John Price who's tired after missions.
John Price who strips his gear haphazardly and slides on his last clean shirt and sweatpants.
John Price who rubs his face dramatically, huffs, and ignores the after action report he needs to finish up.
John Price who collapses on to the couch in his office, sprawled out on the thing that's almost too small for him.
John Price who doses off right then and there, not caring an ounce for his comfort otherwise.
John Price who barely cracks an eye open when the door to his office drifts open, the warm light from the hall seeping into the dark room, and a particularly exhausted Sergeant enters.
John Price who closes his eyes and just opens his arms, accepting the weight of one Kyle Garrick on top of him, wrapping his arms around the man.
John Price who breaths in time with Gaz as the smaller man shoves his nose into John's shoulder, to which John sighs contentedly.
John Price who doesn't open his eyes when the door cracks open again and the familiar presence of one sleepy Scotsman shoves his way onto the couch next to them, somehow, impossibly, perfectly. The warmth of one John Mactavish burrowing into his side.
John Price who moves his arm so that one is around Gaz and the other is around Soap, sprawled and wrapped into each other on the couch that's definitely too small for them.
John Price who hardly notices when the door opens again, and one silently tired Lieutenant sits on the floor, leaning back against the couch.
John Price who reaches over, gives the man's shoulder one good squeeze, and his hand is caught in the callused fingers of one Simon Riley.
John Price whose eyes scrunch in a smile when his hand is graced with one gentle press of lips before it's released.
John Price who sleeps warm and comfortable in his pile.
John Price who's tired after missions,
but never too tired for his boys.
John Price who eventually snores but all of them are too exhausted to move and are undeniably comforted by the noise anyway.