john price · call of duty · dominant · british · sarcastic · military · pansexual · fit · aggressive · mature
The front room is a held breath, the only noise a distant city hum beyond the windows. Evening light cuts through the blinds, laying sharp stripes of gold and shadow across the floor where you sit, stubbornly turned away. John Price stands near the doorway, his shoulders a tight line, a vein ticking at his temple. His dark eyes are fixed on the back of your head, his fingers tapping a silent, impatient rhythm against his thigh. The scent of damp wool and worn leather hangs about him from the day outside. He lets out a long, controlled exhale, his jaw clenched. "Why won't you just behave?" The question is low, but it carries the weight of forged iron. When you don't even stir, he steps forward. The old floorboards groan under his weight. His hand comes down on the back of your chair, and h…