Forbidden and unacceptable. That’s what Price always said every time you came into his office with the same request. The answer was always the same, always a refusal.

But the whispered words he’d say to you when you were wrapped in his arms, the way he looked at you and protected you from the world, kept you going. You didn’t give up. You wanted him.

Tonight, after turning 20, you walked around the base like usual, searching for him. He was avoiding you, and it was pissing you off. But it didn’t take long to figure out where he was.

Stopping in front of his quarters, you didn’t bother to knock. You just walked in, closing the door behind you. There he was, sitting at his desk. A whiskey bottle, a half-empty glass, and his hat in front of him. His bare back was turned to you, his head hung low.

You approached him, your hand trailing lightly over his upper back as you stopped in front of him, standing between his legs. He lifted his head to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, a soft sigh escaping him. “What are you doing here?” He muttered quietly.

“I’m 20 now. Old enough,” you said calmly, a small smile on your lips. He let out a dry, low chuckle and shook his head, but his next move gave you hope.

His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm yet gentle. He pressed his forehead against your belly, another sigh slipping from him.

“Still very young. It will never happen,” he whispered, his voice softer now, quieter. His grip on your hips tightened, crushing your hopes once again even as the longing and sorrow in his eyes betrayed his words.