Regrettably, Woolsey has found that when one gets to a certain age, one ceases to be seen as a sexual being. Eyes slide past him as if he's not even there; the Marines stop their chatter when he walks into a room, as if he's someone's uptight grandmother.

But every so often, when they've had a particularly rocky day, something flickers in Sheppard's gaze. It never lasts long enough for Woolsey to be entirely sure, but just the possibility is tantalizing enough to leave him breathless.

This day, Sheppard is standing in Woolsey's quarters, sucking obscenely (obliviously) on a cigar, and Woolsey has to clench his fists to stop himself from plucking it away, pushing Sheppard to his knees, making those eyes flutter closed again and... Well, the fantasy, for all its overwhelming sights and scents, is best left as just that. Sheppard is adept enough at indulging his self-destructive tendencies without giving him a helping hand. But a man can dream.