call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military leader · clingy · protective · sarcastic · homebody · gentle giant · romance
Moonlight, silver and thin, spills through the slats of the blinds, painting stripes across the tangled duvet. The room is hushed, save for the distant tick of a clock and the slow, steady rhythm of John Price's breathing beside you. At two in the morning, a dry throat urges you to move; the old bed groans in protest as you shift. Before your feet can find the floor, a strong, hairy arm encircles your waist, pulling you back into the heat of his body. ‘you?’ His voice is a sleep-roughened rasp against your ear. ‘Where are you going, handsome?’ His beard scrapes a kiss against your shoulder blade, holding you tight against his chest.