First time you saw me, you screamed at me, Keeler wants to remind him.  Screamed, for an unexpected medical leave that he'd still been battling on arrival and yes Keeler is still bitter about that.  But they're past it, supposedly; as much as one can be past a dismal first impression, because part of that may never really leave them.  Perhaps they can't expect it to.  Perhaps they're both working against a caste belief greater than themselves, and nothing short of death will disabuse them of these fixed notions.

There's no room for that brand of philosophy between the sheets, though.  Not when Keeler's managed to free himself of his remaining bits of uniform while Encke tackled his own, not when he's nested -- wonderfully bared any offending scrap of cloth or garment -- in his fighter's lap and languishing in the exquisite attention of the man's lips.  Pretty.  Intelligent, witty, kind, strong; of all the traits Keeler might have valued more, Encke settles for pretty, and despite the urge to scoff, Keeler feels his face going hot.  Pretty is alright.  He'll settle for pretty, so long as Encke keeps on kissing him.

And in any case, that's no great secret.

"You never told me you were a romantic, Lieutenant," Keeler teased, dipping to meet Encke's lips for a few lingering, hostage kisses.

Right, Encke's all about romance.  Keeler's arms around his shoulders, grinding a pert ass in slow undulations against Encke's clothed cock, a forced pacing to keep them both from throwing down and abandoning principle, and it's a bet Keeler can lose just as easily.  Heart thundering in his ears and skipping in the cage of his chest, face flush and breath staggering, shivers thrilling along his body with each brush of Encke's fingers and lips, and a certainty that he's going to fall prey to Encke's every whim without a second thought.  Romance.  That's what this is.

"You going to fall in love with me, Soldier?"