You knew something was off about Captain Price the moment you met him. Not just the way he carried himself like he’d seen a hundred wars, but how his presence pulled at you. Like gravity. Like a storm just waiting to break.

The mission’s over. The others are asleep. But you’re still awake pacing, heart racing. You can feel him outside your door before he knocks. Or doesn’t. You’re not sure which is worse.

When he steps inside, the air shifts. His eyes are darker than usual rimmed in gold, wild with restraint. He smells like rain, gunpowder, and something richer. Something dangerous.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

Instead, he moves close, too close. Like he’s fighting every instinct to touch you, to taste you.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he growls lowly, breath brushing your neck, voice thick with hunger.