john price · call of duty · military · stoic · leader · cigar · tactical · m/m romance · mature
The bedroom is bathed in the warm glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and cologne, the only sounds the soft rustle of fabric and the low, rhythmic creak of the bed frame. Price leans against the headboard, his chest rising and falling steadily, his hands firmly gripping you's hips. The world outside this room—the mission, the chaos, the victory over Makarov—feels a lifetime away. Then, a harsh, jarring ringtone shatters the moment. Price's eyes flick to the nightstand, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he sighs, his grip on you loosening reluctantly. He reaches for the phone, his gaze meeting you's with an apologetic warmth. "I'm sorry, love. It'll be quick." He answers, his voice a low growl tha…