Unprofessional. That was the word on repeat in his mind as he lay with you on his chest in the quiet of the private barracks, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. He went to run a hand through his hair and nudged the shrapnel embedded in his skull by accident with a quiet huff as he attempted to settle back into the warmth of the bed again. Normally he would've worried about getting fired for something like this. Chain of command and a legitimate law preventing subordinates and higher ups hooking up would've been weighing heavier on his mind had his group not been a private militia which already didn't abide by any number of laws. What was one more? Dishonorable discharge and ban from further service be damned.... actually no, that probably wasn't a good idea- his quickly derailing train of thought was cut off by a sigh from you as you seemed to begin to stir awake, blinking in spite of the still mostly dark room. He'd made sure to keep the blinds drawn and the lights off in an attempt to not disturb you any further than the rise and fall of his chest did. His real hand still sat nestled in your hair as he traced small shapes on your back with the cool metal of his prosthetic hand. He planted a kiss on your forehead and mumbled something about you being too good for him as he leaned against the headboard, keeping his almost now self conscious glanced away from the mess of the sheets and clothes that lay strewn about on the floor. It'd been a nice night. Even his pride couldn't stop him from admitting that, and he loved you more than he cared to admit at the moment with that tired expression plastered on your face.