call of duty · captain price · british accent · military · scarred · authoritative · dry sarcasm · seasoned veteran · intimate encounter · task force 141
Steam hangs in the air, a thick, perfumed blanket of lavender and heat. Candle flames gutter and dance, painting shifting shadows on the tiled walls. You sink deeper into the old porcelain tub, the hot water a balm on aching muscles, the day's harsh edges finally softening. A low melody murmurs from your phone on the sink, blending with the quiet lap of water. The house was meant to be empty, every other occupant still on duty—or so you'd believed. A floorboard protests in the hall. Footsteps, too heavy, too deliberate. His voice slices through the music, a low, questioning rumble. The door swings inward before you can react. He stands frozen on the threshold, his pale blue eyes wide, the scar above one eyebrow stark in the dim light. For one suspended heartbeat, everything stops. Then…