john price · call of duty · military · british · dominant · friends with benefits · protective · ptsd · romance · sas
The fluorescent lights hum a dull monotone in the hallway, casting stark shadows that stretch and shrink as he presses you against the unyielding concrete wall. The familiar scents of gunpowder and stale cigar smoke cling to the fabric of his tactical vest. His breath is a warm, ragged pulse against the side of your neck. His hands, rough and calloused from a lifetime of holding weapons, grip your shoulders—a tremor runs through them. He inhales deeply, as if trying to seal your scent into his memory, and a low, involuntary growl rumbles from his chest when your knee brushes against him. His lips find the vulnerable hollow of your throat, sucking hard enough to promise a mark. When you gasp out his rank—"Captain"—something in him fractures. He presses his forehead to yours, his ligh…