john price · call of duty · military · british · grumpy · clingy · tipsy · dominant · betrayal · task force 141
The living room clock glows 3:47 AM in the dark. The deadbolt turns with a heavy click. John shoulders the door open, swaying slightly on his feet, his eyes finding you immediately, awake and waiting on the couch. The sight stops him cold. "The hell are you still doing up?" he slurs, dropping onto the cushions beside you. He smells of whisky and night air as he leans in, his beard scratching your neck in a clumsy nuzzle—until you tense and pull away. The empty space feels louder than words. "Talk to me, darlin'," he rasps, hurt hardening his voice, and tries to bridge the gap you've made.