Andrei knows that eventually his role went from captain to lapdog. He knows what people think of him and he makes no move to correct it.

Vladimir Makarov is building an empire around them, and all he asks is that his name be stamped on the leather of Andrei's collar. That Andrei rolls over and fetches when he's instructed to.

That he acts at the man's beck and call, pull the trigger and move along. Step aside when your master is talking and hang onto his every word, tilt your head at him as your gaze follows his every moment, and your tail bats off the floor quietly as it wags.

Let him scruff you when you act too rabidly, let him muzzle you and get off on your snarling, Trot back to him with a bloodied maw and let his lips twitch at the sound of your collar jingling as you drip crimson on his best leather shoes. Enjoy how gently he scratches behind your ears as you lick them clean.

Andrei knows he lives to serve, but it was he who bared his neck for the collar.

Nolan spends every birthday alone, much like any other holiday. The years passing by don't mean much to him. He doesn't have anything he's looking forward to. No big life plans, no retirement, no thoughts of settling down with a quiet life. That's not who he is. All his life's focus lays in the hands of one Russian man, and he's more than happy to dedicate his whole self to it.

Nolan doesn't do anything special for his birthdays. Doesn't consider it a big deal anyway. He's never been one to indulge in personal stuff like that. Feels strange to him, celebration of such an unimportant thing. There are bigger things to focus on in life.

But despite all that, he can't brush off the complaints of the little heartbroken child inside him. A part of him, despite everything, is upset. He would never admit it, though. He decides to ignore it. Tries not to think about his life when he was still a teenager, tries not to think back to his home and his family. Before he ran away and joined the military. Remembers his siblings, the heartfelt little parties they used to throw whenever it was one of their birthdays. He wonders what they're doing now. He can't reach out, not anymore. He's a different man, on a different path. He's no longer a man with a family.

Gets himself one singular cupcake, just to get it over with, maybe then the voice in his head will shut up. Lights up a candle on it, in the darkness of his dull and lifeless apartment. Doesn't make any wishes, blows the candle and walks away.

Maybe, Makarov surprises him once. Wants to do something special for his best and most loyal soldier. Maybe he invites Nolan to his private apartment, says it's a surprise, having planned a simple celebration, just to show his appreciation. Offers to cook for him, maybe a little gift even. Nolan has never been a materialistic man, but the gesture twists something inside his heart.

No one's ever cooked for him before. Not since he left his home at 17, anyway. He's a man who lives life on the bare-minimum, not caring about the "finer things in life" such as indulgences like a nice little meal or a company.

So his boss going out of his way to do all this for him, breaks something in him. Turns his whole inner world upside down.

And when the food is finally ready and presented to him, Makarov observes his every reaction, how he savors the food, his throat moving with every bite he swallows, the surprise and enjoyment on his face. It's the most beautiful thing Andrei's tasted, and he treats it like he's a starved dog. Makarov almost laughs at him, it's endearing, but the man would choke himself on it if he could.

"At ease, soldier! You'll choke if you don't slow down."

Andrei, with his cheeks full and his mouth stained like a little kid, just stares at him.

After Nolan claws his way out of captivity and returns to the base all battered and bruised, almost collapsing at the door, he gets taken away, personally ordered by Makarov to get the best care available in some private hospital.

He's out of it for the most part, slipping in and out of consciousness for days because while he's been operating only on adrenaline and sheer will, he never realized just how bad it's been. He doesn't remember half the shit they did to him, but the constant pain in his body tells him enough.

Next time he opens his eyes, he feels better than he did yesterday, mind still hazy but steadily recovering. Once he's awake enough to take in his surroundings though, he realizes he's not alone in the room. There is an extra weight on the left side of the bed, he notices, close to where his hand rests, and he looks down a little only to find someone's head there. He would recognize that soft black hair anywhere, and his heart rate picks up as he realizes just who is sitting next to him. It's none other than his commander, Makarov.

Noticing the shift in bed, Makarov slowly raises his head and looks up at him, tired and sleepy eyes widening at the sight of Andrei. He then reaches out to grab his hand, almost startling the man, and the fond look in his eyes almost send Andrei over the edge.

He shouldn't be here. As his second in command Andrei knows better than anyone that Makarov is a busy man. He's got meetings to attend to, plans to build, a whole world to destroy. He doesn't have time for fucking hospital visits. He shouldn't be here. Andrei feels undeserving of the attention, the softness in Makarov's eyes are too much to bear.

"You're back." Makarov whispers with a smile, "Had me worried sick there.", his voice tired yet soft. It's clear he hasn't been sleeping properly. He gives Andrei's hand a reassuring squeeze, perhaps to remind them both that he survived. Andrei's heart breaks a little, it feels so wrong. His commander should be in top shape, focused on his work and raining terror on earth and definitely not spend his precious time worrying about some failure like him. Timing is everything, and Andrei has failed him greatly.

Andrei squeezes his hand back, his chest feels heavy and he can't hold his commanders affectionate gaze any longer, so he looks away. Makarov notices the change in his mood, as subtle as it is, and presses further. "What's wrong, Andryusha?"

"You shouldn't be here, Komandir." He's tired, his body is working overtime for his recovery, and now his heart is doing a mile a minute.

There have been many sacrifices made along the way for their cause, and Makarov wouldn't be here today if he stopped to mourn and care for every single one of them. So why Andrei, why would he be special? Why was his Commander taking the time to visit him, even staying beside him for his recovery? Andrei feels worthless, undeserving of such attention, and involuntary tears start gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Makarov immediately notices of course, and he shifts forward, bringing himself closer to Andrei, his hand moving up from Andrei's hands to cup his face. "What are you talking about? I am exactly where I need to be."

"But your plans.." A shaky exhale.

"Are perfectly in order." Makarov finishes before Andrei can, then shakes his head with a tired chuckle. "You almost died out there, and the first thing you think about when you come back is still work." He smiles at him, thumb gently stroking Andrei's cheek. He doesn't miss the way a single tear falls down from his face, and how Andrei seems hesitant in between pulling his head back in shame and leaning further into Makarov's touch.

"Look at me, Andrei." He commands. And who is Andrei to disobey?

Glistening blue eyes meet dark brown ones, and Andrei almost wants to die right then and there after seeing just how much worry and affection there is in his Commanders eyes. He doesn't feel deserving of it, but it's still there, and it's directed at him.

"I am not mad or disappointed in you, let's make that perfectly clear." Makarov starts,

"Why? I failed you, I let them take me."

"But you came back, didn't you? You didn't give anything away. Just like I trusted you." Somehow Makarov already knows. Andrei doesn't ask how.

A few moments pass in silence, "You're wasting your time here."

"Keep talking back to me and I will demote you if you want it so badly." Makarov threatens just to shut him up, using his last resort with no heat behind it.

Andrei simply shuts his mouth, looking like a kicked puppy with the way his lips slightly quiver.

Makarov smiles affectionately at him, happy to shut him up, as he gets up and leans forward. He presses a small kiss to Andrei's head, humming softly as he does, and pulls back to see Andrei's big wet eyes. "Get some rest now. You'll be back on your feet in no time." He steps away from Andrei to leave the room. "I can't wait to have my favorite soldier back."

High Rise

Andrei knows that the first thing he should be doing is heading in for a shower, but when Commander Makarov beckons him, he follows.

He's sweat soaked, blood splattered, and he's half certain that he reeks.

And yet the minute Makarov's door is closed, the commander is on him like a bloodhound. Sniffing at his neck, licking the salt tinged skin and nipping behind his ears.

Suddenly, a shower can wait.

Nikolai with body dysmorphia who puts on an excellent front. So much so that Price doesn't even realise until the only way they ever have sex is by Nik giving him a hand job or mind-blowing head. He's amazing at it; the way that bastard touches, the things he can do with his tongue. He's hard to resist. But Price notices pretty quickly that Nik always shirks Price returning the favour.

"Ah, I am tired, John. Let's go to sleep."

"Let me show you this video of a cat falling off a coffee table..."

"Would you like a burger? I think we should have a burger. Be right back."

"You know, that was enough for me. I came in my pants like a boy. Ha. Embarrassing." He didn't.

Price is damn frustrated because getting Nik's kit off has been his wet dream for years, and he's clearly packing a serious weapon in those Levi's. Price wants to choke on the bloody thing. But when Price tries to persist, maybe even almost losing his temper with it, Nik gets defensive and jittery. A crack in his bravado. His eyes slide left and right, like he's looking for an exit, and then he stands there looking worried as Price reaches for him.

"Is it me? Does me touchin' ya put you off?"

"Nyet, John."

"Well then, let me... Wanna touch ya, Nik. Wanna make you feel good. Can see how hard you are."

Nik is so tense, his jaw tight to the point of creaking, his eyes wide, as Price undoes his belt. The huge bulge that was there only moments before as Nik sucked Price off completely disappears. Like someone had chucked a bucket of cold water over Nik's head.

Nik's embarrassed, quickly backing away, muttering about promising Laswell he would send some information through, and then he all but runs from Price's flat, fumbling with his jeans to do them back up.

Nothing Price says can stop him. He can only stand there, watching Nik's hunched shoulders, feeling like he's a been a twat but not quite understanding why. Price has no experience with anything like it, but he knows he's got to be gentle; Nik's clearly hurting in some way and Price needs to figure out how to help.

Nik shaving in front of the en suite sink.

Price, calling from another room: "Nik, ya busy?"

Nik, lobbing the razor away and still covered in foam as he heads out the door: "Not at all, captain. What do you need?"

Nik, on a virtual meeting with a high profile syndicate boss: "No my s vami mozhem dogovorit'sya--"

Price, car keys in hand: "Done with that meetin'?"

Nik, closing the laptop mid sentence: "Perfect timing. Just finished."

Nik performing some delicate maintenance on the electrical systems of his Black Hawk.

Price, walking in with his hand on his belly: "Bloody 'ell, I'm famished."

Nik, chucking the soldering iron down on the workshop bench and reaching for his phone: "What would you like to eat?"

Price can see through Nik's bravado.

He knows the charm, the hips-first swagger, the sass, the razor sharp wit and dark sense of humour... It's all a cover for a man whose deepest fear is not being "good enough". Of failing. Coming up short when it matters most. Of letting down the people he cares about because he still carries the deep seated guilt of letting down his country, his family. From his perspective, anyway.

Price can spot a tailspin from a mile off and he takes it out like the precision sniper he is. The moment he sees that subtle shift, the flash of something else in Nik's eyes, the rise of his shoulders, perhaps the catch of his breath on the edge of a thorny thought, it's, "Oi, Nikolai," and when Nik looks up, eyebrows tilted out in question, Price kisses him. Sometimes it's a quick peck, other times a little more, uh, involved.

"You good?" Price asks as he steps back, arms folded over his carrier vest, palms flat on his biceps.

"Da, captain," Nik says, and he means it, the tension leaking out of his shoulders and the shadows fading out of his eyes. His grin is broad, his head held high.

Price grunts with a nod, and he turns to face the world with Nik at his back. Like always.

John and Nikolai finally have time to spend an evening together, but John came back exhausted from an op and is now fighting to stay awake for Nikolai's sake, while Nik really only wants him to rest.

(Just a little bit nsfw at the beginning)

...

"Are you sure you are up for this, John?"

Nikolai wasn't a fool, he could see the exhaustion on John's face, the way his eyelids felt heavier than the dumbbells he was used to pulling almost every day, the heavy bags under his tired eyes. It was a good sight, a more vulnerable side of John he wasn’t used to showing to the world. To allow himself to drop his guard enough to fall asleep by someone’s side, well, Nik certainly felt like the luckiest man in the world. 

“I am… want to make you feel good….”

Those last words were barely coherent, John’s speech getting worse and worse with each passing minute he was fighting to stay awake. It was adorable. 

“Right. So if I asked for your lips around my cock, you would do it?”

Nik was teasing him, a wide smile on his face as he observed John’s reaction, or lack thereof, as the captain stared vacantly at him, his eyes barely open. For a second, Nik assumed that John had finally fallen asleep, until his hand moved, brushing his tired face with the back of it. 

“Just fuck me, Nik, c’mon.”

One of my favourite cultural differences about travelling around Europe particularly is the unspoken rules about eye contact.

As a British (read: anglo-centric) person, you're not meant to look directly at someone unless having a conversation and even then you're meant to break it up a bit. Riding the tube is an exercise in polite avoidance. But when I first visited Slavic states, oh my fucking god... Direct, intense eye contact for prolonged periods of time, or just gazing directly at you for indiscernible reasons.

Imagine Lieutenant Price having to manage with Nikolai's intense and unrelenting stare when they're working together. It triggers every one of his repressed British sensibilities. He tries everything to manage it in a socially acceptable way. The tight-lipped non-smile and the jut of the chin, sometimes with added eyebrow raise, the throat clear with sniff and arse shuffle, the pretend to find interest in something else nearby, the busy himself with checking and rechecking his equipment. Nothing works. Nik doesn't take the hint.

Nik, who is an excellent people reader and extremely worldly even in his very early thirties, figures out the issue within seconds but persists because watching the sweet, handsome British lieutenant with all his gruff machismo squirm like the inexperienced young man he actually is for once is truly delightful.

Bear shifter Nikolai desperate to mate bear shifter Price and trying everything in his extensive repertoire to woo him, including gifting him with the biggest king salmon he can find while they're on op in Canada. He caught it with his own two paws while two native bears watched in confusion.

"What am I meant t' do with this, Nik?"

"Gut it, cook it, perhaps sautée some potatoes, be mine."

"Whot?"

"What?"

what?

Bro, my unyielding loyalty towards you is totally normal and healthy, I swear. It's just that it's definitely my duty to rip out your enemies throats with my bare teeth. You are the love of my life and I am your most valuable tool. Each night, I fantasize about dying in your arms, covered in blood, and then I close my eyes one final time, satisfied because I can feel your fingers on my face as I take my last breath. Haha anyways

Thank you @gomzdrawfr over on X for this adorable doodle commission featuring MakaNolan!