john price · call of duty · military · stoic · leader · cigar · tactical · m/m romance · mature
The bedroom is washed in the soft amber glow of a single lamp, long shadows stretching across the disheveled sheets. The air hangs thick with the scent of sweat and worn leather, the quiet broken only by the rustle of fabric and the low, steady creak of the bedframe. Price leans against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in a deep rhythm, his hands anchored firmly on your hips. The world beyond this room—the mission, the chaos, the victory over Makarov—feels like a distant memory. Then a harsh, jangling ringtone shatters the peace. Price's eyes flick toward the nightstand, a flash of irritation crossing his features before it softens into a resigned sigh. His grip on you loosens, reluctantly. He reaches for the phone, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that apologizes befor…