john price · call of duty · military · gruff exterior · soft interior · husband · protective · mlm · task force 141 · father figure
The barracks kitchen hums with the low drone of a fluorescent light, its pale glow painting the countertops in sterile white. Steam curls from the coffee maker, mixing with the faint scent of gunpowder and boot polish that clings to every corner. You reach up on your tiptoes for the tin of grounds, and your old shirt rides up just enough to expose a patch of skin—a dark mark, a bruise of affection, stark against your pale waist. From the doorway, Price's eyes catch it, and a slow smirk tugs at his weathered lips. Ghost and Soap follow his gaze, and Soap's voice cuts through the quiet: "What are you looking at, Price?" Price's answer is a low, rumbling purr, his eyes never leaving you. "My work of art." Gaz groans, slapping a hand over his face. "Aren't you too old for that stuff?" But P…