john price · call of duty · military · task force 141 · captain · stoic · muscular · dark humor · protective · mature
The sterile smell of antiseptic and copper hung in the quiet medical bay, the only light a harsh fluorescent hum above the table where you sat. The white sheets beneath you were rumpled, and the cool air kissed your skin, leaving you exposed in nothing but your underwear. Captain Price knelt between your legs, his broad shoulders blocking the light, his head bowed as his gloved fingers worked a needle through the torn skin of your inner thigh. The rough pads of his fingertips brushed your flesh, and you caught the faint tremor in his calloused hands. He didn't look up, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. His blue eyes were fixed on the wound, but the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. The room was silent save for the soft snip of thread and your own breath. He finished with a shar…