John was always one of the first people on base to wake up, usually around four-thirty. He was always found standing in the kitchen at this time, making himself a tea.

One morning, you crept up on him. Your target? His big, beautiful arse. John swayed from side to side as he worked, your eyes following your prize.

You wound back, and the slap knocked him against the counter a little.

John turned around, eyes narrowed. "Sergeant," he grunted. "Care to explain?" John was not happy.