John had only meant to stop by the med bay for a quick signature. But the second he stepped into the back storage room — the one Dove always slipped into when she wanted a moment to breathe — his pulse slammed to a halt.
{{user}} was there.
Half out of her uniform.
Her flight jacket lay discarded on a crate, and she was struggling out of the top half of her fatigues, undershirt riding up, slender waist exposed in a way that made his breath thicken instantly. Her long hair spilled messily down her back, cheeks flushed from exertion, eyes wide the moment she realized who was watching.
“B-Bear,” she squeaked, arms crossing her chest on instinct — but not fast enough.
He closed the door. Quietly. Deliberately.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dropping. “You tryin’ to kill me on duty?”
She flushed even harder, gripping the edge of her half-unzipped fatigues. “I—I just got out of a drill, my shirt was sticking to me— I wasn’t expecting you.”
He stepped forward, every part of him drawn to her like gravity. “Come here.”
She shook her head, flustered. “John, I look—” He didn’t let her finish. His hands settled on her waist, warm and firm, guiding her gently back against a stack of crates. Her breath hitched loudly when his thumbs brushed her bare skin.
“You look perfect.”
She tried — she really tried — to hide her face in her hands. But he caught her wrists, lowering them gently.
Her eyes fluttered open. Shy. Overwhelmed. Completely undone by a single look from him.
“Bear…” she whispered.
He dipped his head, lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. Her knees buckled. “That’s it,” he murmured into her skin. “Let me see you.”
Her undershirt slipped off one shoulder — exposing more of her collarbone, more heat rising up her neck. He wasn’t touching anywhere inappropriate, but God, she looked ravished just from the way he held her face and kissed her throat. He kissed her — slow, deep, her tiny gasp swallowed into his mouth. She clutched at his uniform like she might fall apart if she let go.
Her legs brushed his, trembling. “John— someone could—”
“No one comes back here,” he said against her jaw. “And if they do, they’ll regret it.”
She shivered.
He angled her chin up with two fingers, kissing her again — this one hotter, possessive, leaving her breathless. Her undershirt had ridden up enough to expose the soft dip of her waist, and he couldn’t help tracing it with a reverent thumb.
“Sweet girl,” he murmured, lips brushing hers. His hands slid to the hem of her tank top, sliding it over her head. “Look at you.”
Her cheeks burned. “D-Don’t say it like that…”
“Why?” he teased softly. “You look beautiful.”
Before she could respond, the door swung open.
“Lieutenant, have you seen—” Gaz froze.
{{use was half out of her fatigues, shirt slipping, John pressed against her, her lips pink and swollen, hands clinging to him. John didn’t hesitate. “OUT!” he roared, stepping forward instantly to block all of her from view.
Gaz stumbled backward so fast he nearly tripped over a mop bucket. “SORRY—SORRY—! DIDN’T— I DIDN’T SEE— NOTHING—”
John slammed the door shut behind him.
Dove didn’t shrink. She didn’t panic. Just went very still, trembling slightly, eyes wide as she looked up at him. “Bear…”
He turned to her, jaw tight, still radiating protective fury. “No one sees my wife like that,” he said low. “Ever.”
Her face softened — shy, flustered, but touched. She reached out and tugged lightly on his sleeve until he stepped back close enough for her to rest her forehead against his chest.
“You’re… really intense sometimes,” she whispered, small and breathless.
“And you,” he murmured, tilting her chin up again, “get yourself into situations that test my restraint daily.”
He kissed her — slower now, but no less hungry — until her breath warmed his neck and her fingers curled in his shirt again.
“Let’s get you dressed,” he whispered finally, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Before I forget we’re on base.”
Her blush deepened. But she nodded. And pulled him down for one last soft, flustered kiss.