What More
Shepard felt Thane's gaze on her the moment the elevator opened. Lips twitching before she reined in her smile, she kept her eyes forward. It made the sixth day in a row of him staying hidden somewhere in the shadows, watching her as she made her way to the mats to stretch before working the bags set up in the hangar. How exactly he learned of her morning routine, she wasn't sure, but if he wanted something from her, it was time for him to step forward and speak up.
Stepping onto the mat, she tossed her towel on a crate before opening her water bottle, taking a sip. She rolled her head around, stretching out the muscles of her neck and shoulders and then took another drink before closing the bottle again, setting it next to the towel. Stretching her arm out across her body, she lifted her voice loud enough to be heard throughout the hangar and asked, "Something I can do for you, Thane? If you're looking for a sparring partner, it works better on the mats."
If she expected an immediate response, she'd been disappointed. Switching arms, she took a moment to feel the muscles loosening. "That is, of course, unless you're just practicing your covert observation skills. In which case, I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. You've been doing this for, what, six days now?"
"Our methods are very different, Shepard." The soft crackle of his poised voice came from just a few feet behind her, nearly making her jump, even as it stirred the hunger she felt for him inside of her. "I'm not sure if it'd be wise for us to spar."
Lifting her arm up, she pressed her palm to her shoulder blade, using her other hand to apply a slight pressure to her elbow, forcing her hand a little further down her back. Holding the stretch, she turned to face him. "That makes it more exciting. You're one of the few people around I think might actually be able to put me on my ass." She switched arms. "Too bad, but suit yourself."
He chuckled, the sound like sandpaper over brass bells. "You are quite confident."
She arched her eyebrow. "Or perhaps you're not sure if you can control yourself enough to keep yourself from actually killing me if we spar?"
"You're taunting me." He smirked, waving his hand at nothing in particular. "Attempting to grate my ego to see if you can convince me to accept your challenge."
"Something has to be able to get under those scales of yours." She grinned, grabbing her ankle and pulling her foot up behind her, pressing her calf against the back of her thigh. "Is it working?"
His gaze roamed over her, an almost tangible slither of silk over her skin. Shaking his head once, he smirked. "My ego remains unscathed; my scales intact," he said with another soft chuckle, making her heart race just a little, "but if you truly wish, I will spar with you."
"Hmmm." She switched legs. "That depends. Why have you been down here watching me? Why haven't you said anything?"
"I—you intrigue me." His head tilted a fraction, gaze slipping away from her as he spoke.
She arched an eyebrow. "I intrigue you?"
"Indeed." He cleared his throat and waved his hand again, this time indicating her from head to foot and back again. "The idea of someone returning to life after so much time spent on the distant shores."
She suppressed a frown. It wasn't exactly the response she'd been hoping for, though she wasn't sure what she thought he might say. "Alright, Krios." She dropped her leg and forced her lips up in a smirk, pacing away from him to the other side of the mat. "Let's see what you got. Boots and jacket off, get on the mat."
"As you wish." He leaned against a crate, slipping his boots and socks—the sort of thin material she might expect a loafer-wearing businessman to have—off before sliding his jacket down over his shoulders and draping it over the edge of the crate.
She lay on her back, chest heaving, sweat soaking her hair and clothes. Shepard grinned up at the drell assassin when he stepped into view, studying her.
He held his hand out to her. "You fought well, Shepard." Lips twitching up into a smirk, he added, "I hope your ego remains undamaged."
She slapped her palm into his, but instead of pulling herself up when he tugged, she jerked him downward, her leg darting out to sweep him off his feet. Having lost his balance with her underhanded trick, he turned his fall into a roll, moving over her from left to right. She vied for position before he could recover completely, trying to get him in an armbar, keeping her grip on the hand he'd extended to her.
Too quick for her, though, he reversed the maneuver in some way she didn't fully track, but ended with her body pinned beneath his. He had his forearm braced across her chest and shoulders, preventing her from lifting more than her head from the mat. One of her arms was trapped at her side, between her hip and his leg, the other held to the mat above her head with his fingers around her wrist. His knee between her thighs, leg pressing against her most intimate spot, sent heat and a new, wholly different desire through her, one that had nothing to do with kicking his ass and everything to do with getting him out of his clothes.
His gaze met hers and a slow, almost smug smile spread across his lips. "Are you finished?"
She grinned and shrugged the best she could given the circumstances. "For now."
Chuckling, he let go of her hand, pressing his palm into the mat next to her shoulder to shift his weight off his other arm. She took the opportunity, before it disappeared, to brush her fingers over the red frills just under his cheekbone and down along his jaw—something she'd wanted to do since the night she met him. He jerked away, as if her touch burned him and froze, staring down at her with wide eyes.
"Hm." She dropped her hand, shielding her heart from the sting of rejection as she slipped her commander's mask back into place and cleared her throat. "Sorry." She forced herself to smile, hoping it looked as easy and nonchalant as she wanted it to. "I thought it was worth a shot. Won't happen again."
Wordlessly, he eased himself off of her and crossed the floor, picking up his socks and boots before perching on the crate to put them on. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath, blowing it back out of her lungs with force before dragging herself to her feet. She'd have to clear the air with him, but everything about the way he sat, his posture guarded and refusing to meet her gaze told her it wasn't the right time.
So, she walked over and grabbed her things, tossing the towel over her shoulder and made her way to the elevator.
"Shepard," EDI said, her blue hologram springing to life in Shepard's peripherals, "Thane is on his way to your cabin."
Glancing over at the door, Shepard raised an eyebrow. She didn't expect him to come to her first. "Thanks, EDI, let him in when he gets here."
"As you wish." EDI's hologram disappeared again.
A few moments later, EDI announced his arrival and the cabin door slid open. Shepard pushed her chair away from her desk, rising to her feet. Thane stepped through the door and paused, his gaze sweeping over the upper area of the loft before locking on her. Tucking her hands behind her back, she stood at parade rest, her face a neutral mask of professionalism. A cool shower after leaving the hangar had done wonders to clear her head and prepare her for facing him again, she just didn't expect it to happen so soon.
She waited for him to speak, but after a moment, when he still hadn't said anything, she sucked on her teeth and said, "If we have a problem, it's best we clear the air now." She kept talking even as he moved closer to her, stopping a couple of feet away, no further from her than he'd been any other time they talked outside of life support. "My behavior earlier was unprofessional, and I apologize. I hope we can move past it and continue to work together, you are a valued member of this team."
His brow ridge twitched. "I've offered my services to you, my skills are your tools to use … what more do you want from me, Shepard?" he asked, his voice so soft on the last part, she almost missed it completely.
Brow furrowing a little, she licked her lips and chose her words carefully. "I don't expect you to give me anything else. I allowed my attraction—my interest in you and the thrill of the moment to loosen my inhibitions, and it was inappropriate of me as the commander of this ship. Your rejection of my advances has no bearing on your position aboard the Normandy."
Taking a step closer, his hand moved toward her face, hesitating midway as if working up the courage to make contact. She arched an eyebrow, her heart racing in her chest, beating against her sternum almost painfully, but she didn't move. Fingers touching her face in feather-light strokes, he traced the curve of a still fading scar left behind from the Lazarus Project.
She swallowed and forced a chuckle from her throat when his hand retracted, disappearing behind his back. Giving him a light shake of her head, she said, "You've got to give me something here, Thane. I'm getting some real mixed signals."
He brought his face closer to hers, his cheek a hair span away from hers, his voice low and throaty next to her ear. "What more do you want from me?"
She licked her lips, fighting the urge to wrap her arms around him and guide his mouth back to hers. "You," she said, the word catching in her throat. "All of you. As much of you as you're willing to give me."
His breath warm against her ear and neck, he asked, "And if my flesh is all the more I'm able to offer to you?" Reaching out again, his fingers brushed her damp hair back before trailing over her skin from just below her ear down to the collar of her shirt. "A few stolen moments to fill your memories with when you are alone once more?"
"I'm a marine. N7." She huffed, perhaps more cynical than she'd like. "Guarding my heart is something I learned to do long ago." It wasn't entirely true, she'd already started to feel something more for him, but if he told her that he wanted nothing more than a fling, she could handle that. She'd close the door on those feelings and simply enjoy the time he gave her.
"And what of my heart? Would you have that, too? The love of a dying man?" His other hand came up, fingertips ghosting over her arm. "Would you guard your heart from loving me in return, to avoid the pain of losing me?"
"No …." And she knew she wouldn't. She already felt something for him, even knowing from the beginning he was dying. She already knew it would hurt her when he was gone.
He didn't say anything for a long moment, breath soft yet ragged against her skin. She was afraid to speak, afraid to move, in case it made him retreat. With him so close, she found his scent intoxicating, earthy and dry with a hint of spice—his venom, she supposed—making her head swim. He shifted, his temple gently pressing against hers before taking a deep breath. He pulled back enough to meet her gaze, the emerald of his irises lost to the shadows behind the blackened brille of his eyes. She held his gaze, unflinching, letting the truth of her words fill the space between them.
He wrapped his hand around her, palm resting against her jaw, and brushed his thumb across her cheek before using his gentle grip to urge her to him. "Then, I am yours." His lips met hers, a mere caress before retreating again. "Completely."