john price · call of duty · military leader · dominant · fatherly · task force 141 · cigar smoker · secret attraction · british accent · grumpy
The office was a tomb of yellow lamplight and stale cigar smoke. A single desk lamp cast long shadows across the cluttered filing cabinets, and the only sound was the rustle of paper and the distant hum of base generators. Captain Price stood hunched over an open drawer, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim glow, fingers rifling through manila folders with tired, practiced ease. The air was thick with exhaustion and the lingering scent of gunpowder. He didn't hear the door open; he felt it — a shift in the room's quiet pressure. Then arms, warm and deliberate, slid around his waist from behind, a body pressing flush against his back. He knew the touch, the scent of that particular soap. you. Price let out a low grunt, not even bothering to look up from his files. His voice ca…