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By Christ price felt like death itself that morning.
He and the sergeant had decided to treat themselves to several bottles of tequila and some beers the night before—to ‘relax’ as gaz called it. It was anything but.
His head felt like an anchor, refusing to lift to start the day, his limbs like lead—held down, body merged into the soft mattress and comfortable quilt. Sunlight leaked through the undulating curtains beckoning him to consciousness ever so slightly.
John’s chest constricted as his senses came to: eyes now focused on the familiarity of his bedroom, an aftertaste of the fruity liquor lingered in his mouth. His ears picked up something soft…’snoring?’
Turning his head, Price looked to the direction of the delicate noise.
Kyle.
Gaz was sleeping soundly. One of his hands wrapped gingerly around Price's arm, his leg hung over his waist and his head perfectly placed on John's chest—as if he’d always belonged there.
‘Right…Gaz must’ve fallen asleep there, pished.’
“Mmph…”, the sergeant nuzzled into the man’s chest, his eyelashes fluttering and breath stuttering.
“Kyle.” Price’s husky voice breathed out, he tiredly brought his other arm to wrap around gaz’ waist and squeezed ever so gently. “What you doin’ in my bed, Garrick?” He kept his tone light and teasing as the warmth of their bodies mangled together threatened to drag him back to unconsciousness. The body next to him squirmed and his head arose from John’s chest to eye his man-pillow.
“Cap’n?” Gaz’ words slurred and his eyes forebode closing again. His face was contorted confusedly as he began to peer ‘round the room. And just as the realisation hit him like a freight train Price drew his hand away from Kyle's waist to tenderly scrape Gaz’ scalp. In turn receiving a pleased hum.
“God… I feel like shit” gently returning his head to the comfort of price’s chest, ignoring the heat in his cheeks after registering his surroundings, he huffed. “I’m never drinking tequila again.” they both cracked up at that, knowing it was complete bollocks on Gaz’ behalf.
“Sure.” John jested.
Gaz felt nearly too comfortable this closely pressed to Price's warm body. It was as if the heavens blessed the bed themselves—that, or Kyle really had a hangover from hell and the captain was of some welcome comfort. Either or, he ought to do this more often.
‘His bed’s better than mine…’
He could hear the captain’s steady heartbeat beneath his well-worn black tee, the sound of his relaxed breath escaping the—undoubtedly soft—lips hidden beneath his mutton-chop moustache and ghosting the sergeant’s head. His callus fingers returning to scuff between Kyle’s coiled hair.
For the first time in a while Gaz felt truly free from danger: no deafening snaps from their rifles, nor the echoing of detonated C4’s. No violence. Only their pocket of peace and comfort with toned limbs tangled around each other trustingly. “We should’ve done this sooner, sir.” He sighed contentedly.
A hum of agreement followed his statement, “Who knew you slept like a fuckin’ koala, eh, Gaz?” The smirk in Price’s voice was evident which earned an embarrassed eye roll from the younger. “Piss off, sir.” John’s giggle filled the calming silence.
“How did you even even end up ‘ere? I went to bed before you.” Once again, Gaz shifted but not to move away, somehow he pressed himself even closer to John—if that was even humanly possible. “Not sure, sir. I was hammered.”
“Mm…bloody ‘ell, Garrick. Might as well get on top of me at this rate. You’re like fuckin’ glue.” He emphasised his comment by prying his arm away from the grips of the sergeant's fingers. Gaz whined, tightening his hold on the man ultimately halting him in his attempt. “Don’t move, sir. I’m too comfortable right now.”
“I’m not a pillow, Gaz.” Sighing, he contemplated his choices: get out of bed to start the day…and away from the admittedly warm clinging of his mate or stay in bed cuddling up to him for god knows how much longer?
“C’mon, sir. We’re supposed to be relaxing…tha’s what i’m doin’.” Price found the crooning of the sergeant frankly adorable. John hummed, his need for company and tepidity finally overtaking his want for a fruitful day. “At least, let me turn over. Your head is heavy, you know?” Silent as snow, the sergeant lazily moved himself from Price—letting him turn to his side and face him.
Not a second went by and Gaz had wrapped himself around the captain like vines, one arm strung over John’s waist while the other wrapped around his own. He tucked his head in Price’s neck—and a sweet sigh drew out of him as he closed his eyes.
“Gettin’ brave aren’t you, serg?” He noted the clinginess Kyle displayed to be cute. After a few seconds flew by Price moved his own arm to hug the sergeant close to him, once again tangling their legs and melting into the bed.
“…Sir?”
Gaz’ voice broke the peace they seemingly found themselves in for a moment. His tone of voice indicating a slight hesitance…
“Serg.” The captain beckoned him to continue.
“I’ve a favour to ask…sir” His hand made its way on the slight curve of Price’s waist and amiably squeezed.
The reluctance was beginning to prickle at John’s nerves.
‘What’s got him so nervous? What the bloody hell is he gonna ask for now?’
“Go on.” His own hand squeezed in encouragement.
“Could you do that—thing—again?”
…
“What thing?” He inquired, eyebrow slowly raised in curiosity.
Garrick’s so-called favour wasn’t anything the captain anticipated from him…but he found it endearing nonetheless.
“My hair.” Sheepishly he hid his face deeper in John’s neck. Ironically shielding himself.
“Oh.” Price’s tongue was heavy and his brain quickly reached for a response but landed on…nothing. It was simple, really. He wasn’t asking too much—barely anything.
“Sorry, sir.” Kyle took Price’s quiet as rejection and promptly detached himself from the man. His face was palpably dismal. Oh, how John already missed the warmth—
“Wait.” Without thinking—or noticing, he had his arm ever-presently snaked around Gaz’ waist preventing him from leaving. “Come back ‘ere.” Surprised, Gaz let Price slowly guide him back to lie on his side and pull him closer so they were back in the same position as before.
“Bit dramatic, serg. Didn’t even let me answer.” John huskily ranted.
“I will.” He burly whispered.
Leisurely—agonisingly so, Price brought his hand up to Garrick’s head, once again sweeping his callus fingers against his scalp and feeling the sergeant melt at his touch—and seep into his every crevice, binding himself tightly to the captain once more, as though if he were not to he’d lose him forever.
The room was yet again silent save for the two men’s gentle breathing and the occasional soft whimper when a particular spot behind Gaz’ ear was brushed.
“Enjoying this, are ya?” He could tell by the way his body became malleable under his touch, completely trusting him in John’s hands—as he’s done countless times before, but this time it was different.
More fragile…
“Mmm…’m tired, sir.” Beginning to feel weary himself he pressed closer, feeling every inch of Gaz flushed against him.
“Go to sleep then, serg.”
“You’ll be here…when I wake up?”
“I’ll be here.”