“One more,” Alpha decides, and beneath him Jon can't do anything but moan, hitching and ragged.

“Oh,” Jaster manages, and it cracks right in half.

“’M supposed to be on duty,” Fox manages, and that argument probably would have worked better an hour ago, when he was being frog-marched out of his office as Thorn waved a solemn and mocking goodbye. It definitely doesn’t carry a lot of weight when he’s pinned between Thire and the tiles, real water running down his back and endlessly hot.

One inch sideways on Alpha’s bunk and Quinlan slams face-first into the memory of Obi-Wan in the same position he’s in right now.

Anakin has a habit of getting laid with clones, but somehow manages to keep it discreet enough for everyone's safety. That is, until Rex walks in on him riding Fives.

“Facing me or on your knees, commander?” His Jedi asked, sounding a bit breathless. A hot bolt of arousal lanced through Wolffe at the gravelly words. He swallowed. It would probably be more comfortable for the general to remain on his back for the duration of their…activities. (Or Commander Wolffe helps his general with a problem.)