James Vega loves dancing at a club after a couple of drinks, either Afterlife on Omega or Purgatory on the Citadel, doesn't matter. He can take or leave the meaningless beats of the techno they usually play, but it's still fun to lose himself in the thud of the bass and feel it reverberate through his whole body. Sometimes, though, they play something from Earth, something with lyrics and smoother beats that are perfect for the slow rolling of hips and dancing with a partner.
Don't get me wrong, he's fine dancing by himself, but maybe one night Shepard's eyes catch his from across the dance floor. He gives her a cocky, shit-eating grin and a little tilt of his head, and that's all the invitation she needs. James dances with a lot of grace for a man his size, all fluid rolls of the hips and perfect rhythm. He shoots her a questioning glance before putting his big hands on her waist, and even when she gives him a little nod of permission, his hands never go lower than that.
Not that they need to - the intense look James gives her as they dance, the way he keeps his gaze fixed on her is enough to make her insides melt into molten lava. The crowd on the dance floor surges suddenly with the music, and he pulls her protectively against his body for just a second. That second's long enough for her to feel every single taut muscle in his arms and chest. He lets go of her immediately, apparently embarrassed at his little display - who is he to try to protect Commander Shepard?
Shepard quirks her eyebrows at him and smiles, challenging him. She dances a little closer and puts her hands on his hips, skimming her fingers over the hem of his tight t-shirt. James closes his eyes and mutters something, maybe in Spanish, but she can't catch it over the music. The beat of the music pounds through her body, but it's no match for her heartbeat when he looks her dead in the eye and draws her hips right up against his. The only thing that tells her he's challenging her right back is the upturned corners of his lips and the question in his eyes.
Shepard's smile widens to something predatory. That how we're gonna play this, Vega? She turns in the circle of his arms so that her back is flush with his chest, putting her hands over his where they rest on her hips. She turns her head so that James' lips graze her ear, so casually that it might have been an accident. They both know that it's not. His fingers flex against her hips, and she feels his shaky exhale against her hair, but his rhythm doesn't falter, even now.
"Dios, Lola, you're gonna kill me," he says in a rough voice, even as his lips dare to graze her neck.
"You started it," she retorts, trying not to show how much he's affecting her. If it weren't for his hands anchoring her, keeping her moving to the beat, she'd probably melt to the floor.
The song ends suddenly and a faster techno beat starts blasting through the speakers. James lets go of Shepard reluctantly and moves to the edge of the dance floor. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Hey, uh, I kinda got carried away there - "
"I wasn't complaining," Shepard cut him off, folding her arms. "Besides, you start something, you finish it, Vega. You don't dance with a girl like that without buying her a drink, too."
"Okay, Lola, I guess you got me there. Drinks on me." He eyes her with interest while they walk towards the bar. "Drinks, then we see where this goes, no?"
"I like the sound of that."