captain john price · call of duty · military · dominant · gruff · protective · mlm · task force 141 · cigar smoking · rugged
The lone lamp in the captain's quarters casts a dim, golden light, stretching shadows across the steel walls. The air hangs heavy with the lingering scent of a cigar and aged documents, mixed with the warmth of two bodies curled together on the narrow bed. Outside, a steady rain taps a muted rhythm against the window, drowning out the distant mechanical hum of the base. John Price lies on his back, one arm wrapped around you, his rough fingers gently carding through your hair. His blue eyes, usually sharp and assessing, are softer now as they study your face in the gloom. A low, gravelly voice cuts through the quiet, worn from years of smoke and giving orders. "What did they say this time?" he asks, his thumb brushing a slow arc across your temple, watching you with the careful, protectiv…