Someone on the MEKinkMeme requested gentleman/protective!Vega and drunk!manshep. I couldn't resist.

Hands Off

Good Jesus in stockings, did the Commander ever drink?

Someone had decided to buy all the soldiers at the bar a couple of rounds, and now the dance floor in Purgatory was full of drunken marines attempting to dance, some more successfully than others. And Shepard, perhaps rattled by the prospect of invading Cerberus's home base in the very near future, had accepted the shot shoved in his hands and downed it in one go.

A mere three shots later and he was out there flailing like a demented chimpanzee. James was acutely embarrassed on his behalf, but too delightfully amused to save him from himself. So he lounged against the bar, wishing he had a camera, and watched his Commander "dance" with the other marines, only hearing half of what Joker was trying to say over the thumping music.

"Man, I don't think I've ever seen the Commander drunk before," the pilot laughed, perched on a stool to Vega's left. "Where's EDI when you need her? She could record this and put it on the extranet. Shepard could become infamous overnight."

"Loco's wasted," James noted, unable to banish a shit-eating grin. He was going to tease Shepard about this for weeks. Weeks. The man was going to be mortified when he realized he'd made a lightweight fool of himself in front of half the Alliance. Maybe he'd be one of those blackout drunks with little to no recollection of the events, and James could insert a few raunchy lies to really give the Commander nightmares. Oh yeah, you were totally all over that elcor that night, Loco. It was pretty hot. He laughed to himself, ordering himself another drink. Tomorrow was going to be fun for everyone on board the Normandy. Everyone but Shepard, that is.

Joker made a choking noise. "Man, that guy either doesn't know who he's hitting on, or he is really hoping to score out of his league."

James turned to follow his gaze. Shepard was still attempting to imitate an electrocuted jellyfish, but now he had a dance partner. He wasn't military, that was for damned sure. None of the Alliance out there, not even the enlisted folk privately laughing at Shepard, were dumb enough to hit on the hero of the Citadel. The man was rumored to headbutt krogans who got on his nerves, for crissakes. No, this was a civilian, obviously drunk, though not so hammered as the man he was currently attempting to dryhump in view of God and everyone.

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry," Joker sputtered, his face doing odd contortions as he fought valiantly not to burst into merciless laughter.

"Man, that's just..." James shook his head with a grin, but he could feel his amusement slipping away despite himself. The guy was being wayyy too enthusiastic. And Shepard, the drunken moron, wasn't doing a very good job at discouraging him.

"Where you going?"

James hadn't realized he'd started towards the dancefloor until Joker's inquiry brought him up short. He hesitated, trying to figure out what excuse he could give that wouldn't make him come across as a jealous tool.

Because it wasn't like he was jealous.

At all.

"I'm just putting a stop to this before Loco makes himself look like more of an ass than he already does. 'Sides, I think 'El Capitan' needs to get his drunk ass to bed."

Joker laughed and waved him off. "Man, good luck. You'll end up having to carry him off to the ship at this rate. The man's gone."

James made his way through the packed dance floor, politely turning down several gyrating bodies offering to team up for a dance- or more. By the time he reached his target, Shepard's unwanted suitor practically had a hand down the man's pants and a tongue down his ear. By this point Shepard was becoming fully aware of just how much Do Not Want the situation warranted but was having too much trouble standing up straight, much less figuring out which way to aim a fist.

James reached out, grabbed the scruffy dancer by the shoulder, and wrenched him off of Shepard with a little more force than necessary. "Mitts off," he snapped.

The man whirled on him, opening his mouth for an angry retort, and got a good look at the marine towering over him. Self preservation kicked in, and he shrank back. "Hey, I wasn't doin' nothin', it's cool, it's cool," he mumbled, barely even audible over the music.

"Get lost." James gave him another shove to send him scuttling off, and turned to regard his Commander with a judgmental eye. "I think I'm cutting you off, Loco. You have one more drink and we're gonna have to mop you up into a bucket."

Shepard laughed, grabbing Vega's arm to keep himself upright. "My hero," he mocked. He waved a hand carelessly, barely missing belting a nearby woman in the nose. "I'm fine, I'm fiiiiine. I just needa... rest my eyes for a second, maybe. Pull the cab over for a sec and lemmie take a breather."

"Right. The cab." Rolling his eyes and fighting back a smile, James looped the man's arm over his shoulder, taking on most of his weight, and steered them towards the exit. "It's nap time, Loco."

They made it halfway to the door before Shepard abruptly decided to grab his bigger companion in a clumsy headlock and yank him down for a sloppy slightly off-aim kiss.

James jerked his head back automatically, startled. A slow flush crept up his neck, and he glanced back to make sure they were out of Joker's immediate line of sight. "Shep- Loco, what the hell? You're drunk. Behave, man. Don't go doing stupid things you're gonna regret in the morning."

"Pffft," came the unimpressed reply. But he let go and allowed James to half-carry him out of the club.

This time Shepard managed to behave until they actually got on board the Normandy. If you counted his slurred singing of an old raunchy marine song as behaving.

"James. James. Hey, James."

"What, Loco?" James shifted the man's weight onto his hip as he activated the elevator, fighting to hold back an amused smile.

"Pst. James."

"What, Lo-"

They stumbled into the elevator, and James hit the back wall with a grunt. A second later Shepard's mouth, hot and tasting like whatever expensive liquor he'd been gulping, was back on his, and rough hands were pushing clumsily but impatiently at his shirt.

"Shit," James gasped, shoving the man away and holding him at arm's length. "Commander, you need to stop, all right?"

Shepard glared back with drunken petulance. "What? Why?"

Because I'm going to pin you to the wall in about five seconds and take thorough advantage of you, Vega thought frantically, but instead said, "Because you're drunk as shit and you're not thinking right, okay? And I don't want things to be weird tomorrow."

Shepard's eyes slanted downwards, and James could feel his face burning. Drunk or not, Shepard had obviously gotten the rough idea that James was interested to some degree.

The elevator chimed, announcing they'd reached the captain's quarters, and James propelled his Commander out of the elevator with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Let's go, Loco. Beddy-bye time for all drunk bastards. You'll thank me in the morning."

Shepard managed to get a couple good gropes in, complaining vaguely, before Vega finally tipped the man into his bed. By the time he'd pulled the Commander's boots off, Shepard was out like a light.

James dimmed the lights and crept out. Once in the elevator he collapsed bonelessly against the wall, shaking slightly from his battle with his own traitorous body. "Go team," he croaked, giving himself a pat on the back for his self-control. But he was still thumping the back of his head against the wall in frustrated regret when the elevator returned to the cargo bay.