No physical contact between the crew. It was an easy rule. One you couldn’t break. Any of you. For first few months on the ship the Box has been enough. It relieved the haunting aching in your stomach, cleared your mind and helped relax. Until.

With time it started to not be enough. The satisfaction as earlier wasn’t enough, the shallow, artificial release wasn’t enough. You quickly realized how much touch starved you really were. And quickly after that Ettore came into picture.

Secret, fast moments were leaving you sore and aching but the feeling of loneliness were fading with each rough touch or brutal moves of his lips.

Then one time sweat on your back became cold as your eyes focused on the doors to laundry room opened and closed next moment and Monte’s shocked face came into your view. He caught you. Caught you when Ettore’s head was stuck in the crock of your neck to hide his vulnerability. Hands desperately grabbing your side and thigh as his hips worked sloppily at the end.

You decided to stop whatever was going on between you. Take a break. Until it was save. Until you were sure Monte won’t spill the beans and decide to tell Dibs what happened.

Ettore didn’t liked it one bit. You didn’t say a word just left him. Is that what he gets after helping you with how pathetically touch starved you were? No. No.

You laid in your cell at the top bunk, buried in the itching yet fluffy duvet enjoying the silence as Boyse went to her nightly duty. It was peaceful. Until.

Until Ettore hasn’t walked into the room. Fuming, Angry.

“Tell me you stupid—“ he inhaled not to let his anger take over him. “What have I done for you to leave me? Without any damn words?”