"Shouldn't have jumped me in bed the week before elections, then," he says, even if he's lightheaded, even if wants this as much as Jim does, even if his hips are rocking forward, seeking out whatever friction he can steal away. He clamps his hand down on Jim's shoulder, yanking his hand out of the back of his pants. "C'mon, Captain, march. There's a perfectly good Compound not far away."