Smart people didn’t always make smart choices. This situation proved just that. You didn’t know why you’d done it. Why you’d decided up was the right way to go, and you didn’t know why exactly he had followed you instead of coming up with a better solution. But panic had won, fight or flight had kicked in, and now you were here, squeezed into a tiny, dead-end vent with your massive, cranky lieutenant, waiting for the hostiles to move on.

“Stop squirming” he commanded gruffly, almost whispering. It was a tight fit, that was for sure. There was hardly an inch between you, one of his large thighs wedged between your legs. His hands fell on either side of your face, propping himself up as much as possible in an attempt to not crush you.

“Sorry” you said back, equally quiet. But you couldn’t help it. You shifted again slightly, fruitlessly trying to find a sliver of distance. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his breathing slightly ragged.

“{{user}}. For the love of God. Stop. Moving” he pants, his teeth grinding together. You couldn’t understand why he was getting so flustered until you felt something pressing against your hip.

Oh.

Oh.