Her skin was hot under his hands and her breath filled his ears, heavy and desperate. The slight whimper she let out as he smoothed his palm between her pressure shorts and her flesh was half inaudible, a sign of her restraint when all she wanted to do was rip her fingers through his hair, wrap her legs so tight against him it hurt, scream his name out so that no one could mistake their relationship.

But that wasn't the game. That wasn't the deal they made.

This was war, and in war, there was no love. She tried to tell herself it meant nothing, that attachment in this world, this horrible, awful world, meant death.

But, oh, if this was death, then she welcomed it with open arms. He pulls her clothing off fully, the shorts not standing a chance against his skillful fingers, and she listens as he lets out a hiss of pleasure. She inhales sharply, forcing herself to relax rather than tense up at the action as he presses into her, and she chants inside her head that it wasn't love. It could never be love, would never be love. This was her Corporal, a man so stoic and strong she couldn't help but admire him. A man who could kill her in a heartbeat and a man who wouldn't.

Wouldn't. There were a lot of things that he wouldn't do, and she used to think that what they were doing was one of them. And, oh, she really shouldn't be in the situation she is in.

She shouldn't be doing this. He's her superior, they could both die in but an instant. This was irresponsible, stupid, human. She shouldn't be involved.

But she is.

She sighs into the air, a soft moan bouncing back at her, opening her eyes to look at his concentrated face. Gently, she sets her palm against the back of his neck as she arches, pressing herself as close as she could get. It was new, and a bit daring for her to do so, to call the shots, to move him to her rather than simply accepting what he would give her. He didn't seem to mind, in fact, if anything, he bucked and she saw stars, sending her other hand straight to his shoulder to dig her nails in. She opened her mouth to tell him that if they continued at the pace they were, he would burn her up from the inside out, but all that escaped her was a guttural groan, a cry of surprise and pleasure.

He smirked, dipping his head down to lick at her collarbones as she started to rock against him. Any thoughts and chants she had in her head ran from her, and the only language she knew how to speak in that moment was the language of hands, of tongues, of him. She cried out again, bucking beneath him desperately, trying to beg him to keep going, but unable to speak. He moaned against her skin, and the wet feeling of his breath, the heat, sent electricity down her body, against her spine and her bones. They continued at that pace for a time she couldn't count. Seconds were the breaths she let out, minutes the shake of her thighs as he pressed in and out of her, hours, the thrum of her blood in her ears.

She never wanted it to stop, not really, but as that ghost of thought ran through her mind, she felt the sharp coil in her belly snap, the heat seeming impossible and the tremble in her legs powerful.

As she finally hit the apex of her pleasure, arching high and painful, her back feeling as though it was folding inward and her mouth stretching wide in a scream, he presses his lips to hers hungrily, thrusting irregularly as she almost thrashed against him. He was at the very end of his rope, feeling her nails scrape up the skin of his shoulder, musing the hair on his head as she tugged, using him for leverage as her body engulfed him. Welcoming, warm and inviting, soft and accepting. He spilled over the scaffold of the building intensity as he felt the pull of her muscles against him. He bent over, swallowing her screams in his mouth as she swallowed his groans in return.

When he finally pulled away, panting heavy and hard, her eyes were glassy, glazed over and her mouth gaping open. Small whimpers escaped her and her body twitched mildly. Carefully, he pulled out of her, listening to her inhale. He rolled off of her and pressed her into his chest like he could save her from everything horrible, and awful in the world. She slowly relaxed, finally settling and her breathing easing as his was. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, folding her knees so as to curl in his embrace. He looked down, seeing the warm, flushed face graced with a smile and her golden brown eyes glancing up at him in affection.

They shouldn't be doing this. Not at all. They were getting attached, getting close. Death was inevitable in this world and there was little chance that two soldiers would both survive this bloodthirsty land. He tightened his hold on her at the thought, and she sighed contently, lifting her palm to press against his cheek. As she drifted off to a comfortable, sated sleep, he placed his own hand against hers and closed his eyes.

They lived in war, and in war, there was no love.

But they were as close to it as anyone could possibly get.

Do I get a prize for being the first person to write Rivetra smut? Regardless of how softcore it may be?