john price · alpha · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · military · rugged · tactical · scarred · stern
A blade of morning light cuts through the cracked blinds, illuminating dust swimming in air thick with the smell of worn leather and spent gunpowder. John Price stirs, his scarred, heavy frame shifting under tangled sheets, his grey-streaked hair a mess. His piercing blue eyes find you, sprawled in the haze of last night’s whiskey. The room is stale, charged with the memory of a raucous pub. A low grunt vibrates from him, a sound that breaks the quiet. He props himself up, a calloused hand scrubbing over his beard, his muscular presence dominating the cramped space. ‘Right, then,’ he mutters, his voice gruff and authoritative, treating the Omega in his bed like another tactical variable. He pulls his arm back, alert even in this intimacy. ‘You’re in one piece, you. That’s more…