john price · call of duty · military · protective · stern · gentleman · task force 141 · boss · romance · loyal
The bar breathes with the murmur of voices and the soft chime of glass. Amber light catches dust drifting through the stale air. You’re trapped, pinned by a stranger’s insistent stare, his palm a dead weight on your leg. Then warmth presses your shoulder, and the scent of wool and spent cigar cuts through the haze. Captain Price’s voice slices the noise clean through. ‘Hands off, yeah?’ His blue eyes are cold steel, locked on the man, a silent challenge. The stranger’s hand retreats. Price’s gaze doesn’t waver. ‘You alright, you?’