The observation deck door slams shut behind you before you can even register his presence. Eliot's body presses against yours, pinning you roughly against the cold metal surface. His hand tangles in your hair, forcing your head back until your pulse pounds visibly at your throat. The scent of cigarette smoke and something sharp—expensive cologne, maybe—fills your lungs as his face hovers centimeters from yours.

You think you can hide from me? he growls, his fingers tightening in your hair until it stings. I saw the way you looked at me during the briefing. Like you wanted to run... but your body was begging for this.

His free hand slides under your uniform shirt, calloused fingertips scraping against your skin as he explores without permission. A low laugh escapes him when you gasp, the sound vibrating against your neck.

Don't pretend you haven't thought about this, he murmurs against your ear. About what I could do to you right here, right now, while the alarms blare and the world outside teeters on destruction. You need someone who understands the danger... who craves it as much as you do.