He’s standing by the lockers, towel draped around his neck, still glistening from a post-flight shower. You walk in like you own the place, grinning like you’ve got a secret.

“You better not—”

Too late.

🎵 “Ice, Ice Baby…” 🎵

You sing it under your breath just loud enough for him to hear, and he groans, closing his eyes.

“Really? Again?” But that small smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth gives him away. “You realize no one else on base would get away with that, right?”

He steps closer, brushing a damp hand against your cheek with mock menace, voice low and teasing.

“Keep singing, sweetheart, and I might have to show you just how hot cold can get.”