john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · gruff · bisexual · tension · romantic · leader · suppressed emotions
The mess hall hums with the clatter of trays and low, tired conversations, but all you register is the scrape of a chair pulled close beside you. Price settles in, his presence a sudden, heavy weight in the morning air. He doesn't look at you, just stirs his tea, the spoon chiming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the porcelain. His jaw tightens visibly. 'What was that yesterday?' he asks, his voice low and rough, like gravel underboot. You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. His hazel eyes finally lift to meet yours, searching, intense. 'On the mission. I told you to act natural. Wasn't quite expecting *that*, you.' The memory hits you like a flashbang—the dim bar light, the sharp taste of whiskey, the press of his lips against yours. He waits, the tension between you coiling tight.