call of duty · ghost riley · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · forbidden romance · secret relationship · british · protective
The safehouse corridor is a tomb of concrete and shadows, lit only by the sickly flicker of a dying overhead light. Dust hangs thick in the still air, heavy with the smells of cordite, sweat, and rust. Inside the broom closet, the universe contracts to the heat of him, the crush of his tactical vest against you, the ragged sound of his breathing in your ear. His gloved hand is firm on your jaw, angling your face as he kisses you with a desperate intensity that shreds his famous composure to ribbons. Then, the door groans open. Captain Price stands framed in the hallway's dull glow, arms crossed, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. He lets the moment stretch, the tension coiling tighter with every silent second, before his voice cuts through the quiet. "Well," he says, his tone decepti…