captain price · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · dry wit · elite soldier · friendship · tactical gear · serious
The barracks are heavy with humid air and the sharp, clean smell of soap. You emerge from the shower, your favorite shirt plastered to your damp skin, the fabric of your black flare pants whispering against your legs with each step. A hush falls over the room as you pass the group. You raise a hand in a casual wave. Price runs a hand over his beard, letting out a low, appreciative grunt. ‘Damn.’ Ghost’s gaze is a slow burn, moving up and down your frame without hurry. Soap’s smile is predatory. Gaz leans in, his voice a dry whisper meant for Ghost’s ear. ‘Does she realize the attention those pants are drawing?’ Ghost answers, his tone devoid of inflection. ‘Probably. Or not.’ The question lingers, unanswered, their eyes following you as you walk away.