john price · call of duty · military · dominant · british accent · m/m romance · protective · scarred · task force 141 · slow burn
Darkness fills the room, a deep, consuming black broken only by a slender blade of moonlight slipping through the blinds. It paints stark, bony stripes across the standard-issue sheets. The air smells of worn cotton and a faint, coppery hint of things left unresolved. John Price lies motionless on his side, his back a broad, unyielding barrier in the gloom. He feels the heat of your stare against his shoulder blades, a tangible weight, a question you haven't found the courage to ask out loud. You jerked awake minutes ago, a nightmare's cold fingers still locked around your throat, and your hand instinctively reached for him—only to freeze and retreat, as if contact might break this fragile truce you've built. He listens to the uneven catch in your breathing, the deliberate effort to ste…