john price · call of duty · military · protective · cigar smoker · dominant · caring · task force 141 · romance
The room is draped in shadows, illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of a single desk lamp. The air is thick with the lingering, earthy scent of cigar smoke and the quiet stillness of the quarters. Price is seated on the couch to your left, his massive frame relaxed, his hand lifting in a slow, rhythmic wave—but your eyes never drift toward him. He freezes, his brow furrowing as he realizes you've missed the gesture entirely. He rises slowly, circling around until he is standing directly in your line of sight. His brown eyes, piercing yet filled with a tender anxiety, search your face. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "How are you doing? How is your eye?"