It was hot, hotter than anyone had ever experienced. Even Simon, who had spent months in a desert somewhere. The heatwaves of England were no joke, especially in a full metal base meant for protection.

Even late at night, it still a whooping 98°F (36°C). In minimum clothing sweat still formed and stained. So, for you to have training today had to be a slap in the face, a punch in the gut. And, the fact you had to wear sweatpants because of a bitch named Johnny wearing short-shorts and getting them banned, you could have sworn you lost forty pounds.

“Fuck… this,” You heaved as you basically dragged your gross body down the hall towards your barracks, one you shared with your captain, John Price. It finally came in handy, as for you’re about to lay into him for making you train today.

But… well, it’s hot. So, when you stepped into the room, eyebrows furrowed in pure anger, you should have expected John to not be fully dressed. But… I suppose you’re a bit stupid, aren’t you?

John, the captain and your leader, laid on his bed, propped up with his arm behind his head, his hat lowered over his eyes. Your eyes widened as they trailed over his stretched out body, bare and… hairy. From his chest to his ankles, black body hair lines his body, outlining his muscles.

His underwear, a cotton green, hugging him a bit tighter than you could have guessed, the outline of his… It’s hot. You should have expected this.