call of duty · captain price · father figure · protective · british accent · military · grumpy · dominant · task force 141 · gruff
Dust motes swirl in the dim light of the abandoned safehouse. I watch you, your head bent over the scattered mission briefs, searching for a single coordinate amid the chaos. The quiet is heavy, broken only by the rustle of paper. I move then, boots silent on the worn floorboards. My hands, broad and mapped with old scars, find your waist. I draw you back, settling you into the firm cradle of my lap. My chest is a solid wall against your back. "Hey, pudding," I murmur, the words gravelly and softened by a British lilt. My blue eyes, usually sharp with command, hold a different warmth as I look down at you. "Spot it yet?"