A/N: Written for FemFeb this year. My first time writing this ship, woo!
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"Lancer," Greenlight hisses, gasping in the middle. "You'll get us in trouble– again."
The chuckle in response is lost under the next call of, "present!" but still makes her shoot a look around. Lancer doesn't pull away, but her hands stop roaming and settle at Greenlight's waist. It's a dirty move, underlined by fingertips stroking along the sensitive seams there.
"Are you telling me to stop?" Lancer asks, close enough that Greenlight almost feels the words against the back of her head.
She should be telling Lancer to stop. Their last warning for behavior unbecoming was uncomfortably close to a threat. But they've been on opposite shifts for a week; roll call is arguably the most they've seen of each other. So when she turns to face her conjunx, instead of telling her to keep her hands to herself, she steals a kiss.
It isn't until a shadow falls over her that she notes the silence– nor realizes how long the kiss has gone on. She breaks away with a gasp and catches Lancer's wince before they both turn to look up at Strika.
"We've discussed this," Strika says, looming close.
Lancer's hands on her waist say it's worth it.