A/N: Short fic, re-writing the horrific so-called 'romance' with James from the Citadel DLC. Might do a follow up? Leave me a review if you'd like to see more, I'm so hooked on Shega right now it's not even funny.
The room was spinning and the lights seemed to be blurring together by the time Shepard fell into her bed, a mass of warm, fluffy blankets that felt more like a cloud than a bed. She was just curling into the sweet embrace of oblivion when she felt the mattress shift, a heavy body falling into bed next to her.
She didn't move, just clutched the comforter possessively, hoarding her fluffy blankets from whoever was joining her. The bed was big enough for two, her sleepy mind decided, and having slept in a military cot since she was eighteen, she only ever occupied half of the bed anyway. It wasn't until she felt an arm, coiled with thick muscles and attached to an equally muscular body that pressed against her back, that she felt she had to do anything. She knew that body; knew the way if felt when it pressed into her back right before she flung it onto the cargo bay floor, knew the heady scent of gun oil and sweat.
"Stop it, James." Her voice was soft, words slurred slightly from the alcohol, and she shifted her body, trying to pull away but only making it collide with the marine. His lips found her neck, and she growled, then drove her elbow back into his solar plexus. "I said, stop." The words were slow with alcohol, but the action had the desired result and he gasped sharply, withdrawing from her and rolling onto his back, far enough away for her to curl back onto her side and close her eyes.
"Shit, Shepard! I thought... I thought you wanted this?" He managed after a moment, breathing still short. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, even from here. Or was that the alcohol on her breath? She wasn't quite sure.
Shepard snorted indignantly. "Not if you have to get drunk just to touch me." She managed, opening her eyes and staring into the darkness. He was still behind her, lying flat on his back, his breathing heavy. "I want you to want me." Her voice was soft again, wistful, her eyelids fluttering softly closed.
"Dios, Lola... I do want you." He spoke to the ceiling, not daring to touch her again. "It's just... y'know, you're... you."
"Yeah, I know." She laughed, but it wasn't the sound he had grown accustomed to. It wasn't a happy laugh, or an amused one, or even a sarcastic laugh. It was bitter, and drunk, coarse and painful to his ears. "I'm Commander Fucking Shepard, and I'm not even human enough to fuck."
"S'not like that." He protested softly, alcohol making his voice weak. "What if I'm not enough for you?" He murmured softly, almost inaudibly.
"You worried I'm gonna think you're bad in bed?" She didn't sound amused, and he ran a hand back through his short hair. He wasn't saying this right.
"Nah, that ain't it. Dios." He covered his face with his hands. "I want you, Lola, and not just for some once-in-a-lifetime night. I want you every night, I want to wake up next to you every morning, I want to make you breakfast and take you to the movies and go out dancing with you on my arm."
"Sounds nice," she rolled over, still curling on her side but now she was curled in towards him instead of away, although she still didn't touch him. "If that's what you want, how come you always turn me down?" Her voice was suddenly all innocence, and James had trouble swallowing the lump in his throat so he could answer.
"Cause if I have a taste, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it when you're done with me." He said after a moment, a part of him unable to believe he was actually saying the words, but the larger part too drunk to care.
"You think I just want to get laid." It wasn't a question, but she sounded sad.
"No, I mean..." He groaned, dropping his hands from his face and turning towards her. "I'm not saying this shit right." He waited for her to say something, but when she didn't, he felt like he had to say something, so he kept going. "I just don't see how someone like you could be happy with someone like me."
"Someone like me? What's that s'poosed to mean?"
"There's no way I can measure up." He shook his head. "You're... well, you beat Saren -Sovereign, whoever. Then the Collectors. You have all these crazy talented people hanging off your every word, willing to die for you! And you can hit a moving target from like a million yards, and you're gonna beat the Reapers, too." He listed things off, his voice wavering slightly, and Shepard gave another one of those indignant snorts.
"God, I love it when you talk about me like I'm some kind of hero." She murmured, nuzzling her pillow sleepily. "That's why I love you. You always believe in me, even when I don't believe in myself."
He blinked, unsure he'd heard correctly. That was the alcohol talking, right? Because Commander Shepard couldn't possibly have just admitted that she loved him. Or she meant it platonically, the way she loved everybody on her squad. Surely, if tonight had been proof of anything, it had been proof that Shepard loved the people under her command.
"But... you are a hero. And I'm just some lowly marine who had the good luck to stumble onto your radar." His voice was full of self-loathing, and made Shepard's brow furrow defensively. Nobody talked about her lieutenant that way, not even himself.
"You are not. You're a damn good soldier, James, and you work hard to be one. You follow orders when given, and make good decisions when they're not. You're tough as hell and stronger than a fucking krogan and you're smart, too, although god knows you don't act like it sometimes." Her words were forceful, pushing into his head despite the haze of alcohol, and he found himself rolling onto his side to look into her face, shaded as it was by the darkness of her bedroom. "If you don't believe that, then you're dumber than I thought, 'cause you of all people ought to know that I don't take anyone but the best on my squad."
He didn't have an argument for that, and just stared at her, still dumbfounded. "I still don't get why you would want me."
Shepard laughed, and he relaxed slightly at that sound. It was her flirty laugh, the one she used whenever he tried to flirt with her, when she was about to say something really raunchy. "Aside from your hot body?" She teased in her flirty tone, before she got that serious look back in her eyes. "But that's not why I like you. And I do like you -like you, like you, in the preschool way." She giggled drunkenly, and he could feel her shift closer to him on the mattress. "You know the last time someone gave me a nickname? I don't know either, 'cause ever since I enlisted, I've been nothing but Shepard. Then you show up, and suddenly I'm Lola. Hot but tough Lola, and you check out my ass when you think I'm not looking, and you patch me up on missions when I'm too hocked up on adrenaline to notice I'm bleeding. You don't pull your punches when we spar, and you make me smile, with your stupid flirting and your dumb jokes, even when everything else makes me want to scream. You make me feel normal, and at the same time, you still have this... I dunno. Unwavering faith that I can do this, even when I do something wrong. You're the only one on the whole damn ship who I can always count on to have hope, to believe that we can win this thing, to give me hope when I feel adrift." She rambled slightly, but James was so caught up in her words that he didn't dare interrupt, and when she finished, he stared at her for a long moment, soaking it in.
"That's what you think of me?" His words were slightly wonder-filled, in awe that someone like Shepard could think so much of him.
"Uh-huh." She nodded.
Without warning, he leaned in towards her and captured her lips with his own. The kiss was sloppy, drunken, and unexpected, but just for a moment, Shepard kissed him back. Right before she shoved him roughly back and punched him in the jaw. "I SAID STOP!" She roared, and he couldn't help but laugh, rolling onto his back and holding a hand to his jaw, his huge body shaking with laughter. "If you keep that up I'm not gonna let you sleep here." Her alcohol-addled slur had returned, and she rolled over again, curling on her side.
James blinked at the ceiling. "If I behave, I can stay?"
"Uh-huh." She repeated the sound, already sounding like she was falling asleep. "Just keep your pants on, and no more kissing." She drawled softly.
Experimentally, he moved closer, rolling onto his side behind her, he placed a hand on her waist. Shepard made a soft noise, but didn't protest, so he slid it around her gently, pulling her body flush against him. She shifted slightly, making herself comfortable in his embrace, but didn't try to move away. "This okay?" He murmured in her ear, just to be sure.
"Yeah, James, it's okay." She answered sleepily, before she added, "but if you want to, you can take your shirt off, y'know." He chuckled softly, nuzzling his nose against her hair affectionately. "I like it when you take your shirt off." Her voice was distant, and he was sure now that she was drifting off to sleep.