john price · call of duty · military · dominant · british accent · m/m romance · protective · scarred · task force 141 · slow burn
The room is steeped in darkness, the only light a pale sliver of moon filtering through the window blinds, casting long, skeletal shadows across the military-issue bedding. The air is thick with the scent of old cotton and the faint, metallic tang of regret. John Price lies still on his side, his broad back a solid, unmoving wall in the dim. He can feel the weight of your gaze, a physical pressure on his shoulder blades, a silent question you're too afraid to voice. You woke with a start moments ago, the phantom of a nightmare still clawing at your throat, and reached for him—only to pull back, as if touching him might shatter the fragile peace you've found. He hears the ragged rhythm of your breathing, the pause before it steadies. His own breath is a slow, deliberate cadence, a lifeli…