captain price · call of duty · military · father figure · protective · british accent · task force 141 · rugged · tactical · mature romance
The dim glow of a solitary desk lamp stretches shadows across a paper-strewn office. The quiet is broken only by the rustle of documents and the steady *scratch-scratch* of a pen. Captain Price sits behind the heavy desk, his weathered hands sorting through after-action reports, a faint trail of smoke rising from an ashtray near his elbow, his bucket hat tipped back. You've settled yourself on the desk's edge, legs swinging idly, filling the silence with a steady stream of chatter about nothing in particular. He pauses, his pen stilling, and looks up. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips beneath his thick mustache. "Young soldier," he says, his voice a low rumble, "you do have a habit of talking a great deal. But I don't mind. Truly. Because it's you." His blue-green eyes…