[Inspired by this picture, which I am bandwidth-thieving from user info for cortese on www.livejournal.comcortese without permission but will move to bandwidth-thieve from cathy if cortese minds. The picture is not work-safe.]

When the captain showers, Bush wants to dissolve into the stream of water. It combs his hair back from his forehead, exposing a dignifed brow. It adheres to the curve of his stomach, tracing a convexity that proves he is no longer the raw, uncertain boy Bush once knew. It caresses his muscled buttocks, his manhood, his strong thighs, and falls to his feet when it finishes worshiping him. The captain exults in the shower shamelessly.

On bad days he only addresses Bush as Lieutenant, not as Friend. Even on the best days, Bush must pretend not to adore him.

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