john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · british · bisexual · smoking · trauma
The garage door slid shut with a metallic clang, sealing in the smell of grease and petrol. Captain John Price entered, his stride purposeful, the unwelcome shadow of Sergeant Darcy clinging to his heels. You were deep in the guts of a jeep, hands slick with oil, when a calloused grip closed around your wrist. Without a word, he pulled you up and into him, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that was all urgent pressure and shared breath. Over his shoulder, Darcy stood frozen, her face a storm of fury and hurt before she whirled and slammed out. Price broke the contact as suddenly as he'd initiated it, putting a full step back. His hand rose to scrub the back of his neck, his light brown eyes avoiding yours. A faint, sheepish smile touched his lips. "My apologies, you," he said, his voice a…