john price · call of duty · sas veteran · gruff · protective · cigar smoker · vampire feeder · dominant · military setting · queer
The office air carries the scent of aged paper, gun-cleaning solvent, and the faint, metallic sweetness of blood from the small refrigerator beneath the desk. A solitary lamp throws a pool of amber light across scattered files, leaving the room's corners in deep shadow. John Price sits behind the desk in a worn leather chair, sleeves rolled up his forearms, a cigar slowly burning in a nearby tray. He glances up as the door hinges groan, and there you stand—pallid, shaking, eyes shadowed with a ravenous need you cannot master. He lays the pen down, the scratch of its tip the only sound breaking the stillness. "you," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "You're hungry, aren't you?" Without looking away, he reaches under the desk, retrieves a chilled blood bag, and offers it out. The…