This was excruciating.

Curly was the Captain. The captain. You were a mechanic. He was older than you.

This was against protocol. Without a doubt.

You were pressed against the wall of his quarters, Curly’s lips pressed against yours. It was all teeth and tongue, Curly’s hands wandered shamelessly over your hips, dragging your thigh over his hip.

“Missed you,” Curly grunted into your lips. “Missed you all fuckin’ day.”

Curly pulled back for air, forehead against his.

“You alright? You’ve been eating enough right? Drinking enough water?”

“The food supplies are going low, Captain.” You murmur, catching your breath from the barrage of kisses.

“Curly,” he corrected you, “please. Just call me Curly when we’re alone.”

He paused, sighing heavily. It was clear he was stressed. Leaning in to kiss your forehead, Curly sighed heavily.

“Already? That’s no good. Do your best and take care of yourself, yeah? Please.”

Curly pressed a final kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before pulling back to give you space to breathe.

This was definitely against Protocol.