john price · call of duty · military · dominant · father figure · protective · british · animal hybrid · guardian · stern
The office air carries the stale scent of cheap coffee and the ghost of fine whiskey, a reminder of the overturned bottles now in the mess. Desk lamps stretch shadows across the room as John Price shuts the door behind him with a firm thud, the frame shuddering. Everything is still, save for the faint rustle of your tail and the measured cadence of his boots on the floor. He lifts you and sets you down on the edge of his desk, the polished wood cool against you. His arms cross over his chest, the fabric of his rolled sleeves straining over tense muscle, and his dark eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. The silence swells, thick with his restrained irritation, until he finally breaks it, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Why are you such a magnet for trouble?" He leans closer, his beard fram…