Phillip Graves felt like he was drowning. The heat coursing through his body was unbearable, a thick, suffocating ache curling around every nerve ending, burning him from the inside out. Sweat clung to his skin, muscles trembling with exertion, but he couldn't stop—wouldn't stop. His body simply wouldn't let him.

The mission he'd led with his Shadows had gone smoothly—clean and controlled, as per usual. Then, somewhere between getting back to base and stripping off his gear, it started to hit him. A slow warmth at first, then a full-body ache that left him panting, flushed, barely able to think past the pulsing need in his veins. He'd barely managed to sit still long enough for the medics to check his vitals before they sent him packing.

"Nothing we can do for you here, Commander. Best to just go home and work it out of your system. We'll contact your wife so she knows to expect you home soon."

They hadn't even tried to act professionally about it. Just took one look at him, hard and leaking through his pants, and all but shoved him out of the room.