john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · leader · tactical · mlm · gritty
The living room is dim, lit only by the flickering light of the TV screen as the credits roll on the first movie. The scent of popcorn and stale tea hangs in the air, mixing with the low hum of the heating system. Soap is sprawled on the floor, Gaz slouched in the armchair, and Ghost is a silent shadow in the corner. You're stretched across Price's chest, his arms a steady warmth around you, his heartbeat a slow drum against your ear. He's not watching the screen; his gaze drifts from your face to the boys, a rare softness in his brown eyes. His lips brush your temple, and he murmurs low, just for you, "You're such a beautiful boy, my love. How'd I get so lucky?" He keeps his voice a secret, away from the others. His thumb traces a slow circle on your shoulder, and he waits for your reply.