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Kyle never really knew what was going through Price’s (“John, Kyle, come on, you’ve known me for years.”) head whenever they’d sit in silence in the rec room. Sometimes there were others – Soap with his notebook, Ghost fixing his spare masks – but they always provided a distinct non-Price energy, and sometimes all Kyle needed on a quiet evening was Price.
Price’s presence, energy, fuck, you know what he meant. Not Price himself, that’d make it sound like he was in love with him or something. Haha.
This time, though, with Kyle finishing up a crochet beanie, Price breaks the silence.
“Kyle,” Price nudges their feet together on the coffee table to get his attention, “It’s, uh. It’s a really clear night tonight.” He stops talking, but it’s abrupt enough that Kyle thinks that isn’t all his captain has to say.
Kyle glances out the window beside him. Sure enough, he can see a few of the brighter stars and satellites, along with the thinnest crescent moon he thinks he’s ever seen. It’s definitely pretty, but nothing terribly special considering how well-lit the base is. He sets his now-finished forest green beanie onto his blanketed lap and turns back to Price, whose face is slightly flushed. “It is clear. Did you… did you need something, Captain?”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because as soon as Kyle finishes speaking, Price’s face loses its pleasant, rosy flush and returns to what Kyle affectionately calls the “Captain Brick Wall” face. It usually only shows up when Price needs to be intimidating or closed-off, so Kyle’s not too sure why it’s showing up now as they’re both swaddled in blankets, cups of tea to their sides and socked feet touching on the coffee table before them.
Price’s mouth opens and closes several times, clearly fighting a losing battle with himself, before his shoulders slump slightly. “Nevermind, Kyle. You want more tea? Honey-chamomile, yeah?”
Kyle narrows his eyes slightly. That was the most pitiful subject change he’s seen this man attempt, and that’s saying something. It’s somehow worse than that time Price accidentally tried to dig into the whole Ghost-Soap situation before attempting to pivot to rookie training, which happened to also be a Ghost-Soap minefield. Based on the slump of his captain’s usually proud shoulders and furrowed brow, this isn’t something Kyle should let go easily, but he’ll let the poor man breathe for now.
“Sure, Price,” Kyle held out his mug for Price to take, ignoring the butterflies in his chest as their hands brushed. Price needs to use more lotion, apparently, because his hands are dry as hell. That, of course, does not quell the thoughts that race through his mind, which in turn bring the butterflies back with vengeance. Damnit.
Kyle kneads the beanie with his hands as he thinks. In recent months, there’s definitely been more one-on-one time between himself and Price. Missions, rookie training, meetings, down time. As he thinks through their interactions, every hand brush, every too-long shoulder bump, every stare across the yard, he starts drawing connections. That stare? Not straight in nature at all. That shoulder check? Also not straight. It takes him all ten minutes that Price uses to make their tea to finally connect all the dots.
Price has been hitting on him. Price was going to ask him to, at the very least, take a night stroll with him just a few minutes ago, and Kyle missed it. A small bit of hurt wiggles its way into his heart. Did it not mean enough to Price to get the guts to ask?
When Price walks back into the room, distracted enough that he doesn’t notice himself looking like a damned kicked puppy, Kyle gets his answer. No, actually. It means enough to Price that he feared the rejection, and Price does not give into fear easily.
As Price sets his tea down, Kyle clears his throat, causing Price’s kicked puppy look to vanish, leaving only “Captain Brick Wall”. Damn. “What were you going to ask earlier?”
Price’s façade drops and he looks trapped. He glances frantically between the tea, the door, and the clear night outside of the window. “Captain Brick Wall” fades to something a little softer, a little quieter. A little more… home-like. Kyle watches, a soft smile on his face, as Price slowly gathers his wits.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go stargazing. With me.” He glances down into his tea at the end, looking ready to drown himself in it or bolt from the room.
Kyle breaks out into a grin wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. “I’d love to, Cap’. You got a place in mind?”
The poor man startles at Kyle's acceptance enough that he nearly spills his tea. Then, the fear fades back into that lovely blush, and Price almost looks sheepish. Sheepish . Kyle has made his captain, SAS Captain John Price, sheepish .
“Yes. If you want to go now, we can. Just grab a few blankets, it’s finally getting colder out.”
“Aye, aye.” Gaz grins to himself as he scoops the blanket in his lap around his shoulders, snatching a handful of other comfort items on his way out the door.
The truck is silent. It’s not bad, but it could be better. It’s not missing music, but it’s also not missing conversation. It’s missing the sweet and spicy scent of fallen leaves in mid-autumn. It’s missing the crisp and refreshing feeling of frosted grass crunching beneath boots. It’s missing Price’s humming, Price’s loose posture, Price, Price, Price. He’s right here, driving the pair of them down a gravel path just outside the base, but he’s still missing .
Price slows the truck to a stop, silently putting the vehicle into park and setting the brake. His movements are careful and stilted, like he’s fearful of breaking the tense silence. Kyle thinks that is such a silly thought because - well. Can’t Price tell? Can’t Price see how much Kyle values him? His unrivaled skill in the field? His warm and rounded personality in the safety of their bases? He shakes himself from his reverie as he hears Price clambering around in the bed of the truck, no doubt arranging the pillows and blankets for stargazing. As he pulls himself from the warm cab of the truck and hisses at the crisp air, he turns his gaze skyward and is instantly frozen.
It’s beautiful.
Price knew what he was doing, clearly, when he picked this spot. There are a handful of scraggly trees surrounding them, but those few branches are the only things obstructing their view of the brilliantly clear night sky. The sky is filled to the brim with stars, almost looking like they’re threatening to spill over the horizon and cascade down the low mountains to the east. The Milky Way looks like a deep gash in the ever expanding darkness, brushes of brown and maroon interwoven with the bright whites, yellows, and blues of distant stars. The breeze is just strong enough to rustle the fallen leaves on the ground, their brittle edges catching on the odd stone or struggling shrub. The chilled air nips at his ears and nose, and his next warm exhale brings Kyle back to his body as it gently brushes over his face.
He glances over his shoulder to Price, who is simply looking at him. Kyle’s eyes are adjusted enough to read the creases around his eyes - Price looks fond and content, sitting there in the cold as he waits for Kyle to join him.
As he clambers into the back of the truck, settling down beside Price - no, John, - he realizes it feels a lot like coming home.
The rest of the night is spent in relative quiet. John’s occasional constellation story or the odd shooting star are the few words they share. Kyle, quite frankly, learns a lot about the northern night sky and about his captain. He learns that the Cepheus constellation, named after an Ethiopian king, was created because the ancient Greeks believed that Zeus favored Cepheus due to his ancestry involving his favorite nymph, Io. He’s also told that the constellation Cassiopeia has much darker origins than Cepheus, being that she was either cast into the night sky bunched up in a basket or chained to her chair to mirror her daughter’s suffering. He learns, as these stories are told, how John’s voice feels as it reverberates through his chest onto the back of Kyle's skull. He also learns that John loves to draw patterns on Kyle’s skin with his fingertips. It’s so steady that Kyle thinks John has no clue that he’s doing it. Kyle doesn’t bring it up, and John doesn’t stop.
He’ll remember the stories he heard John tell the darkness above them for years, but Kyle will remember how John’s arm feels around him for his entire life. Even after John shuffles the blankets to cover their shoulders, he settles Kyle right back into his side like he wouldn’t have him anywhere else. It’s not like Kyle wants to be anywhere else, anyways, so he burrows deeper under the blankets and closer to John until he’s nearly on top of the man, heart nearly as warm as his hands that he has tucked between their bodies.
He nearly misses the feeling of John’s lips on his hair as he stares at another bout of shooting stars, but he hopes on the last meteor he sees that John really meant to do that. It happens again, this time a little closer to his hairline, as Kyle checks the time. A minute later, at 4:23 AM, John presses a kiss to Kyle’s temple. The warmth from lips on skin fights off any chill from the coldest hour of the day and seeps into Kyle’s heart, giving him the courage to turn his head and lock eyes with John.
Now that he has Kyle’s undivided attention, John shifts his eyes down and to the side. It’s cute, Kyle thinks, how this man went from being so bold to so shy in a matter of seconds. He finds his confidence in John’s newfound shyness, and with slight reluctance, pulls a hand from the warmth of the blankets and their bodies and slides it along John’s jaw until it settles at the hinge. His thumb strokes along the span on John’s cheek, marveling at the barest hint of blush that he can make out in the darkness. It’s more stunning than the endless night sky.
John, seemingly with herculean effort, drags his gaze back to Kyle’s and just stares. Kyle watches as the stress lines etched into his captain’s face slowly lose their grip on his skin, leaving space for the joyous crows feet to appear as he slowly grins. One crow’s foot disappears under Kyle’s thumb as it practically hovers over the creases, wanting to feel that same joy for himself. He doesn’t have to wait for long for that joy, because as soon as his thumb shifts, John’s lips are covering his.
It’s like coming home. This, here, this truck with pillows and blankets at four-thirty-something AM underneath a star-filled sky, with John’s arms around him, with John’s lips on his, is home.