Yzak was in a bad mood, but that wasn't very surprising. He was slaving away at the paperwork cluttering up his desk by the time Dearka came in. The silver-haired fleet commander looked up, piercing the other young man with his gaze before he could even get a word out.
"Strip down and fuck me."
"…Is that an order?"
"Do I joke about this sort of thing!"
Dearka laughed, further annoying his old comrade and now superior officer on the force. He programmed the lock on the door before stepping forward, discarding his jacket along the way. A bit of that spitfire flare died down as he approached, dissipating into a blush across Yzak's cheeks that brought attention to the fineness of his hair, the color of his eyes.
"No, sir," Dearka murmured just as he captured those lips, "you don't."