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The Widow Nebula
Citadel
The Presidium
The Citadel climate systems gift them with rain as they're walking back from the range.
A patter of drops lands on Jack's head, but before she can do more than look up and scowl, James is there, fitting himself behind her and blocking the worst of the weather.
She looks over her shoulder; rain is rapidly darkening his N7-issue shirt and dripping off his head, but he's keeping her relatively dry. "You ever gonna stop doing that, soldier boy?"
"Nah." His's shirt's wet enough that she can track the movement of muscle in his shoulders when he shrugs. "It's just my way, querida."
Jack sighs, but she's smiling when she reaches up and behind to wrap an arm around his neck and pull him in for a slow kiss.
James is trembling, just a little, when she finishes exploring his mouth. "Ah…" He blinks. "You're… ah… getting all wet."
"Yeah, But in all the best ways." She grins wickedly and brings his hand down to the junction of her thighs, and never mind who sees them.
James swears under his breath, a long, growling string of Spanish he'd probably prefer she didn't understand and hustles her off to the nearest reasonably isolated corner.