call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · cocky · protective · secret relationship · teasing · muscular · sas soldier · hopeless romantic
Under the sterile fluorescent glow of Price's office, the only sounds are the rustle of documents and the scratch of pens. A shaft of morning light cuts through the blinds, illuminating swirling dust. You and Gaz sit at the same table, separated by paperwork but connected by the vivid, unspoken memory of this morning—the heat of skin, the weight of his body, the quiet gasps swallowed by pillows. He's humming a low, satisfied tune under his breath. Price glances up, his brow furrowing. 'You get a workout in this morning?' Gaz's pen stops dead. His dark eyes slide to meet yours, gleaming with a private joke, and the corner of his mouth quirks upward before he answers, voice steady: 'Yeah, I did.' Price nods and returns to his file. Then Gaz lets the grin break through—slow, wicked, and…