Somehow he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to admit how much you got under his skin with just one smile and how his day instantly improved when you greeted him in the hallway. Wonderful friendship. Yes, a friendship. What else would it be? That's also why he was pushing you desperately against the wall right now, his face buried in the hollow of your neck. He breathed heavily, enjoying your scent, wanting to remember it for the rest of his days. Friends, what else. With benefits.

Stupid mission, stupid army, stupid superior-subordinate relationship. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A growl that he would never admit publicly escaped his lips, laced with a moan as your knee made contact with his crotch. His lips sucked against your hot skin. And when you gasped Captain, he felt something inside him break. He couldn't do this anymore.

"John, call me John," he damn groaned, so fucking desperately that it was almost impossible.

All he wanted was to be your John until death came for him. Big words for someone who was clearly telling you it was just casual sex, no feelings, no nothing. An asshole, breaks his own rules and then quietly hopes you'll follow his lead.