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The old, run-down, and quite honestly, shitty safehouse smelled of the distinct, biting chill of a Siberian winter bleeding through the floorboards. It wasn’t homey by any definition of the word, merely hidden beneath a disused mechanics shop that seemed to be out of business since the late nineties, barely large enough for two people to stand in without bumping shoulders.
And of course, to your absolute luck, there was only one cot. A narrow, rusted frame with a mattress that looked about as forgiving as a slab of granite.
John Price stood by the reinforced door, practically swallowing the limited space. He had his heavy tactical jacket unzipped just a fraction, the scent of tobacco, rain, and sweat clinging to him like a second skin. His blue eyes, usually sharp enough to cut glass, always aware of everything around him, tracked you as you dropped your rucksack onto the dusty floor.
“Cosy,” you remarked, wiping a layer of grime off the back of a plastic chair. “I see the Royal Army really spared no expense on the honeymoon suite.
Price let out a low huff— the closest you’d get to a laugh while knee-deep in the red zone, halfway through a deep-cover mission. He pulled his watch cap down tighter over his ears. “You’re lucky it’s got a roof, love. Last time I was in this sector, I slept in a ditch with a wet poncho.”
“And you’ve been lovely ever since,” you shot back mindlessly, unbuttoning your own heavy coat to check the seals on your sidearm. You didn’t look up, but you could feel his gaze on you, always. Heavy, observant, laced with the respect he only reserved for operatives who were genuine survivalists out in the field. Sometimes you wondered if he only ever liked you because you didn’t know how to complain. “Don’t worry, Captain. If you get cold, I’ll let you have the chair.”
Price took a slow step forward, floorboards groaning a little beneath his boots. He leaned against the low ceiling beam, looking down at you with that maddeningly calm, knowing smirk hidden in his stupid beard.
“Is that right?” his voice dropped an octave, a rough purr that vibrated right through the thick, stale air of the room. “Generous of you. But I outrank you, Sergeant. Which means if anyone’s taking the luxury seating, it’s me.”
“Ah, pulling rank already? We’ve only been locked in a basement for, what, ten minutes?” you finally looked up, meeting his eyes with a challenging tilt of your chin. “I thought you liked a capable partner, John.”
“I do,” Price murmured, holding your gaze, his own darkening a little. Though you weren’t sure, as exhaustion had played with your brain way too many times before and told you that on quiet nights like this, Price was thinking exactly the same things as you were. “Which is why I’m letting you figure out how we’re both going to fit on a mattress meant for a single schoolboy without one of us falling off.”
Ah. Sure.
The unspoken rule between the two of you had always been distance. It wasn’t born out of dislike— quite the opposite, actually. In your line of work, professional distance was a life jacket. The cold, the bone-deep exhaustion, the proximity of holding the line with someone could easily play tricks with your head, make you see things that weren’t necessarily there, have you holding onto words like the world outside of that specific perimeter had lost all its meaning.
Price was a man who carried the weight of too many ghosts, and you were a woman who valued her autonomy too much to let a commander see the softer edges of your armor. But there was a gravity between you, undeniable in its nature, a pull that both of you spent a massive, unnecessary amount of energy pretending didn’t exist.
You took great interest in the smaller details of the room whilst your brain scrambled to find a way to get you out of the situation, before setting your eyes on him.
“A schoolboy’s mattress,” you repeated, voice a dry defense mechanism against the sudden tightness of your chest. “Right. Well. Good thing I practiced my posture in training.”
The banter was a shield, of course, but as the clock ticked past midnight, the cold began to strip it away. The heating unit in the corner, which you deemed hopeless within twenty minutes of settling in, gave one pathetic hiss before dying completely, leaving the air so frigid your breath bloomed in fragile, ghostly clouds between you. The Siberian winder certainly didn’t care about the military rank Price was always so eager to pull with you; if it could seep through the concrete this much, it could easily bypass your skin to settle deep into your bones until shivers wracked your shoulders.
Price noticed. Why were you even surprised, he noticed everything.
“Drop the boots and the rig,” he commanded quietly. It wasn’t his ‘Captain’ voice that you were used to— it was lower, thicker, roughened by the drop in temperature and something else he was trying hard to suppress. “We’re losing heat. We freeze up, we’re useless tomorrow.”
You didn’t have it in you to argue this once. The bravado was gone, replaced by the instinct to just survive which was quickly blurring into something far more dangerous in your book. You stripped off your tactical vest and boots, leaving you in your thick thermal layers. When you climbed onto the narrow cot, pressed flat against the damp concrete wall to leave him room, you realized just how impossible this was going to be.
The bed groaned under his weight as Price laid down beside you, facing away at first, trying to preserve a polite boundary. But you both knew it was useless. The cold was a physical blade, cutting through the thin fabric of your thermals, the skin beneath, your bones. You shivered again, hard enough that the rusted springs gave a little.
With a heavy sigh that sounded a lot like surrender, Price turned around.
Thank God you were facing away from him because if you had to face him in the dark now, you would probably say something stupid.
“Come here,” he muttered into the dark.
Before you could even try to fire back a witty retort, his arm reached out, hooking around your waist and pulling you backward against his chest. The impact took your breath away. He was a literal furnace— visceral, solid, and utterly massive. Your back pressed flush against his torso, thighs nesting into his, head tucked just beneath his chin.
The dynamic shifted in an instant, you could feel it. You were no longer just two highly capable soldiers sharing a safehouse to lay low for the night. You felt skin and bone, heartbeat and heat, terrifyingly, deliciously close.
Price’s breath hitched as your heat met his. Through the layers of clothing, you cold feel the hard expanse of his chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades, his heart thumping a steady rhythm that almost matched the sudden racing of your own. His beard brushed the crown of your head, the scent of him enveloping your entire being completely. He was rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight as a spring, as if he were actively fighting the urge for something. To pull you closer, your treacherous mind whispered into you. To feel your body against his, closer, warmer, perhaps even wetter.
He’s affected by this, you realized, a sudden thrill of heat shooting through your veins that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. The great John Price isn’t as untouchable as he lets on.
“Still cold?” he murmured, his voice rumbling directly into your spine, making its way down in between your legs, to contribute to the growing anticipation there.
You remained entirely frozen, terrified to your bones that even a single, misplaced shift of your weight would shatter the fragile illusion of military necessity. But the cold was unrelenting, forcing you to melt backward, pressing your spine firmer against the solid wall of his chest.
“I’ll survive, Captain,” you managed, voice nothing above a hushed thread in the dark. “Though I think you forgot to mention in your briefing that field-expedient thermal sharing involved being spooned by a human bear.”
Price let out a sound— not a huff this time, but a vibration that rippled right through your shoulder blades, making your muscles go taut. His arm, still wrapped around your waist, tightened just a little bit, pulling you a microscopic inch closer until there wasn’t a single millimeter of air left between his front and your back.
“It’s called survival, Sergeant,” he murmured, breath hot against the shell of your ear. You shushed your mind before it could tell you that he was doing it deliberately. “If you’ve got complaints, you can file ‘em with Hereford when we get back. Till then, shut up and take my heat.”
“Always so textbook,” you whispered, tilting your head back just slightly. The crown of your head rubbed against his jaw, the rough stubble of his beard catching on your hair. “And here I thought you were breaking character just to be nice to me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, love.” the term of endearment slipped out a little too easily, too breathily, with a weight that didn’t necessarily belong on a mission roster. Price’s fingers twitched where they rested against your stomach. His hand flattened there then, palm heavy and searingly hot through the synthetic fabric. He was pinning your hips directly against the apex of his thighs, and you didn’t have a single intention of complaining.
“Besides,” Price added whilst shifting his weight, large thigh sliding between yours a bit. “If I were breaking character, you wouldn’t be doing this much talking.”
A treacherous thrill coiled tight in your lower stomach. The undercurrent of the remark he threw so casually wasn’t a blunt admission, no, that wasn’t in Price’s nature, but it was there— thick, sticky with a promise that made the back of your throat go dry.
“Is that a threat, Captain?” you whispered, your own voice taking on a slight edge. You tilted your hips back just a fraction into his heat, testing the boundary, testing him. “Last I checked, I’ve never had an issue keeping up with your pace. In or out of the field.”
You heard a jagged intake of air that ruffled the hairs at the nape of your neck, then, you felt the immediate consequence of your movement— hardening of a certain something against your lower back, thick and unmistakable even through the heavy layers of clothing. He was fighting a losing battle against his own restraint, and you weren’t exactly making it easier for him.
“Careful now,” the warning rumbled right into your skin. His hand on your stomach moved, palm spreading wide, charting the curve of your hip with an agonizingly slow pressure. “You’re playing a high-stakes game in a very small room, love.”
“But you’re the one who told me to take your heat,” you breathed, the dizzying heat washing over you entirely eradicating the chill that a few minutes ago was paralyzing you. “I’m just… following orders. Finding out how much you’re willing to give.”
“Wanna talk orders?” his voice was a rough purr now, lips brushing your earlobe as he spoke, sending an electric ache straight down between your thighs. His fingers dug a little deeper into your hip, pulling your backside flush against the rigid line of his groin. “If I give you an order right now, Sergeant, I’d have to make sure you take every single piece of it.”
The weight of his tone made your knees weaken, even lying down. It was a masterclass in control, a tether keeping the monster on a leash, but the leash was fraying way too fast. Every slow rise and fall of his chest rubbed torturously against you.
“Then why don’t you?” you challenged softly, heart hammering against your ribs. “Unless the Captain is all talk tonight.”
Price didn’t answer that. The time for words, apparently, was over.
His hand moved from your hip with urgency, large fingers gripping the waistband of your thermal trousers before hauling them down along with your underwear in one heavy sweep, exposing your bare skin to the biting chill of the room. That didn’t last long, though, as his massive, burning body crowded right back against you. You heard the harsh, metallic slide of his own zipper, the rustle of heavy fabric, then the staggering reality of his bare length pressing directly against the slick, aching heat between your thighs.
He was massive.
You let out a soft gasp into the dark, hands reaching back to blindly grip at the fabric of his shirt for leverage as he grabbed a hold of your leg, lifting it up and hooking it over his, opening you right up for easy access as his fingers found their way over to your aching clit.
“All talk?” Price growled into the nape of your neck, voice stripped of all the restraint it had before. It was deep, feral, and deeply, deeply hungry. “Let’s see how well you keep up now, hm?”
With a tilt of his hips, and a helping hand, Price managed to drive himself forward a bit, blunt tip catching onto your desperate entrance.
He didn’t ease into you, not that you expected him to. He sank straight into your tight, drenched heat in one long push, filling you to the absolute brim. The light pain of his thick length stretching you open took the breath out of your lungs, having your eyes snapping open in the dark, spine arching off his back as pleasure crashed over your brain. A loud, high-pitched cry built in the back of your throat, threatened to tear past your lips and echo straight up through the floor to the street above.
Before the sound could even escape, though, Price’s large hand slammed over your mouth.
His palm was warm, smelling of one of his cigars, effectively smothering your voice into a muffled, breathless whimper against his skin.
“Shh, quiet, baby,” Price hissed against your ear, holding you completely still for one torturous second, letting your desperate body stretch and adjust to the fullness of him. “One sound out of you, and we’re compromised. You stay quiet for me, okay pretty girl? You hear me?”
You could only nod frantically against his palm. The danger of the mission outside was entirely eclipsed by the overwhelming danger and embarrassment of the orgasm forcing its way to the surface, before he even had a chance to move properly.
Price let out an approving grunt. “Good girl.”
Then, he began to move.
Because of the cramped, narrow spooning position, every single thrust had to be so, so deep and agonizingly slow. He pulled back until he was almost entirely out, letting the freezing air hit the slick skin of your cunt, before driving all the way back in, bottoming out against you with a wet thud each time. His thick hips rolled against your backside, weight crushing you into the wall and the hard mattress with every relentless stroke of his.
You writhed against him, muffled whimpers trapped behind his hand as he tore through all of your defenses. The pleasure was too sharp, too much. Every time he hit your sweet spot, your legs twitched helplessly, begging for a faster pace, but Price maintained a commanding rhythm of his own. He was using his size to dominate the space, thick thighs anchoring yours, chest pinning your shoulders flat when he moved a bit further to keep you under him.
“Look at you,” Price whispered roughly, lips dragging along your jawline. “Taking all of it. So quiet. Built perfectly for this, aren’t you? My perfect little soldier.”
The dirty praises sent an entirely new wave of heat straight to your core. You clamped your thighs tighter around his leg, tilting your pelvis back to meet his deep thrusts, desperately chasing the peak that had been building between your legs a while.
Price felt the shift in your body, the tight squeeze of your wet walls around his girth. He let out a low groan, hand gripping your jaw just a little tighter. “Yeah, just like that,” he muttered, breaths coming in short pants now as his own control began to fray at the edges. “Take it all from your captain, baby, take all of me.”
You felt Price’s restraint snapping cleanly in two when he stopped pulling back. He simply drove into you over and over, frantic thrusts that slammed his hips flush against yours with a wet echo, and at that point, his tight hand around your jaw wasn’t doing much to muffle you. The rusted springs of the cot creaked beneath, but neither of you cared about the noise anymore— not when he was so big and unforgiving, not when you were so tight and soft beneath his palms.
“I’m gonna ruin you,” Price growled, voice barely feeling human as his teeth grazed your shoulder. “Gonna fill you up. Fucking breed you. Just hold on, love, hold on for me.”
Your walls clamped helplessly around him, and the orgasm actually felt like a physical blow against your pussy. You arched your spine, eyes rolling back in the dark as a choked, muffled scream was smothered entirely into his palm. Your walls clamping tight around his rigid length as you came around him pushed Price right over the precipice.
He let out a guttural moan against your neck, body locking up when he drove himself into you one final time, burying his length as deep as it could possibly go, and then, he unleashed.
You felt the pulsing before the warmth flooded your tight space, filling you to the absolute brim. He poured into you in deep waves, the volume of his seed pooling deep within your core until it slickly escaped the seal of your skin to drip onto the mattress beneath you. Price remained buried deep, chest heaving against your back, heart hammering on top of you like a war drum as he slowly emptied himself into you.
For a long, beautiful minute, the only sound was the desperate panting of two people trying to catch their breaths.
You felt him soften slightly, though he stayed put, preserving the connection there for a hot minute before carefully withdrawing his large hand from your mouth, fingers trailing down your jaw, over your chin, before resting against the pulse point on your neck.
He pressed a soft kiss to the damp skin beneath your ear, breath still hot and shallow.
“Love,” he whispered into the dark, shifting his weight to ensure he wasn’t crushing you. “You alright? Did I hurt you?”
“I just might have to start disobeying orders more often, Captain,” you murmured with his soft chuckle rumbling against your back, as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
“Smart mouth,” Price whispered affectionately, thumb gently stroking the pulse point on your throat before he retreated a bit to pull the blankets back up over the two of you.