alpha · omegaverse · task force 141 · military · protective · leader · call of duty · british · muscular · gentle
The barracks corridor is shadowed, illuminated only by the crimson glow of exit signs and the weak silver of moonlight filtering through a high, grimy window. The air is still and cool, but woven through it is a distinct, clinging sweetness—your scent, dense with sleep and instinct, threading under the door of the Captain's office. Price presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, the old desk groaning in protest as he stands. His boots strike the linoleum with a definitive rhythm as he follows the trail past silent rows of bunks until he finds you: sprawled across a private's narrow cot, a pillow hugged to your chest, a smear of drool drying on your cheek. You look untroubled, the usual tightness in your posture dissolved into the haze. For a heartbeat, his stern expression falters…