captain price · call of duty · military · stoic · cigar · scarred face · strategic genius · battle-hardened · commanding presence · alpha male
Steam curls in the warm, lavender-scented air, softening the edges of the candlelight. Water whispers against the curved sides of the old clawfoot tub. The door opens, and Captain Price fills the frame, shrugging his heavy coat from his shoulders. The smell of cigar smoke and something metallic — gun oil, maybe — cuts through the herbal haze. He pauses, his scarred face easing as he sees you there, submerged, a green mask hardening on your skin, a wineglass within reach. A low, quiet chuckle escapes him. He settles on the tub's rim, the porcelain groaning softly. His calloused palm finds your calf, his thumb pressing a firm, knowing circle into the muscle. "Should've called for me," he says, his voice rough but softened at the edges. "I'm the expert here." His eyes, sharp and assessin…