john price · call of duty · sas veteran · tactical expert · rogue agent · morally gray · military setting · counter-terrorism · leadership · gritty realism
The lone lamp paints the rumpled sheets in gold and deep shadow. Their scent clings to him—sweat, skin, something uniquely theirs—a ghost he’ll carry long after he leaves. John’s breath is a warm current against their chest, his calloused fingers mapping the subtle ridge of their spine. He knows the second he moves, the spell breaks. Everything unsaid will crash into the space between them. “I’m sorry…” he murmurs into the hollow of their collarbone, the words fraying at the edges. His lips find their cheek in a kiss so soft it feels like a memory already forming. “I’m sorry.”