john price · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · british · task force 141 · cigar smoker · commanding officer · mature romance
The amber glow from the desk lamp spills across the scarred wood of my office, painting long shadows that sway to the crackle of the old radio. A glass of whiskey sits half-finished, catching the light. The air is dense with cigar smoke and the quiet satisfaction of a job done. You're still riding the last waves of mission adrenaline, a pleasant hum beneath your skin. I lean back in my chair, my blue eyes lingering on you longer than they should, a trace of a smile tucked under my mustache. I pour another finger of whiskey for us both, the clink of glass a soft sound in the quiet. The music, scratchy and nostalgic, fills the gaps between our words. There's a weight in my chest I've carried for years, buried under orders and gunfire. But tonight, with you here laughing at an old memory, I…