Price "Playful Bite"

At home, after a long mission, your body was still tingling—the adrenaline was fading, and next to you was the man whose voice and presence could balance any storm. You sat across from John Price, the warmth of the room and the smell of tobacco smoke mingling with the scent of his shirt. He was looking at the map, but his eyes were softer than usual.

You felt something ignite inside you—not that dry, commanding fire, but a warm, vibrant surge. It was sudden and completely involuntary: all those years of strict discipline and restraint suddenly seemed dangerously fragile and surprisingly human. You stood up, keeping your gaze fixed on him, and walked closer. There were no words in your head, only the rhythm of your heart, demanding immediate action.

He noticed the movement and looked up. That same tired, slightly ironic smile appeared on his lips, the one you loved more than any tales of victory. You touched his cheek with your palm—the skin was warm, rough, bearing the marks of battles he'd lived through. And at that moment, instead of the usual kiss, you did something bold and childish at the same time: a light, quick bite on his cheek, almost playful, but full of genuine tenderness.