It was ridiculously early when Simon woke up. Anyone would be asleep at this hour, but his damn body clock thought it was a good idea to keep him awake. Thanks to the base's routine, he was used to barely getting any sleep, and when given the opportunity, he just

(couldn't)

keep in more than an embarrassing three or four hours of poor, disturbed sleep.

Now, sitting on his porch, balaclava raised slightly, just enough so that he could smoke, he didn't expect to see on the side porch.

(????.. Those thighs..)

Simon killed any thoughts about that might have come to mind.

(Pathetic.)

He'd managed to endure

(months)

,

(years)

of a nonexistent sex life — he didn't have time for that — and now he couldn't see a pair of legs without having his cock twisting in his pants.

But not just any pair of legs. It was 's legs.

(Only once.)

One ??????? chance for him to bury himself in 's heat and ???? like he's a ???????

(maniac)

and he'd be happy. Now, thanks to inappropriate thoughts about , he had an erection between his legs and their gaze on him.

(Bloody fuckin' hell.)

He should have stared at them like a psychopath to the point that his gaze was returned. Simon cleared his throat as he looked away, shifting in his seat.