#wanna cook for my partner like Nik one day smh

[streetchicken]

It's 3 am, it's hot, I can't sleep-

So have some domestic NikPrice inspired by a version of Stroganoff my family makes :)

No beta, we go down like my math grades

Tw: Suggestive, badly written and very indulgent vwv

"Beef liver?"

Price pulls his nose up in barely contained disgust at the little paper wrapped package haphazardly tossed onto the kitchen island. A slab of unassuming dark meat that had Price's hackles raised. "Nik, I love you t'bits, but d'you have to feed me dog food?"

It looked positively slimy and alive. So much so that the Brit could barely hold back from poking it.

"Leave the meat, Малыш. You'll ruin it." Nik swoops in, ever the knight in shining armour, and snatches the liver from Price's mitts.

"Nik, it's liver, not a baby." Price sighs in return, now leaning his hip against the counter seeing as his partner had taken his only source of entertainment. "'t's not like i'can die."

The pout Price recieves from the Russian in return is childish. He just out his lower lip, scrunches his eyebrows and cradles the organ slab gently. "Don't say that, Малыш. Liver is good, you would not hurt liver's feelings."

Price produces an indignant snorting laugh that he has to clumsily hide with a cough. His hand flies to hide his lips as he turns his eyes away from the now beaming Russian.

Nik on the other hand? He can't be more pleased that he got the captain to laugh like that. He looks like a dog with a bone while he sets the liver aside.

"Ah, you laugh. I win." He proudly declares, picking up an onion to start peeling.

"Ya didn' win squat." Price tries to counter while he reaches for the peeler and a potato. Nik allows him to help.

"I won a laugh."

"Wot has that got ta do wit' winnin'?"

"Your laugh, Малыш."

Well Price had nothing to say against that. He's much too flustered now, flushed from the chops to his ears. "Touché."

Nik huffs a breath at the little victory, adjusting the halved onion on the cutting board and dicing it.

It's days like these that keep Nik sober. Without them, and Price, he swears he'd be condemned to the bottle by now. Drinking away whatever demons stalked his bedroom shadows. To think there had been a time when he lacked the gentle quiet. When he'd lived off blood, gunpowder and caffeine. When he only ever slowed down to enjoy some foreign meal or company. To think he was content to settle for it.

Nik takes a deep breath, focusing on the rhythmic tap of tbe blade against the chopping board. To his left, Price's breathing and the sound of potatoes being peeled, to his right, a well loved Bluetooth speaker mulling the tunes of some 80s song Price had insisted on.

The onions are swooped into the pot with some oil and garlic. "This stew is from my childhood."

"O'yeah?"

"Da. One of the few happy memories I was allowed."

Price's tongue sits thickly against the roof of his mouth at Nikolai's confession. Blue eyes settle on the russian's back. The white cotton seems so innocently bright in the soft canter of afternoon sunlight.

"D'you...miss 'em?" Price asks. His words are soft, delicate, almost swallowed by a tune in the music. "Th'good days, I mean."

"Nyet." Nik answers truthfully. "They were...still cold."

Another beat. The silence is thick. Price looks down at the half peeled potato in his hands instead of his partner's back. Finally he decides to continue.

"Fokin' 'ell, Nik. Not in front of th' liver." Price groans, peeling the last bits of skin from the potato.

The notion earns his a barely there snort from Nik, but an amused sound nonetheless. Nik turns, plucks up the potato and leaves Price with a peck against his temple and a soft smile.

Price smiles himself, watching Nikolai work on the stew. He admires how focused Nik is on feeding him, it's a lovely change of pace from field rations and the bland slop they usually get on base. Price might be feeling a little spoilt.

"Onions, aromatics, vegetables, meat, broth. Da, that should be all for now." Nik mutters to himself and turns to face his partner and offers a hand. He bends down a little with one of his mischievously charming smiles that highlight the crinkle around his eyes. "Which gives us some time."

"Flirt." Price rumbles in return, feeling heat on his cheeks as his hand slips into Nikolai's.

Price is pulled up against a firm chest, his hand finding Nik's shoulder while the latter's free hand settles warmly against the small of his back. God Price could barely keep a shiver down.

Nik pulls him into a little sway and jig. Despite his bulk and the small space of the flat's kitchen, Nikolai still manages to maneuver them to the beat of Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the dark".

They bounce to the beat, Price mouthing the words as they go along. Nik shifts them away from the stove as they mingle in the light of the waning afternoon sun. They nearly trip over the striped rug tossed between the stove and the sink.

Price follows along. Nik's a better dancer than him anyway, he'd glad to let his partner lead as Price swears he has two left feet no matter the song era. "Y're good a'this!"

"Da, had some practice. Lots of fun clubs in Berlin." Nik muses. His fingers toy with the hem of Price's t-shirt where they've settled at the bottom of the Brit's spine. "Though, not the only thing those clubs taught me."

"Cheeky git-" Price snorts.

Price rolls his eyes and sets a foot between Nik's own and pushes. He maneuvers the man till his back settles against a countertop and Price could worm his hands to plant on said counter top on either side of Nik's waist. "Don't s'ppose ya could back those claims, Sergeant?"

Nik's breath hitches at his old rank. He's left those days behind him when he denounced his position in the Soviet army, but to hear it come from the man he reapects so much?

"I make arrangements, da." He swallows hard, throat suddenly dry. Nik is suddenly hyper-aware of that muscular thigh pressed between his legs.

"Ah, now would ya look at that." Price muses. "Haven't seen ya that red since that night in the Black Hawk."

"Can't blame a man, can you? Not when he's at his Captain's mercy." God the flirting wouldn't work now, Nik's already lost the upper hand. He braces his hands on Price's forearms, desperate to feel the flex of muscle under skin.

"Is that so?" Price coos, his voice dropping to that low gravel that has Nikolai dizzy. His baby blues flick appreciatively over the man's neck.

Unable to resist, lips press firmly to the hollow of Nik's neck. Soft, demanding, they trail little embers up to the pulse. Nick swallows, he can feel his heart gallop in his chest and stick in his throat.

"You seem a tad nervous, luv." Price taunts. His hands slip from the counter to find the curve of Nikolai's hips. His thigh presses forwards and up.

"Nyet, not nervous." Nik gasps. The square if gis shoulders falter with the full body shiver. Price's lips are impossibly warm as they find the edge of Nik's jaw. It has him closing his eyes to stop the world, Price, from spinning. Jus'...I...John."

"Yeah?" Price muses, smiling where he's inches from Nik's face.

Fuck, Nik can feel it. Feel him. Smell him. Him and his Yardley English Blazer cologne. "Малыш- need. I need- John, please-"

Oh Price likes when Nik asks so softly.

Lips meet lips in a soft embrace. Almost like the casual atmosphere has the kiss lazy and easy. They barely notice the first cords of "Careless Whisper" strum over the speaker. But it isn't long before Nik's hands find the front of Price's shirt hem. Or until Price had his fingers securely tucked into the curls at Nikolai's nape.

The leverage lets Price press Nik fowards. He forces a soft sound between Nik's lips. The heat of his tongue finds the other's. He presses to overwhelm. His free hand dips below the elastic of Nik's sweats to find the fat at the man's hip.

The sound is soft, barely audible. A breathy little gasp that has Price scrambling to lift roughly 100 kilograms of Russian muscle onto the counter. Their lips part, but Price eagerly liberates Nik of his shirt so he could trail heated kisses from his throat to his sternum.

"John-" Nik starts, getting cut off by his own breather groan as he's palmed through his sweats.

Price could feel the heat pool between Nik's legs as he slots his hips to fit perfectly between the man's thighs. He nuzzles his nose to the black curls that adorn Nik's chest and lets himself just exist like that for a moment. He admires how sunlight glints over silver scars and the carpet on Nik's chest, admires the colour adorning Nik's cheeks and shoulders. His head is fuzzy with the feel of Nik against him, his partner shuddering with his arousal pressed to Price's palm. Intoxicating. Addictive even.

Nik threads his fingers through the messy brown locks.

Price continues his trail of kisses. They follow the contours of Nik's abdomen. Down to his navel. Gently down the trail of dark curls. His teeth hook the elastic of Nik's grey sweats. The man practically whimpers at the display.

Until he's not and Price is shoved back in Nik's panic to get to the stove. Price sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"New low f'me-" he groans "-gettin' cock blocked by a bloody stew."

Nik only offers him a shrug as he adds some cream, turns off the heat and places the lid back on. That's when he turns and Price's tongue goes lax at the sunlight framing Nikolai's face in dark curls and a soft glow.

"Well-" Nik coos, stalking closer to his partner "-it is done. I am certain it would be...some time before it is cool enough to eat."

Price suddenly feels very claustrophobic with his back against a counter and Nik's dark eyes so intently on him.

"I never minded cold stew anyway."