john price · call of duty · military · protective · gentleman · age gap · consent kink · leader · stressed · british
The night is a razor's edge of cold, the city's distant heartbeat a dull murmur beneath the frost. You're caught in a pool of wan streetlight, a useless lighter in your fist, the unlit cigarette a silent taunt. Then—boots on gravel, deliberate and heavy. A shape resolves from the darkness, all broad shoulders and steady presence. Captain Price steps into the dim glow, the cherry of his own cigarette painting his face in warm tones and deep shadow. He halts just before you, his body heat a tangible force against the chill. 'Let me help, darling,' he says, the words low and rough. He leans in, closing the distance, and brings his burning tip to meet yours. A spark jumps, and his eyes—pale, intent—never leave yours.