in friendship and you took it. It was a friendship that was built on trust and understanding, and it was something that you treasured. Your life was changing constantly; people came and went as you lived through university. He was that one constant in it.
John was the first person to congratulate you on your degree; you were the first outside military to congratulate him on becoming captain. He watched you grow, celebrated your achievements with you. You, in turn, helped him as he stepped into a leadership role. Always there for him, offering words of encouragement, advice, and support. You both had each other's back; yet you never saw each other outside that dimly lit pub - with a front pub separating each and every conversation. Or it used to be like that.
Later on, you started wondering if him being a captain was something you should applaud him for. His visits to the pub became less frequent. Deployments started to be longer. The people, his crew, changed constantly. He aged; not only with time - worry and the weight of his decisions had taken their toll. He grew a beard, it suited him though. His voice became rougher. Stern. Demanding.
The role of captain suited him; there was no doubt, but it took away the John you once knew. He had to take on a mantle of authority and honor, and it came with a certain amount of gravity and seriousness. But, despite all of this, he still had a good heart beneath it all.
A pang of pain occasionally exploded in your chest when you saw some of his team members at the pub. But not him. The worst-case scenarios always wandered into your brain, but you still had hope. Praying for the best, you focused on what was within your control at the time.
When he came, you’d stay with him. It was a routine you developed quietly; he’d stay and wait for your shift to be over, you’d sit by his side after, a drink in your hand as you talked the night away. He’d tell you about his adventures, people he’d met - not in detail, he wasn’t allowed to do that; he talked vaguely about everything as if he was reciting a movie.
Those moments were like an anchor to you. It was your own little world, and you were content in it. John was a beacon, a lighthouse that kept you safe and warm in the raging storms of life. He was the one constant in your life, the one person you could always count on. No matter what happened in your life, he was there for you and that made all the difference.
Then you’d part your ways. He would always leave last, sending you off into the night with a good night.
The more you got to know the captain, the more intrigued you became by him. The friendship blossomed, sometimes becoming the talk of his crew; they’d sneak looks at you, whisper among themselves (especially those you learned to be Johnny and Gaz), sharing a knowing smile and you knew; you knew that they knew.
He didn’t know. Or at least never acknowledged it.
Eventually, your conversations outgrew the walls of the pub and you found yourself on the chilly streets of London, laughing and talking about the day's events.
Gaz’s words of encouragement echoed in your mind, alcohol rushing through your veins as you walked through the city. The streetlights shone on the cobblestone streets, illuminating your path. John talked most of the time, your eyes staring at the night sky; stars barely visible.
It took years for John to find out where you lived; yet you never knew much about him in that way, you realized. He had a girl back when he was a lieutenant, that much he told you. That didn’t last long for him as his job took most of his life away, taking the girl away too.
John never dared to cross the doorstep. Your doorstep. The first time you asked, it was an innocent invite; it was extremely late, almost an early morning, and in the middle of January, the coldest time to be in London, and you felt bad letting him go into the bitter cold. Not knowing where he lived, where his home was, you didn’t know if he’d get any sleep before work; at your place, he could at least take a nap.
He retreated; with a thank you and have a good night, he was gone.
The second time, your intentions differed. Walking side by side, arms linked, his gloves warmed your freezing hands; he kept his own in his pockets as he walked you home; he seemed to always do that as of lately.
Each step brought you closer to him. Joined at hips, you cherished the moment. The beanie, his beanie, messed up your hair but you didn’t mind. You watched as he talked, a cloud of cold breeze surrounding his blueish lips as cold nicked at his face. Face illuminated by the ring of light cast by his cigar that he pulled from his jacket when you left the pub; the chilly night was filled with sweet smoke billowing from his mouth.
His words quickly dissipated into the darkness of midnight. Eyes fixated on the way his lips wrapped around the head of the cigar, you watched as he sucked the smoke in before exhaling it out of his lungs, the smoke curling up in the air, creating a mesmerizing show of shapes and figures before eventually melding with the night sky.
It felt like a fever dream for a moment, John’s side profile blurry, the golden glow of the cigar contrasting with the inky darkness of the night and the faint stars twinkling in the background.
The bright blue of his eyes seemed to sparkle with a certain kind of warmth as he looked at you; the stillness of the London streets was almost deafening, the only sound being John’s steady footsteps echoing in the night air as you made your way home.
“You wanna try?” he tipped the cigar your way, “it’ll warm ya up.”
The warm twinkle emanating from his eyes seemed to draw you in. Shaking your head, you murmured, “I shouldn’t smoke, it’s bad for your health.”
His arm shook as he laughed, the sound of his amusement vibrant and joyful.
He leaned onto your side, his hand still cradling the rich brown cigar, and said, “I worry about your health, too. But sometimes it’s nice to do something just a little bit wrong, don’t you think?”
His eyes twinkled with mischief and his lips curled into a mischievous smirk. You couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement as you looked into his eyes, and you found yourself considering his offer.
“Just this once,” you raised a finger. He nodded, the familiar close-lip smile appearing on his face.
Turning the cigar’s head towards you, your fingers wrapped reluctantly around it. With a lick to wet your lips, you brought the cigar to your mouth, feeling the strange texture against your tongue. The taste of tobacco filled your senses; a touch of earthiness, a faint taste of sweet, soft spicy note.
You felt the unfamiliar sensation of the smoke, and the slight sting of the burning embers. It was a strange experience, one that left you feeling overwhelmed, yet strangely satisfied. As smoke filled your lungs, you could feel the heat of the burning embers and the sharpness of the smoke as it seared through your airways, ending with a convulsive cough.
“You’re not supposed to swallow,” John chuckled, taking the cigar from your shaking hand and letting it sit on his own tongue.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” you tried explaining between each cough; a flurry of emotions coursed through you as you finally took a deep breath, the smoke lingering in your lungs and the taste of the cigar still on your tongue.
Though you hadn't enjoyed it in the way you had hoped, you found yourself strangely content with the experience.
“Maybe next time you’ll get it right, darling,” his smile warm and reassuring.
The walk home halted when you reached your door. The ritual stayed the same; John swayed behind you and you could swear you felt his hot breath on your neck as you reached for the keys, Gaz’s words swirling inside your otherwise dizzy head while you put the keys inside the lock.
“He has absolutely no reason to say no.”
“Just ask, the world won’t end if he says no.”
“Okay, if he doesn’t accept, I’ll take you out, honey.”
A smile crept on your lips, Gaz’s encouragement mingling with the alcohol in your veins like two dancing flames. The door creaked as you opened them, stepping inside and turning to face your companion; the captain himself.
His hands stayed in the pockets of his jacket, a faint pink tint ran across his cheeks. Even in civil, John radiated with authority and control. The aura demanding. Presence captivating. His eyes followed your every move, ensuring you safely entered your flat; your own intoxication made you stumble a bit as you shifted your weight against the door.
“Do you, maybe, want to come in?” you asked, almost mumbling, “grab a cuppa?”
The blue of his eyes pierced yours, face stern. Impassive. Giving nothing away. His thoughts unknown. He understood what you were asking, what you truly desired.
The silence stretched, feeling like an eternity; and you knew. There was no need for an answer, no more. You did it. And now there was no going back; but neither going forward as John looked at you with anguish, sympathy.
“Maybe ‘nother time,” no darling, “I have early work.”
A mask of a smile graced his face, but his eyes screamed the truth. Trying to figure out his thoughts felt like searching for a needle in a haystack. Dizzy and tired, you forced a smile on your face. Deep down you were aware of just how badly you messed up; years of your most precious friendship, a companionship of your dreams, shattered in a minute - even less than it.
Dread spread through you the day you were meant to return to work. He’d be there, he always was. And you'd have to confront the truth. His beanie, accompanied by the gloves he kindly lent you, laid still in your locker.
A week trickled away.
Two weeks soon became a month; that month spilled into two, followed by another.
The pub seemed to stay in time, familiar faces showing up every other week. Yet, no sign of him; your head spun with a whirlwind of emotions and questions. It felt like your heart was sinking into an endless sea of doubt.
Seventeen weeks.
Four months.
That was how long it took until your heart leaped as a familiar figure stepped into the pub, followed by a group of others. Eyes glued to the men, you watched them taking their seats.
All three of them looked at you with weary eyes, yet they managed to offer you a reassuring smile, telling you that everything was alright, that he was fine; simply running late due to all the paperwork. A wave of relief swept over you like a summer breeze, calming your anxious heart a little. At least he was safe…all of them were.
Eventually, they left; he never came.
Or at least you thought.
Stepping into the cold spring night, you registered the same aura, the one you were so accustomed to, before noticing his silhouette. Still, partly in his uniform, he stood near the entrance, fingers wrapped around his cigar like a lifeline, smoke curling around him in a gentle embrace.
“Well hello there, stranger,” he said casually.
“John,” the door clicked behind you, “I thought you were avoiding me.”
He let out a long, low breath, his used cigar dropping into the ashtray bin with a soft thud.
“Wouldn’t miss our midnight strolls for all the tea in England, darling.”
Soft smile decorated his face, the blue in his eyes twinkling like the starry night sky above you; his gaze filled with a sense of comity. Tenderness.
The walk remained peaceful; comforting silence followed your footsteps as he lead you through the city. The fall back into your routine seemed seamless, coherent; making you question what was about to come.
The doorstep separated John and you, but you felt a lingering sadness in the air that could not be ignored. The moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, a bittersweet taste on your tongue; wondering whether you should ask him again.
He came back to you. Seemingly not heaved by the weight of your question like you were for the past weeks.
His words exceeded your mind as he asked, “May I come in?”
Hand on the door handle, eyes boring into his, you stepped to the side. A hand wrapped around your heart and squeezed; hard and heavy. As you watched him enter your flat, his back stayed turned to you, eyes scanning your home for the first time.
A wave of emotions crashed over you; nervousness, anticipation, expectation. Excitement. Your heart raced as you waited for him to turn around and face you. When he finally did, the warmth of his smile melted away all the tension.
The doors chilled your skin through the clothes as you leaned on them, watching John take a step toward you.
He reached out his hand and touched your face, tracing the curve of your jawline with his fingertips. His eyes bore into yours and you felt like you were floating in a dream. The energy between you was palpable and you desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel his warmth and love. But you stood still, almost afraid to break the spell.
“I’m sorry,” his words felt distant as your heartbeat echoed in your ears.
“For what?”
You weren’t sure the words even came out but his answer ensured that they did.
“For not explaining myself better,” he reassured you, the feeling of his breath fanning over your heated cheeks as you swallowed the bile in your throat, “I just- couldn’t bring myself to it.”
The warmth of his hand stayed on the side of your neck, thumb hooking underneath your chin to bring your face closer. Hands squeezing the door handle, his lips brushed over yours; silently asking for permission.
“You were just there, so fuckin’ inviting,” he closed his eyes, leaning against your forehead, “and I just knew, Christ, I knew I couldn’t do it to you.”
“John,” his name was a mere exhale swallowed by his lips as he breathed you in. His leg moved between your legs, thigh pressing against your aching core. Chest smushed against yours, belt digging into your abdomen; his presence was suffocating, yet you welcomed it.
“I didn’t want to be a dick for leaving,” his eyes remained closed, thumb swiping over your chin before moving upwards, the tip of his fingertip brushing over your parted lips, “knew I was goin’ away for months and you had to ask that night. That bloody night.”
Invisible strings pulled you towards the man before you. Lips pressing against his; the scratch of his beard tingled against your upper lip. Your body was on fire. Months of pent-up loneliness, solitude, slowly bottling up to the point where just his lips, just the brush of them against yours, ignited a wildfire inside you.
The kiss was more of a peck. Testing the waters.
“Stay tonight,” you could feel his beard tickle your lips from the close proximity of his body as you whispered the plea. His eyes finally opened, staring into yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
His fingertips traced the side of your face, skimming over the heated flesh of your cheekbones before resting on each side of your neck.
“I’d love to.”
A gentle nudge sent your face into him; lips smashing against John’s in a desperate kiss. Hands hopelessly gripping his sides. Head filled with dizziness, completely succumbing to the moment. The heat of his skin melted you away; compliant to his every move as if he was pulling you down into his depths.
Tongue gently grazing your lips, a content moan escaped you. Taking the opportunity, you felt him slide into your mouth; soft and delicate, brushing over your teeth before twisting with your tongue. The kiss was like a drug, a seductive intoxication that left you wanting more.
His lips moved against yours with a passionate intensity, as if his very life depended on the connection between the two of you; electrifying, sending sparks of pleasure cascading through every part of your body. You felt as if you were melting into him, becoming one with him, until nothing else mattered. The heat of his embrace was intoxicating.
Hand moving into his jacket, you could feel his heartbeat on your palm; it felt like his heart was racing with yours, quick beats drumming against your skin. Time seemed to freeze, all while his lips moved over yours, grunts and moans filling the otherwise quiet midnight air.
An arm snuck behind your back, tightening around you; pressing your body into his as if he wanted to consume you all. The kiss became messy quickly, hands moving, touching everywhere they could reach until suddenly; somehow, your legs were wrapped around his narrow hips, feeling the bones dig into your thighs, one arm hoisting you up as the other held the back of your head, cradling it like a precious treasure.
“Bed-” his attempt to speak failed, “bedroom,” he tried asking between the kisses; your hungry lips didn’t allow him much space. His mouth devoured yours with a hunger that seemed to grow with each passing second, his tongue exploring and tasting every inch of you as if it was the first and last time he'd ever got to do it.
“Down the hall, the only door to the right,” you pulled away to catch your breath, eyes closed in a blissful moment; John’s mouth latching on your throat as he maneuvered through your flat before opening the door. Cool air hits your overheated skin.
Opening your eyes in surprise, you look around before a chuckle left your kiss-stained lips.
“My right, not yours,” you almost moaned as John sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck, “we’re in my bathroom.”
“Christ,” he mumbled against your flesh, “clear instructions next time.”
Turning around, John almost bashed your doors open. Everything felt like a fever dream; the moment his lips captured yours in the first kiss to now, spread open for him like a blossoming flower, pure and yet-to-be-stained by his blood-red hands.
Completely naked, laying before him as if you were an empty canvas, awaiting the brushstrokes of his touch. His lips traced the skin of your inner thighs, kisses and bites sending shivers through your body; tongue exploring, tasting, and teasing until you were lost in a sea of pleasure.
The rough caress of his hand moved along your wrist, fingers intertwining with yours; reassuring squeeze, a swipe of his thumb over the soft skin of your palm. His beard stung in places, teeth sinking into the apex of your thighs, breath fanning over your soaking core, the cold breeze causing electricity to run through you as he skipped your center and moved to the other leg.
His name left your lips in a whimper, back arched and hips pushing towards his mouth, begging him to finally touch you. To feel you. To taste you.
The room was dark, lit only by the street lamp near your window; looking down between your legs, you could see John’s silhouette, hair messy from your desperate attempts to hold onto him as he kissed away your sanity; cogency.
Your breath hitched at the sight of his eyes, dark and brooding like a stormy sky; the blue oceans turning into tidal waves, crashing against your desire, the urgency to feel him; to feel anything he was willing to give you.
So pretty, so fuckin’ pretty.
His own affirmations of reality spiraled around you, creating a frenzy of longing, surging through your veins the same way hot metal surges through a forge; those words weren’t meant for you.
Wet on wet; his tongue laid flat against your soaking core before he kissed your folds, delving into the depths of your innermost. Devouring you like a ravenous beast. Back arched, hips pushed into him, you felt like he was everywhere; the smell of sandalwood, the taste of tobacco and spice, the scorching feel of his touch leaving a trail on your body, heat spreading underneath the flesh, warming the room.
A cascade of fucks, Christs, moans, and his name fell from your lips. The moment the Captain escaped your lips in a frenzied whimper, his fingers curled upwards, dots of white swirling in your eyesight as he thrust his fingers to the place that made you basically scream, plead for him to finally fuck the living soul out of you, to fill you up with his warmth and attentiveness, to take you to that place where nothing else mattered.
A blanket of darkness overtook your body, chest rising as your lungs seemed to forget how to function. The tight knot in your abdomen releasing a wave of pleasure inside you. John’s lips remained wrapped around your aching clit, tongue lapping at the nub with utter finesse, fingers stroking your gummy walls; eyes burning into your face as he watched your body reach its high.
A feeling of accomplishment flooded his veins; he did it, he finally did it; did you to be precise. His head swirled with all kinds of thoughts of you, the way your body reacted to his touch like it was starved for him. Did you deny yourself when he wasn’t around?
The tip of his tongue trailed between your breasts, feeling the burning skin underneath the wet muscle; still covered in your own juices, he painted you - tainted your skin with his filthy hands.
“Please tell me you have condoms,” he pleaded, voice raw with need as his tongue flicked against your earlobe before taking it into his mouth, tugging it ever so lightly. His body was like a furnace, enveloping you in its blistering heat.
Head spinning, utterly fucked up already, it took you a moment to process that he had spoken.
“Nightstand,” your lips searched for his skin, “my left.”
You felt him chuckle more than you heard it, mouth latched onto his collarbones as he stretched his body. Coarse hair of his chest scratching against your sensitive nipples, eliciting a moan.
Mind hazy, everything felt foggy yet so overwhelming; one moment, he asked you if you wanted to get the condom on, seeing your pupils blown, lips swollen and legs desperately locking his hips against you - so out of your mind, high on him; you were high on Captain Price - so he took the charge.
Then his hands landed on your ribs, thumb caressing the underside of your breasts, as his cock split you open in a slow, agonizingly taunting motion. Fingertips traced your side, gliding over the curve of your waist, the soft plump flesh of your hips, sending sparkles through your veins as it moved to your thigh, stroking its full length while he stayed seated deep inside you; he would pay anything in the world to see you like this again; so pliable, absolutely at his mercy.
Moving torturously slow, as if he was punishing you; savoring every inch of you against him, drawing filthy moans, his name, his rank out of your lips before capturing them in a bruising, messy kiss. All teeth, biting and grasping against each other while he rutted into you with a leisurely pace, hand resting on your thigh, the other stroking your cheek - you were so good to him, so tight, so pretty, so fuckin’ wet and pretty. Made for him, for his cock, to warm his bed, to be by his side in the morning, to kiss him goodbye as he deployed and be his welcome kiss as he left the gates of the headquarters as he returned.
That night, embraced in his presence, you felt like you were drowning. Drowning in an endless abyss of feelings. His eyes were dark pools of emotion, and you felt yourself falling into them, unable to resist; his touch gentle, as if he was trying to capture the essence of your soul; his lips inviting and you felt his warmth radiating through your entire body. You felt safe, secure, and so incredibly alive.
His lips followed the curves of your collarbones, caressing each crevice of your body. Soft grunts, words of adoration and praise flew from his mouth as he worshipped you to your highs, prolonging the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, underneath him, between his fingers.
His embrace never left you, not when he had your legs over his shoulders, heels digging into the flexing muscles of his back; not when he kissed you with a new-found passion as his hips rutted into yours in a steady rhythm, or when John crumbled underneath you, feeling the tight squeeze of your core as he reached his own high, hands grasping at your hips to guide you onto him, to let you know not to dare to stop.
Laying in his arms, hair freshly washed, skin glowing with that newfound orgasmic afterglow, he told you about his time away, the people he’d met; the same way as if you were back in the pub - but this time, you were at your home, feeling the heat of the captain’s naked skin against you, lips pressed against your temple as his fingers casually stroked your arm.
Oh, to be alone with you….