After a solo match within the Armax Arsenal Arena, Jayne Shepard was exhausted. Her body was sore in an all too good way that left her blood coursing and limbs light, but aching for more punishment at she teetered on the line of not enough and too much physical exertion and pain.
She's sure she'd hear from Chakwas about something or another concerning her need to always push her body to its limits, but what is shore leave in between taking down slave rings if not for what pleases her, fills that void that really should be filled by another. That other being a hard edged man, coarse and bitterly cold in a way that seems to fit with her more laid back nature than they'd have thought when he first started mentoring her.
Oh well, she figures with a sigh as she strips from her armor, laying it within her rented locker to clean after she tends to herself. Guess a hand will do. Not like the ugly bastard would come to my ping anyways from halfway across the galaxy… asshole.
When most couples would have pet names for the other – sweetie, babe, love, honey – they have no such names. She merely curses at him while he sighs in exasperation, but they fit, make themselves the same as any other couple. Same in that there is no animosity, no longer that hate, spite, and plain annoyance in the other, no 'love-hate', that those on the outside see, but an actual something, however that might be translated.
She never could do 'normal' relationships like everyone else, but, then again, neither could he.
Unfortunately, when she really wants him here, he is not, leaving her to her own thoughts and pumping adrenaline. She finally pulls her undersuit down and off to toss in the locker beside her armor, but leaves underwear and bra until she gets under the shower. The last thing she needs, or wants, is to deal with pulling tight fitting clothes off her bruises without the benefit of hot water easing her muscles.
Jayne heads into the showers and sighs as she hits the shower controls with a fist, drenching herself. "Fucking broken sim, piece of shit," she says to no one as she just leans against the wall, eyes closing.
"Speaking to yourself again, I see."
She stills and her eyes widen at that voice, her head snapping to the entry of the showers in his black robes. "Saren…"
"You have grown reckless, blind to your flank."
"Thank you, dad," she deadpans as she turns her back to him, stripping from her panties and bra and debating throwing it at him. "Where ever would I be without you?"
"Still serving the Alliance." His low hum is nearly quiet as he walks into the steamy shower room, taking shape from just the shadow at the door into the man that has left more scars on her skin than all the bullets she's ever taken or tear in her skin from battle.
Still keeping her back to him, she scowls at the wall that he'd just randomly show up out of who knows where. At the feeling of a bare touch of talon slide along one of his scars upon her skin, she spins and slaps his hand away with a murderous glare. "Don't you dare act like I don't remember that shit you pulled on Noveria. You left me to freeze in the damn Mako!"
"A vehicle you crashed," he corrects with a flick of his mandible. "Not surprising that you would exclude that from your memory. You have also forgotten you inability to repair such a vehicle, that task then falling on me to manage alone."
"Doesn't excuse you from hiking back with the spare heat coils, jumping Hanshan, and leaving some… tow to come get me. You really had to just leave before I could even make it back?"
"Our duties dictate that the Council can call on us at any time, so you should know better than expecting me to constantly be at your beck and call." Her scowl deepens as he grips her chin and lifts it. "Your company is preferred above the Council's, however."
Jayne rolls her eyes just before throwing a fist, predictably being caught in the palm of a three fingered hand with barely a huff from his nose of effort. That only angers her more and she jabs with the neck, ending up against the wall with both arms above her head, a bone white face just beyond the reach of her neck for a headbutt.
"Dammit, let me go, Saren."
"Overstepping your limits, Jayne. You have overexerted yourself in the Arena that you are slow and ineffective." Stepping closer, he places his mouth to her ear, growling low. "That is not as I taught you."
She smirks, knowing one of the worst things to do is to insult his ability, one of those being his ability to teach. Any failure on his prior apprentices' part, he sees as a spite against his own skills, his control of the field in knowing what each and every one of the weaknesses and strengths of all the Spectres he has taught, and how to compensate and compromise between them both. It because of that that she says, soft and seductive against his ear, "I guess you aren't as good at training me as you thought."
She's about to run her tongue across hide when she hears his snarl as he slams his body against hers, pinning her harshly to the wall. "You are insolent, Jayne. Years under me and still you cannot control your mouth."
Smirking, she chuckles as she looks in his eyes and lifts a leg along his. "You don't often complain about my mouth when you're down my throat."
Saren growls and grips her wrists in a painful hold that starts to cut off the circulation to her fingers as a hand opens his clothes. He never was one to rip and tear at his own wear, hers certainly, but never his own even in the most heated moments.
Not that she can ponder on it much as his teeth sink into her shoulder, making her shout out in surprise. "You fuck!" Kicking, feeling his talons sink into the flesh on her thigh, she snaps her teeth against his ear in threat for the moment he releases her.
He chuckles darkly as he releases and, as she threatened, she sinks her teeth as best she can into his neck. "You will never break through that way, Jayne," he says against her as his hand lifts her ass, the sound of his tongue sliding out to clean his mouth of her blood in her ear. "You will," he slams home, making her release with a wanton moan, "have to do better."
"F…Fuck… you," she spit out as she scowls into his eyes and he starts to pound into her, ridges creating a sort of 'pop' with each one that passes in and out.
His mandibles flare as his dark blue tongue slides out to clean his cybernetics of her blood and she can hear his growling chuckle. "I'd much rather fuck you."
And damn him if the way his voice drops and darkens ever more, if that were possible, doesn't make it much worse for her in this position. He's winning, dammit, using his strength and size over her, but she wouldn't be the only woman to keep up with him if she didn't know a few tricks herself.
Taking the opportunity presented like this, her head snaps forward and she bites onto his mandible, digging teeth in. His snarl is half pleasure, half irritation, and she finds out which wins over as he releases her hands to grip her ass, talons digging into the fleshy muscle there, and hammers into her with bruising force. Oh, she's definitely going to be sore to sit or walk tomorrow, but it is so fucking worth it.
Worth it in that she has her hands, which she immediately begins to use to punch him in the face once she releases his mandible. One, two, three land, hard enough to get not just her blood but a bit of blue from his own nose, before he snarls a growling, primal sound, and throws her off him to go sliding across the tile.
Saren is right behind, his robes soaked in water from the water, and grabs her leg, yanking her to him as he drops to his knees. Roughly flipping her, Jayne lands with a thud and grunt, and, too quick, he's on her, in her in all to oh so many right angles.
She screams in ecstasy as her shoulders are shoved to the ground with a large, hand flat against her spine and the other gripping her hip. His blood drips onto her back as her own falls to the floor below them, but what is pain but something to prove they are alive, immortal in this one moment.
Hands clawing uselessly against tile, Jayne shoves back against him, panting with burning lungs and sore muscles growing taut. Fire builds in her belly as she uses her feet to push against his spurs, give back some of the sharp sting he's giving her. He growls at that and rakes talons over her spine, letting her get to her hands only for him to take her neck in his mouth, hold strong enough to draw blood without causing anything more than more scars.
Scars are nothing to her. Had she wanted flawless skin, then she'd never have become a soldier, let alone find herself sleeping with only one man that can keep up with her.
He cums, not with a howl or scream, but with a snarl and snap of his hips as he shoves in as deep as possible. She groans as her entire body jerks, even her body at his command as she clenches around him, but she knows he isn't done.
He never is until he gets a bit more.
That more comes when he pulls off half swollen and starts fucking her with his knot, the massive bulb popping in and out of her with wet, obscene shucks and smacks of their two bodies coming together. Like always, she wantonly moans as he moves, bucking back like the animal he turns her into, loving that force he uses to make her walls take him.
The bastard keeps her like that, on the edge of not quite at her second release but unable to come down, for what seems like hours before he reaches his own peak with a snarl and firm hand on her shoulder shoving her back against him, over that knot for a final time. Filling her with his thick, hot seed is his silent demand to join and she does, practically mewling as he, finally, knots completely, swelling large enough to lock into her, plug her into taking all of his seed.
"You have forgotten too much since we have parted last," he says and, if she did know him better, she'd have mistaken his tone for being one unaffected by the dirty, bloody, locker room shower sex, but she's had years to learn him, years to hear the slight hitch in his breath that comes after a really good fuck.
It's why she entirely expects his next words, "It seems you are in need of more training," and she can't hold back the breathy chuckle and wide smirk.
"You can fuck me all night, you ugly bastard. I got myself a nice place that has way too many clean surfaces."
Theirs is not a relationship of 'I love you's or any of the meaningful, deep conversations that most expect, look for when they examine from the outside, but it works. They do not need the words or expressions to be the same as any other, to be anything more or less than what they are. Let the rest of the galaxy have their 'love', Jayne has her fucking Spectre.