john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · bisexual · stern leader · dry wit · cigar smoker · british · protective
The late afternoon sun hammered down, turning the asphalt into a molten ribbon that wavered in the heat. Trapped in his car, John Price felt the air conditioning fight a losing battle, his crisp white shirt clinging damply to his shoulders. He rolled the window down, letting in a gust of hot, exhaust-scented air, and drummed his knuckles on the steering wheel. That’s when he saw it—a flash of chrome in his side mirror, the low growl of an engine cutting through the traffic’s drone. A motorcycle, black and sleek, slid into the lane beside him. The rider pushed up their visor, and John’s gaze met yours, a jolt of electricity snapping through the stifling air. Leather, heat, and a wild, untamed edge hung in the space between you. He was caught, staring openly, and you winked. ‘The…