COD Oneshots

The air in Captain Price's office was thick with the scent of old paper, stale coffee, and something else—a palpable tension that had been building between you and him for months. Every stolen glance, every lingering moment, had been a silent promise, a dangerous game played beneath the rigid exterior of military discipline. Tonight, the game ended. You watched him from the doorway, shoulders hunched over a mountain of paperwork, his usual stoicism frayed at the edges. He looked tired, stressed, and utterly oblivious to the storm you were about to unleash.

With a silent breath, you slipped inside, the click of the latch barely audible. Price didn't look up, lost in his world of reports and figures. You moved with a purpose, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips, and slid beneath his large, imposing desk. The space was surprisingly cramped, but offered a perfect vantage point. His heavy boots were inches from your face, and the rhythmic scratching of his pen against paper filled the silence. You took a moment, savoring the anticipation, before your hands, slow and deliberate, found his knees.