I Feel Like Nik’s Been Kicked To The Couch Before, But The Reasons Could Vary As To Why.

(Fugitive)Nikolai needing to lay low somewhere so he wouldn’t get captured and brought to the Gulag so he flees to a small town in England where there are small quaint shops on every corner, and if you were to go down just a little further, there’d be a few neighborhoods with beautiful houses/apartments.

Upon arrival, the soldiers who were looking for him had already gotten there first(much to his dismay), and just as they turned a corner he ducked into a flower shop and behind the counter, not even noticing the man standing there.

The soldiers eventually came in and looked around for a bit before asking the man if he’d seen someone come in matching Nik’s description, and to the Russian’s surprise, he said no and told which shops the men could check because they had “good hiding places”.

As they filed out with a brief ‘thanks’ he waited til’ the were far far away before slowly rising to thank the man properly, stopping upon seeing his beautiful features.

The flower shop worker had brown hair and blue eyes that seemed like they’d look ethereal in the sunlight, even as they looked at him with skepticism. He also had a well kept beard and mustache, trimmed to perfection. He wore a white shirt with brown pants that hugged his body in every way(deliciously), and on top was a beige apron with a name tag that read John.

Nik found himself smitten, cheeks heating up and mouth opening and closing like a fish. That was until the man— sorry— John had grabbed him by the ear and pulled the giant Russian towards him.

“You get me and my shop into any trouble and I’ll cut you like a rose, understand?”

Oh how Nik loved his voice. Loved how deep and rough it was despite having an odd smoothness to it. Like a rose.

He suddenly felt a pair of sharp gardening scissors at his throat and broke out of his daydreams.

“Understand.”

The scissors left his throat(much to his relief).

As John was getting ready to go to another task, Nik looked around himself for a second before turning back to the Brit.

“Uh- where is your nearest.. uh- mini hotel?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your mini hotels.” Nik says again. “Uhm.. like the smaller hotels that are usually on the side of the road?”

It takes John a second before he realizes and stops himself from laughing at the criminal across from him. Hell, he looked as if he’d skin him alive and use him as fish bait.

“You mean a motel?” He asks with a small smirk, continuing to sweep. “It’s a few minutes away from here near the butcher shop and candy store.”

“Ah, a motel, yes.” Nik nods, trying to appear cool and collected as he gathered what little bearings he had before going to the door. “Uh.. thank you..?”

“John, and you?”

“Nikolai.” He replied, his name rolling off his tongue roughly due to nervousness.

“Nikolai.” John says, and Nik damn near falls out at the way his name rolls off the florists tongue(he wondered what it’d sound like when he was being fucked).

After their brief conversation, Nik makes his trek to the motel and gets a room that’s, albeit, a bit nicer than some of the hotels he’s stayed at throughout his years of running.

He lays down for a bit to settle his nerves and goes to shower, thoughts lingering back to the beautiful florist he’d met just minutes prior to coming here and wonders if he could go back to the shop tomorrow to see him again, if he’d even be there.

Shoot, maybe he’d get to know the man. Know his likes and dislikes, what makes him tick, what got him into the gardening business, things of that nature(and maybe more if he’s lucky).

John Price who's tired after missions.

John Price who strips his gear haphazardly and slides on his last clean shirt and sweatpants.

John Price who rubs his face dramatically, huffs, and ignores the after action report he needs to finish up.

John Price who collapses on to the couch in his office, sprawled out on the thing that's almost too small for him.

John Price who doses off right then and there, not caring an ounce for his comfort otherwise.

John Price who barely cracks an eye open when the door to his office drifts open, the warm light from the hall seeping into the dark room, and a particularly exhausted Sergeant enters.

John Price who closes his eyes and just opens his arms, accepting the weight of one Kyle Garrick on top of him, wrapping his arms around the man.

John Price who breaths in time with Gaz as the smaller man shoves his nose into John's shoulder, to which John sighs contentedly.

John Price who doesn't open his eyes when the door cracks open again and the familiar presence of one sleepy Scotsman shoves his way onto the couch next to them, somehow, impossibly, perfectly. The warmth of one John Mactavish burrowing into his side.

John Price who moves his arm so that one is around Gaz and the other is around Soap, sprawled and wrapped into each other on the couch that's definitely too small for them.

John Price who hardly notices when the door opens again, and one silently tired Lieutenant sits on the floor, leaning back against the couch.

John Price who reaches over, gives the man's shoulder one good squeeze, and his hand is caught in the callused fingers of one Simon Riley.

John Price whose eyes scrunch in a smile when his hand is graced with one gentle press of lips before it's released.

John Price who sleeps warm and comfortable in his pile.

John Price who's tired after missions,

but never too tired for his boys.

John Price who eventually snores but all of them are too exhausted to move and are undeniably comforted by the noise anyway.

Nik admires John.

cw: possessive Nikolai; sexual content at the end.

Nik didn't much like festive parties. He wasn't a fan of Christmas anyway; a wanton celebration of capitalist greed, he had mumbled at John as they had shaved shoulder to shoulder in the hotel bathroom. John had chuckled in that low, gravelly way he did, blue eyes crinkling, and Nik had decided he would make love to him when they got back. Dressed like penguins - John's words - they had headed out into the cold night, hailing a black cab to take them to the more auspicious centre of London to an entirely different hotel. Nik has offered to purchase a suite there for the night but John had balked at the cost.

The dinner had been uneventful, with small talk and a few side glances in Nik's direction, and now they mingled around a marquee erected on the back of the hotel's gardens. A small oasis in the center of a city once choked with black smoke and industry. Nik might have admired the beautiful orangery or spent some time looking at the various art pieces in the reception hall, but he simply couldn't tear his eyes away from John.

He was, truly, magnificent.

His tailored suit fit him perfectly despite his earlier derision, from the flare of his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, the fall of his trousers hanging in well-cut, straight lines to a pair of Oxfords, buffed and polished to within an inch of their lives. Nik would expect nothing less.

John wore his dinner suit with an understated class. Not like the vacuum tight monstrosities some of the other officers were walking around in; pinched jackets around athletic waists, slim fit shirts, trousers like drainpipes, stretched so tightly that the crease down the front was invisible. They showed off a distasteful amount around the crotch, calf and thigh, in Nik's opinion; the material snagging and pulling in all the wrong places.

Why spend thousands on a suit just to look cheap? Coiffed hair, too-white teeth, synthetic, clingy fabrics; the earmarks of superficiality. Perhaps he was biased, but not a single one of those bleach-toothed smiles held a candle to the crinkled blue eyes and charmingly crooked grin of his captain.

Nik stayed at the edges of the party, propping up the bar for the most part. He watched John drift from group to group, ticking off the list of people he wanted to talk to as well as the list of people he knew he should talk to. John hated politics, but he was good at it when he had to be; attentive, diplomatic, guarded and dangerous. Nik could see it in the way he moved across the room, his shoulders squared, his head up, his chest out; a predator plucked from the wild and placed among domesticated dogs.

John's hand nursed his whiskey glass, his little finger tucked beneath it, forefinger tap-tapping in the lull of conversation like it did against the side of his M4 when he was thinking. The same John, different hostile environment.

Because they were in an outside marquee, John could smoke to keep his hands occupied, and he placed his glass aside to light up the cigar he plucked from his dinner jacket. One of the Cohibas Nik had gifted him with as an early present. He was flexing. A subtle flex, but a flex none of the less. Nik shifted his thighs apart and sat his elbows back against the bar, quietly preening. He provided for what was his. John never went without.

He watched John's lips against the cap, the soft pink slightly chapped, and tried not to get lost in the memory of what they felt like against his. The anticipation of what they would taste like as they surrendered to him later. John exhaled grey smoke to the side, a few stray whisps curling from his mouth, like a dragon with embers in its chest. He settled it through the slant of his fingers beside his whiskey glass and took another sip, those kissable lips glistening, tongue gliding over the lower in search of the last drops and Nik had to adjust in his stool.

Nik couldn't help but love it when that mouth smiled, talked, laughed, and think about kissing it, sliding his fingers behind John's neck and cupping his strong jaw in the cradle of his palm. The way John would melt against him, so pliant when touched by a man who knows how to handle him, how to pluck his strings and tease out the sweetest notes.

Because John needed a firm hand, didn't he? No matter how cleverly he disguised his rough edges with smart suits and a comb. Tonight, John was perfectly groomed, so tidy. His beard trimmed, his hair cut and brushed into place, but there was one thing John couldn't buff, polish, trim or press out of himself.

The eyes.

Nik could see their light, their fire; he watched them darken with concentration, brighten with laughter, the lines at the corners distinct, distinguished. They glittered with that same intelligence that let him slip behind his current facade, but also with cunning, and a barely suppressed wildness simmering below the surface; fierce, uncontrollable. While John might think his judgments were discreet from others, Nik could see him weighing some of the men before him and finding them wanting. It was clear in the tilt of his shoulders, the press of his lips.

They were wanting. Both in what they lacked compared to their better standing before them, and in their desire to have him. Nik wasn't the only man in the room whose gaze had lingered, admired. Coveted. Nik wanted to gouge their eyes out every time he spotted one. How arrogant they were to think they were even worthy. Their hunger was palpable. There was one watching John now. Blond hair slicked back, his hand buried deep in his pocket as his hips tilted in John's direction.

As the lounge singer they had hired for the evening picked up his microphone for his first song, Nik watched the Blond try his hand. John greeted him affably, bouncing on his toes and toasting his drink. Nik watched as the Blond introduced himself and was pleased to see no recognition on John's face. They began to discuss a recent operation; the Blond started boasting. John was unimpressed, one eyebrow cocked, and Nik smirked.

They talked for a little longer, the singer lapsing from one song into another, and the Blond touched John's elbow. Nik watched a subtle tension roll across John's shoulders, his core tightening, his fingers turning whiter around his glass, and then, with practised self control, John forced himself to back down from high alert. For the first time, those blue eyes slid across to Nik, tracing down his body to the spread of his legs, heels of his shoes hooked on the bar stool. They lingered, clearly admiring, and Nik spread himself for appraisal.

Nik saw the moment John decided to play with him. A twitch at the corner of his lips, a flash of those cunning blue eyes before they turned back to the Blond. A dangerous game. The Blond that had now become John's prey. His body language changed subtly, shoulders and chest opening up from where they had been guarded, and then John returned the touch; a brush of the fingers across the elbow. Luring him in for the kill. The Blond leaned close to talk a little quieter and John tilted his head, watching through his eyebrows, listening with a faint smile.

The lounge singer changed songs; a slow, sultry version of 'You Put A Spell On Me'. Perfect, Nik thought wryly. Because John had cast a spell on every man in the room that was inclined towards another man in their bed. Nik watched The Blond touch John again, on the hip this time, and vaguely considered how easy it would be to bundle the arrogant shit into the back of a van and cut that hand off with a machete.

Nik finished his drink and slid from the bar stool. He made his way over slowly, adjusting his cufflinks as he approached his target from behind, looming large at his back. "Ah, Nik, this is Major Dustin Houghton, Royal Anglian," John said, and Houghton startled as he looked around to see Nik standing over him, six inches taller and several miles broader. "Major, this is Nikolai, my husband."

"Your...?" Houghton started, eyes dropping to Nik's left hand, where his silver wedding ring wrapped his finger.

"Da," Nik said flatly, watching as Houghton's offending hand retreated into his pocket. "And I have come to collect my husband for a dance."

"Urf, Nik, really? The Major and I were just discussin'--actually, what were yer proposin', Major? Somethin' ya wanted to show me in yer room..."

"Oh, uh, nothing. Absolutely nothing of import. You two, uhm, ahh, I think that's... Yes, that's Frank from the Mercian, you two have a lovely evening."

"Yeah, 'course." John watched him leave over the rim of his whiskey glass, content in his victory. Or so he believed.

Nik took John by the elbow to steer him towards the small floor before the singer. A few other couples were swaying together amongst the jumble of bodies, and Nik took John's glass and placed it on a nearby table, setting his cigar over the top before encircling him, hands finding his narrow hips and drawing them close.

John placed a hand on Nik's chest and the other on his arm, smirking, ready to gloat. "Did I make ya jealous?"

Nik cocked a brow and leaned in to John's neck. The kisses he placed beneath John's ear, slow, lingering, teased a soft noise from John's chest, his hips bumping forward to Nik's. "Nyet, John. Jealousy is for boys and weak men who do not know their own worth. He could not take you from me. He is not worthy of you."

Nik felt John coil with pleasure against him. He could imagine how his toes were curling in his shoes, the hairs on his arms standing on end, as Nik's voice passed over his skin like a caress.

"Naw, ya don't think so?"

"I do not need to think. I know."

"Olrigh', not jealousy, then what? Why the Russian 'itman act?"

"I am possessive," Nik murmured. "But you know this, which is why you sought to... antagonise me by misbehaving."

"Yeah?"

Nik felt John's smile against the side of his face and nuzzled a kiss into his neatly trimmed beard.

"I am tempted to reclaim you in front of them all."

"Right here, eh? Give 'em all somethin' to gossip about."

"Da. I would spread your legs right here, and make you scream my name, leave you fucked full of me, so they all know to who the great Captain John Price belongs to."

"Fuckin' filthy," John purred, his voice thick, fingers kneading in Nik's shirt as their bodies swayed together, the deep, sultry voice of the lounge singer a pleasant hum in the background. Nik's thumbs circled on John's hips, his nose tracing over the frantic, desperate pulse in the side of John's neck. Their touches were discreet, Nik's voice low, but the illicit nature only made their blood run hotter.

"You would like them to watch you take my cock, see how beautiful you are, knowing that they can never have you as I do."

"Bloody 'ell," John rasped, and Nik knew he had won their game. He simply needed to deliver the final blow and claim his prize.

"They would see how easily you surrender yourself to me," Nik whispered, running his open mouth over the line of John's beard to hover over his lips. "Just as you are now."

"Nik..." John whispered before Nik took his chin and kissed him, sweeping his other hand to the small of his back. Nik held John close as his tongue swept between his lips and claimed what was rightfully his. Tasted the cheeky tongue, the soft lips soaked in whiskey, taking possession of everything he had admired from afar.

Nik drank down the soft moan of pleasure, his own body warming as John gripped at him, trying to pull as close as possible. They moved together, so deeply tuned in to each shift of muscle, the slide of expensive wool and cotton beneath their hands, the heat of their bodies burning through as their hearts fluttered.

John liked being hunted, but he liked being possessed even more. To know that Nik would pursue him through whatever storm or trial until he was back where he belonged: in Nik's arms. And once there, to have Nik demonstrate exactly to whom he belonged. Nik needed it as much as he did it. The thrill of possessing the one thing in the world that no one else could ever. That no amount of money could ever buy; the most beautiful man to walk it.

Nik could feel the hum of want thrumming through the strong body in his arms, primed and eager, and he knew he would be purchasing that expensive hotel room after all. He drew back, sucking gently on John's lower lip, and admired those hazy blue eyes. The song has drawn to an end and faded into another. John was thoroughly at his mercy.

"Come, I am bored of this party."

John swallowed and managed a nod, his lips were red, kiss swollen and glistening and Nik needed them stretched around his prick.

Nik took his hand and pulled him from the hall to reception, where a quick flash of plastic bought them the expensive studio room with a sprawling king-sized bed and champagne in the fridge. Nik kissed John in the lift, sliding a hand beneath his shirt to feel the heat of his skin and made him stutter out tight gasps with sucking kisses on his neck, beneath his ear. The door to the room had barely clicked shut before their clothes were thrown off, and they tumbled into the bedroom.

John swallowed Nik down greedily once it had sprung free from his boxers, lips stretched impossibly wide around its girth, and Nik mussed that too neat hair until he found the untamed man that stalked battlegrounds at his side, thrusting slowly into John's spasming throat as he squirmed on the mattress.

When Nik turned him onto his back and spread his thighs, John arched, offering himself desperately, pleasing in a low, husky rasp, cock drunk and needy. He fisted the sheets as Nik claimed him, Nik's name punching out of his chest in a low, gravelly moan that curled like molten heat in Nik's gut. Those same eyes that he had watched hunt the party now misty and soft, tamed a little by pleasure, but no less bright.

"Who do you belong to, John?" Nik whispered, dragging his thick cock in and out in slow, deep thrusts.

"You, Nik, fuck... you, please."

"Da... Me." Nik thrust in hard and licked the cry of ecstasy from John's mouth.

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

…

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

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

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

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

"Never."

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

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

..Price being told to kill Nikolai because he’s being suspected of giving away info and having connections to Makarov, as well as helping him get more weapons.

..Price being devastated because— what? Nik wouldn’t do that.

The Nik that he’s known since he joined the military wouldn’t do that.

The Nik that he’s spent countless nights with telling his deepest, darkest secrets to wouldn’t do that.

The Nik that he shared his first kiss with, who he gave his heart and soul to, wouldn’t do that.

…The Nik that he’s let around his boys, that he’s let into his life, wouldn’t do that.

..he has until Friday to do it, to put a bullet in his lover’s skull. If he fails, then they’ll get Nik and him for suspicion of cover up. Hell, maybe they’ll beat Nik bloody in front of him(or vice versa), who knows?

John’s at a loss on what to do, so he calls his old captain for advice. At the end of the conversation, he’s left with two choices: Play by the kings, or Play by the sword.

I think the choice is obvious.

Okay ignore the tag where I said “Google is my only friend”, because it’s fucking not. It’s a selfish, backstabbing bitch liar who gives wrong answers to desperate kids who are just trying to make an easy hundred on some fuck ass math assignment.

Since it snowed Tuesday night, my school’s plans to make us go back today were foiled. Unluckily for us, they decided to give us online instruction, as well as a two hour delay tomorrow.

Now I’m sitting here trying to remember how to do a quadratic function and hoping my absence to my first period class won’t be counted.

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

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

(Some doodles)

During the few months that the two get to know each other, (MafiaBoss)Nik begins to notice a few things about (FancyEventSinger)Price.

He notices how he has his own style despite his manager wanting him to wear tighter clothes to gain more attention. He notices how he expertly maintains eye contact with people in the crowd, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He notices how he seems close with three of the bartenders and waitresses there, and he also notices that sometimes, the man can be forgetful when a lot is on his plate.

Kinda like now.

As Nik was waiting at the back entrance after another performance he saw John come out with his usual satchel and in a different, more comfortable outfit, but one thing he noticed he was missing was his jacket, and he didn’t like that because— what the fuck? It’s fifteen degrees and it’ll only get colder from there, so where is this man’s jacket?

“I forgot it at home. Had stuff to do.”

“And you did not think to come to me?”

“What’s the need? My car has heat anyway, I’ll be fine.”

“Then I guess you will also be fine when you turn into— euh, what do you call it..— uh, Frosty the Snowman.”

John lets out an amused chuckle, and Nik feels his cheeks getting hotter.

“My point is,” he clears his throat. “you need a jacket.”

“And where will I get that from?”

Suddenly, he feels the weight of a long leather jacket on his shoulders, and John feels it for a second before looking over to Nik.

“This is expensive leather.” He huffs, brows furrowing as he begins to take the jacket off. “I can’t wear that.”

“And why not?” Nik asks as he stops him and pulls it tighter around his body.

John looks at him before huffing again, brows furrowing deeper as he looks Nik over.

“And what will you wear? It’s 15 degrees just like you said.”

“I am used to cold temperatures, like- uh, yes, Elsa. The cold never bothered me anyway .”

John let out a genuine laugh at that, and suddenly Nik found himself wanting. Wanting to have the opportunity to see him smile, hear him laugh at his jokes. Wanting to be near his endearing personality more often than just seeing him whenever he performs. Wanting to be a constant in his the singer’s life because— once you’ve found the sun, why go back to a match?

Nik walks John to his car per usual, and John hands Nik back his coat despite the Russian’s pleas of wanting him to keep it(it felt good when John had something of his, smelt of him).

“Stay warm Nikolai.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

John just rolls his eyes and gets ready to close his door but stops, brows furrowing just a tad.

He then gets out and comes up to Nik before giving him a light kiss on the cheek, stepping back to watch the way the Russian’s cheeks heat up despite his own ears burning hot.

“Felt wrong to leave without giving you something.” John muttered, watching Nik’s eyes light up.

“Right.” Nik said, unable to peel his gaze away from the Brit even as he went back to his car and began to pull out of the parking lot.

At the Russian’s continuing stares, John rolled down his window just to yell at him.

“Get back inside! It’s cold out!”

“Right!” Nik shouts as he walks backwards to the door, damn near tripping over his own feet.

(And if wishing for more kisses in the future was criminal, then lock the both of them up.)

on the other side of the voice kink, imagine nik wanting to draw out all kinds of noises from price while they fuck while price being conscious about his voice or being too noisy and loud but nik reassures him anyway

Oook, but this is really hot?

So, John has been in the military since he was sixteen, right? That's your entire adult life in barracks or hotel rooms with paper thin walls. Very hard to have intimacy when your fellow soldier might be jacking off to the plap-plap of your hips pounding away, your moans and your dirty talk. For John, sex is quiet, discreet. Covert. His orgasms are always through held breath and a body so seized with tension to stay quiet that he looks physically in pain.

For Nik, sex is a damn rave. He wants all the mess, all the noise, all the broken furniture. It's a celebration of pleasure, of the body, and he likes playing his lovers like a damn orchestra.

Nik holding John's chin, two fingers in his mouth to keep it open so John can't muffle his noises. Being noisy and filthy himself, telling John exactly how good he feels, what he wants to do to him, encouraging him to be louder - "come on baby, let me hear you, tell me how much you want it" - or Nik always chooses positions where he can fuck so deep, give John orgasms that make his legs shake, turning that captain into a screamer one thorough dickening at a time.

Nik’s father always told him to never mix chemicals together because it could be deadly to himself and everyone around him, and God he wishes he’d listened to him instead of getting involved with a certain Captain from a certain TaskForce, because a small issue can lead into something big, and then they argue, and then they drink, and then they have drunken sex, and then they wake up with a headache in the morning.

“I hate you.” John grunts as Nik thrusts wildly in and out of him, brows furrowed and eyes hazy with lust and something dangerously close to spite. “Can never stop sleepin’ around.”

“Would not have to if you made time for me.” Nik responds with a bitter tone, which soon turns into a groan as he feels John clench around his length. “Ебать!”

“You prick. You know that I’ve tried, and when I do-“ He pauses with a whimper, feeling himself nearing his climax. “Y-You’re always-“

Suddenly, John’s body tenses up and he clamps his thighs around Nik as he comes, a filthy moan leaving his lips and strings of his release splattering on his stomach.

Nik doesn’t stop though, no. Instead, he goes harder and faster, overstimulating John’s senses to where he can only babble out “I hate you’s” and “Nik’s”, stars dancing in his vision as his prostate is assaulted over and over again.

“You hate me and yet you always end up here, in my bed beneath me.” Nik grunts as he stares down at John, shifting a bit to piston deeper into the Captain. “Why do you think that is, hm?”

John begins to get louder, eyes flying open and back arching as his body begins to tremble.

“If you hate me so much, why not get rid of me. Ignore me, ship me out to a different base, kill me.” Nik says, and John musters up the best frown he could and looks away. But Nik won’t have that and brackets the man’s head between his arms before leaning down so they could be eye to eye. “Look at me Johnathan. Look at me. Answer the question.”

And as their eyes met, Nik lets out a feral grunt before catching John’s lips in his own, tongues dancing and teeth clashing in the sloppiest way possible with Nik coming inside the Brit, who soon followed.

Soon, Nik pulls away and stares dead into John’s hazy blue eyes, a string of saliva still connecting the two. He then leans down and kisses his neck, working his way up to his ear and kissing the shell of it before grinning.

“Because you can’t.” The Russian says simply, and John can do nothing but let out a whimper as Nik flips him over on his knees and pushes his chest down to the mattress, face buried into the satin pillow case that laid on the bed as Nik began fucking him once more(and if they ended up cuddling right after and holding each other so tight that they could barely breathe, then sue them).