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cod-thoughts · 16 days ago

Text

I can feel the heat on my face

Word count: 1.6k

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik

Tags: Price wears a crop top, Nik loves it, fade-to-black, suggestive themes, fluff

So this was written based off of this post from @on-a-lucky-tide and the subsequent beautiful art by @nekrosmos, your brains collectively made me write this and then i left it for like a month rip but i finished it!! its short and i may or may not have a smutty second part that im debating sharing too, we'll see how brave i get 0_0

Nik bought Price some new gym outfits as a bit of a joke, little did he know that seeing his Captain in a cropped hoodie and shirt would alter his brain chemistry the way it did Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The early morning sunlight filtered through the edges of the curtains, casting faint, golden lines onto the bedroom floor. The flat was quiet save for the muffled hum of the city beyond the windows, distant and unobtrusive. Price stirred under the duvet, one arm stretching lazily across the bed, his hand brushing against the cool, empty space where Nik had slept. He cracked an eye open and frowned. Of course Nik was already up.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he shifted, rubbing a hand over his face to chase away the lingering fog of sleep. His beard scratched against his palm, grounding him in its familiar texture. He blinked blearily at the room, catching sight of the small pile of neatly folded clothes resting on the chair near the bed. Nik’s doing, no question.

It was routine—whenever they planned to hit the gym together, Nik would leave Price’s kit ready to go. A silent nudge, Price supposed, to stop him from lazing about and rolling back into bed. It was thoughtful, in its way, though it always carried a hint of Nik’s stubborn insistence.

With a resigned grunt, Price swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool wood floor shocking against his bare feet. He stretched, his muscles stiff from sleep, before padding over to the chair. His eyes were still half-closed as he grabbed the shirt first. The fabric was soft and lightweight, practical enough for a workout. He tugged it on, his movements sluggish, only for his hand to freeze midway.

The shirt wouldn’t go any lower. Price frowned, blinking himself into full awareness as he glanced down. His brow furrowed deeper as he tugged again, to no avail. The hem of the shirt barely reached his navel, leaving his stomach—firm and solid, marked with faint scars and the unmistakable trail of dark hair—completely exposed.

“Bloody hell…” he muttered, scratching idly at his side as he reached for the sweater Nik had left with it. Surely that would sort things out. But no—the sweater, though soft and comfortable, was equally cropped, and it left just as much skin on show. Price stared down at himself, incredulous. He didn’t have chiselled abs, but he was built—a broad chest, strong arms, and a stomach that spoke of years of proper meals and hard-earned strength. The outfit, however, seemed determined to make him look like some kind of showpiece.

He tugged experimentally at the sweater, as though sheer force of will might make it longer. When that failed, he turned to the mirror. And that’s when he noticed the shorts.

The shorts. Price blinked at his reflection, dumbfounded. The shorts were snug, hugging his thighs—thick, hairy, and as solid as the rest of him—while cutting so high they left nothing to the imagination. He looked… different. Not bad, necessarily, but certainly not what he’d expected to see when he got dressed.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his lips twitching as a sarcastic comment began to form. But before he could properly articulate his thoughts, the soft creak of the floorboards outside the bedroom broke his train of thought.

The door opened, and Nik stepped inside, already dressed in joggers and a well-fitted T-shirt. His hair was slightly mussed, his expression relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his ever-present alertness. His gaze landed on Price almost instantly.

Nik froze.

“Well,” he started, his voice full of easy humour, “what a sight to wake up to.” He smirked, stepping further into the room, his tone warm but laced with his usual teasing edge. “Did not know you would be modelling for me this morning, Captain.”

Price didn’t look over his shoulder, still too busy fiddling with the sweater. “Nik,” he said flatly, his voice heavy with exasperation. “Care to explain why I’m dressed like this?” He gestured vaguely to himself, the motion half-shielding his stomach. “And don’t tell me this is gym kit, because I know bloody well it isn’t.”

“It is gym clothes,” Nik countered, his smirk widening. “Just… minimalist.”

“Minimalist?” Price echoed, finally turning to glare at him through the mirror. “Minimalist, my arse. I feel like you bought this more for yourself than for me.”

Nik chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes sweeping over Price. “Maybe,” he said, dragging the word out with mock consideration. “But can you blame me? Look at you.”

Price huffed, muttering something about needing a proper kit as he dropped his arms with a resigned shake of his head. The movement was casual, almost careless, but it left his midsection entirely exposed. Solid muscle, tan skin, and the faintest curve of softness—all framed perfectly by the absurdly short sweater and shorts.

That was when it hit Nik.

The teasing comment on his tongue faltered, replaced by silence as his gaze lingered, drawn to every detail. The scars scattered across Price’s skin, the way his shoulders filled out the snug fabric, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of those shorts. It wasn’t funny anymore—not even a little. Price, with his perpetually gruff exterior and quiet strength, looked… stunning.

Nik blinked, his lips parting as though to say something, but no words came.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Price asked, finally turning to face him fully. His tone was dry, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips, betraying his usual stern demeanour.

Nik blinked, as though snapping out of his trance. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, the teasing remark he'd prepared slipping away as he caught another full look at Price in the morning light. The cropped sweater framed him in a way that wasn’t just flattering—it was outright distracting. Nik’s eyes lingered on the faint trail of hair that dipped below the waistband of those shorts, and then further down, where Price’s solid, muscular thighs stretched against the fabric.

He swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “I—” His voice faltered for a beat before he cleared his throat. “I knew it would not look bad,” he managed, though his voice was quieter now, laced with a growing tension. “But… I did not expect it to look this good.”

Price cocked an eyebrow, his smirk growing slightly. “Didn’t know you had such a thing for crop tops, Nik.”

Nik didn’t reply immediately, his gaze flickering up to meet Price’s eyes. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at him now, a rare moment of Nik’s usually cool exterior faltering. The teasing grin he so often wore softened, replaced by something more vulnerable, almost reverent.

“Not the top,” Nik said, words clipped and stepping closer, his hands finding Price’s sides almost instinctively. His fingers brushed over the exposed skin there, the faint calluses catching against the warmth of Price’s skin. “But you.”

Price blinked, thrown off guard by the sincerity in Nik’s tone. His smirk wavered, and for a moment, he wasn’t the seasoned captain, wasn’t the gruff, no-nonsense man who could command a room with a single glance. He was just John, standing barefoot in their bedroom, feeling inexplicably flustered under Nik’s gaze.

Nik’s hands lingered at his sides, his thumbs brushing against the edge of the sweater as though testing how much further he could push. “You are fucking breath-taking, you know that?” he said softly, his accent thickening in a way that always made Price’s stomach twist.

Price scoffed lightly, shaking his head as if to dismiss the comment, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “That right?” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

Nik grinned, though there was something softer behind it this time. “Mhm” he replied, his hands sliding lower, fingers curling lightly around Price’s hips. “We might have to change the plan, Captain.”

“Yeah?” Price asked, his voice edged with humour, though there was a faint hitch in his breath as Nik’s hands tightened slightly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Nik murmured, his grin turning wicked as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against Price’s ear as he added, “We could skip the gym. Do some… private training instead,” he paused thinking, “Cardio! yes, cardio, plenty of it, too.”

Price barely had time to process the words before Nik bent slightly, his arms wrapping securely around Price’s thighs. The motion was smooth, effortless, and before Price could protest, Nik straightened, lifting him clean off the ground.

“Nik!” Price barked, his voice sharp with alarm, though his hands instinctively gripped Nik’s shoulders for balance. His face burned now, the rare flush spreading from his neck to his ears. “Put me down, you daft—”

“No chance, lyubov moya,” Nik interrupted, his laughter rich and unrestrained. “You are far too dangerous to let out of our flat dressed like that.”

Price huffed, trying—and failing—to school his expression back to something stern. “Dangerous? Bloody ridiculous, more like.”

Nik carried him across the room as though he weighed nothing, his grin only growing. “Ridiculous? Maybe,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “But you are still mine.”

He reached the bed and, with a practiced ease, dropped Price onto the mattress. The captain let out a startled noise as he bounced slightly, propping himself up on his elbows to glare up at Nik. But whatever sarcastic retort Price had been about to deliver died the moment Nik leaned over him, bracing one arm on the bed beside him.

Nik’s free hand trailed down Price’s side, his touch slow and deliberate, as though savouring every inch. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “You are not going anywhere, John.”

Price’s breath caught, his heart thudding in his chest as Nik dipped lower, his lips brushing against the edge of the sweater. The teasing grin on Nik’s face softened, replaced by something deeper, hungrier, as his hands trailed further down.

Their morning gym plans were forgotten entirely.

#cod #john price #nikprice #cod nikolai #q writes #pricenik #also yes jack you get tagged despite this just being about you buying a shirt lmao #my friend thought youd get a kick out of that pfft #nekros this is like only one of the works i have based off of your art #just so you know #it also took quite some convincing to post it because fear o_o #anyway i drop this and runaway to sleep ooop

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