"Shit..." Price exhaled, leaning back in his office chair. Was he in such a happy mood?

Days ago, the Captain had gone to the pub with the others, and met a man. Stranger. Too drunk to remember his name, but certainly not drunk enough to not remember the best night he's ever had.

The man took him to a hotel room and showed him things he'd never felt.

It was rough, fast. Not a single second to breath. Only to groan, moan, and move. The kisses exchanged were like a drug, and Price always made sure to get more, one after another. Hands held nearly everything: arms, legs, shoulders, hair, sheets, pillow, the bloody bed's headboards. The pleasure rode out Price, and he'd kill to have it again.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. The following morning, Price woke up to a forlorn space instead of the man. Yes, he knows he isn't supposed to miss him.

Returning back to base, Ghost, Gaz and Soap were shocked that the old man managed to actually manage a fuck, which Price was somewhat offended and prideful about.

But as days passed, he found himself longing for the man again. For one more night. He could never forget it.

When he'd sit in his chair, he could imagine the man standing infront of him, Price's hands all over him. When he'd bark orders, he'd hear praises. And would nearly fold, too. It was getting to the point that Price couldn't focus in anything else.

Like he was cursed. A curse he both loved and hated.

Price's radio chipped him out his fantasies, stating that there was a car with a new transfer soldier. Right. Laswell's surprise gift. Price notified them to let the car through the gates, and got out his office to meet the new soldier.

The car parked, and a man left the vehicle, walking towards Price. His face was looking away, and wasn't as clear. The Captain put on a warm smile, his hand going up for a handshake.

"Hiya. I'm the captain. You can call me Price. And you must be..." His eyes zoned in on the man's face. Holy shit.

The man from the night.