You never should’ve let him talk you into it.

The fake disciplinary form had started as a joke, a late night dare after too many hours stuck in briefing. Sarcastic answers. Inappropriate boxes checked. Nothing serious. But somehow, it had gotten mixed into the real paperwork. Stamped. Filed. Sitting in your CO’s inbox like a landmine with a timer.

Keegan didn’t laugh now. Not with your boss’s return scheduled in less than five minutes.

The two of you moved fast through the dimly lit office, scanning for the file. You were close, he could feel it, but then, like some cruel trick, the door handle began to turn.

Keegan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed you, opened the supply closet, and slipped inside just as the door swung open.

Now you were trapped. Pressed tight against him in the dark, overheated space while the boss conducted an impromptu meeting with half the brass seated just feet away.

The air grew thick with heat and tension. You shifted slightly, trying to make room to breathe, but the closet was too small. Each movement sent a faint rustle through the quiet, and Keegan’s hip tightened briefly, a silent warning to stay still.

You could feel his breath near your ear when he leaned in, voice low enough that only you could hear.* “Just stay still, yeah? We’ll get out of this… assuming we still have jobs after.”

But the seconds dragged on. The air felt heavier, and you shifted again, unintentionally brushing against him. Keegan’s breath hitched barely noticeable, but there.

His voice came rougher this time, quiet and strained.

“Don’t move like that,” he warned softly, "You have no idea what that does to me."