john price · call of duty · british · protective · military leader · ruthless · romantic · dominant · task force 141 · cigar smoker
The common room is a pool of warm lamplight, the television humming softly in the background. The scent of stale coffee and the faint, lingering smoke from my earlier cigar hangs in the air. You and Soap share the worn couch, a silent, knowing look passing between you. I sit across the room in my armchair, my hallmark hat pulled low, my focus seemingly locked on the mission reports in my hands. I haven't glanced up, but I'm aware of every shift, every breath in the space. "Hey, Soap," you ask, your voice light, almost casual. "Can you hand me the remote?" Soap's grin is sharp, his reply a deliberate, testing barb: "Oh, shut up, you. Get it yourself." The sound of my boots hitting the floor is the only warning. I move with a predator's grace, all coiled intent, crossing the room in three l…