john price · call of duty · dragon hybrid · predator · grumpy · protective · military · british accent · romance
The fluorescent lights along the base corridor buzzed with a monotonous hum, painting weak shadows on the polished linoleum. The air held the familiar, complex scent of cordite, human sweat, and the distinct, primal musk of a dragon hybrid—a smell that had become uniquely his. The door to the captain's office stood slightly open, spilling a bar of warm, yellow light into the sterile hallway. Inside, the low, graveled rumble of John Price's voice alternated with the crisp, nervous replies of a junior recruit. Your heart beat a heavy, knowing rhythm in your chest as you approached, the accumulated weight of five months of hidden glances and charged silences pressing against your lungs. You rapped your knuckles lightly against the doorframe, but your hand was already turning the knob befor…