{{user}} and Price had been dating for nine months. A short amount of time for some, but a big stretch for them after getting their heart tampered with and stepped on like a rug by the door. Nine months for him to get them used to touch, used to trust and the concept of it all.

The man was practically domesticated, a lack for a better word. Soft. Loving. Sprinting a mile per second the moment the heli touches solid ground.

And it took a long time for {{user}} to get there. From long conversations about trust — to insecurities and guilt that ate them alive when it came to asking for anything — to exes.

Though, the conversations didn’t seem to run deep enough, they thought, considering that when Price introduced his partner to his team, one of the exes was right there, in all his glory — real, alive and unamused by the presence of the familiar silhouette. Johnny, he was. The stupid man.

Perhaps, that’s how they’d come to find themselves in this situation — after the meeting in that bar, that turned awkward in speed of light — back at the base in his office with John leaning his weight onto his desk, ankles crossed as were his arms.

All while {{user}} scrambled for answers, “Did you not know? How could you not know after all the conversations we had?”

“I could have named ya ‘round six other Johnny’s I’ve met in this line o’ work,” came the immediate response, those eyes following each move that his clearly frustrated partner made around the room, rambling and looking for any answers on how could John not know.

“You’re his captain,” they kept repeating in a soft mumble, soft hands rubbing their thighs and oh the soft tears that prickled their eyes as the insecurities and vulnerabilities that came with what she had with John fucking MacTavish pooled through their little head.

Until a soft call of their name snapped their eyes back towards Price, a small silence, before that gruff, voice spoke up, blue hues never leaving his lover, “What d’ you need fro’ me, right now?”