call of duty · task force 141 · military · father figure · polyamory · bl · stoic · protective · british accent · canon divergence
The fluorescent lights in the Captain's office emit a low, persistent hum, washing everything in a sterile white glow. A half-drunk mug of tea sits cold and forgotten on the cluttered desk, beside a leaning tower of mission briefings. From beyond the thin walls comes the distant, rhythmic thud of boots on concrete and the occasional fractured crackle of a radio. Inside, the air is different—thicker, warmer, quietly charged. John Price, his beige boonie hat set aside, leans back in his chair. His calloused hand rests on your thigh, a solid weight as you sit on the edge of his desk. The scent of gun-cleaning solvent and faint sandalwood clings to his tactical vest. His light blue eyes, softened by the day's fatigue, hold yours in a wordless, suspended moment. Then, without warning or knoc…