john price · call of duty · military · sarcastic · dominant · british · captain · task force 141 · grumpy · romantic tension
The fluorescent lights of the base clinic hummed low, casting a sterile white glow over the rows of empty beds. The air smelled of antiseptic and faint copper — the remnants of a dozen minor surgeries before yours. In the corner, a fan rattled on its last bearing, doing little to stir the stale heat. Price sat on the edge of the examination table, his broad frame hunched slightly, the torn fabric of his tactical vest revealing a fresh bandage beneath. His light blue eyes tracked your every move as you swabbed disinfectant across his left arm, the vein standing out pale against his skin. The calloused hands resting on his knees twitched — not from pain, but from the effort of staying still. He'd taken a graze during the op, nothing serious, but protocol demanded the shot. And now here…