Commander Peter Bishop, Chief Engineer and Third Officer
There was no banter today. Just the two of them up against a bulkhead in a dark corner of the ship, hard and hot.
Peter had ambushed him in a rarely traveled corridor, one of the long maintenance passageways Lincoln liked to walk when he was thinking over a problem. He wasn't considering anything dire, just some scheduling and minor repair issues. But Peter's presence meant he'd gone out of the way to have the computer track him down, which meant...
Lincoln could not possibly care any less what it meant at the moment, not with Peter's mouth working a bruise onto his throat, just below where it might show if his tunic dipped even a little.
This was a ridiculous risk. Neither of them could pretend that their...whatever this was...was a complete secret. As long as no one made a complaint, as long as Olivia had plausible deniability, they were in the clear. They might technically not be breaking any official regulations but the unofficial ones were unambiguous about not dating within the chain of command, particularly for senior officers. Which for Lincoln (and Olivia) meant everyone on board. The potential reprimand would have another pretext and one of them might even be assigned off the ship.
Or maybe he was being overly paranoid. Starfleet understood the human factor. There were too many hurdles for official sanction unless a couple was really committed. Unofficial liaisons were the rule, rather than the exception. And in the isolated pressure-cooker environment of a starship, impossible to control.
Lincoln decided that control was overrated as his head thumped against the wall.