The door to Shepard's cabin opened and Sam followed Liara through like a dream walker. She couldn't shake the haze she'd been living in for the last 24 hours, when she'd left Liara's room in a swirl of confusion. Entering Shepard's cabin in the company of the commander's lover, with the understanding of all parties that she would soon become the same, did nothing to normalize her life. Her emotions whipsawed between hysterical disbelief, profound embarrassment, and an undeniable - and deeply distracting - wellspring of arousal.
"Liara. Traynor. Come in."
Sam followed the voice down to the living area, where she saw Shepard rise from the couch and set aside a datapad on the coffee table. She was dressed in her standard-issue uniform, her bare feet the only concession to her off-duty status.
"Sit down, make yourselves comfortable." The command came as Shepard walked to the small table on the far side of the room, where a bottle of amber liquid stood surrounded by three short glasses. Sam clamped down on the bubble of laughter she felt rising within her at the ludicrous idea of being "comfortable" in this situation. She distracted herself by studying the commander, who was busying herself by pouring drinks.
As always, Shepard moved with an effortless and confident grace. Sam wondered how much of the woman's fluidity was innate and how much was gained from years of physical training and discipline. She knew that some people - all of them petty - criticized Shepard for not fitting the mold of "classic" human beauty. She also knew that most of those same people would be instantly attracted to the woman if they had the good fortune to spend time in her presence. Shepard's charisma was palpable and ever-present - and a large part of the sex appeal that frequently threatened to overwhelm the specialist during the most inopportune moments. Like their daily briefings in the CIC.
Shepard returned to the couch and sat down beside Liara, leaving the asari situated in between the two human women. She didn't bother asking her guests if they wanted a drink as she wordlessly handed both of them a well-filled glass. From its smell Sam guessed it was Terran whiskey, and she absently wondered where Shepard had gotten the credits to purchase such a luxury.
Satisfied with her efforts at playing host, Shepard reached for her own glass, tilting it slightly towards the both of them in salute before offering a toast. "Here's mud in your eye." The whiskey quickly disappeared as Shepard brought the glass to her lips and drained it in a single, practiced motion.
"So." She gazed back and forth between her two visitors, her steady eyes absorbing the tableau before her. Although her statement sounded like a prelude to further conversation, none was forthcoming. The silence stretched into a tangible thing, filling the space between them with its heavy presence.
Liara eventually broke the silence, prefacing her remarks by clearing her throat and setting down her untouched drink on the table. "Yes. Well, as this gathering is largely my doing, I will assume the burden of...'breaking the ice' I believe is the human idiom." Sam marveled at the serenity exuded by the asari's voice, which held no trace of uncertainty or nervousness as she continued.
"I am here because I feel it is important for me to clearly and plainly state that I freely give my consent to your sexual union. You have likewise both told me that you consent to this encounter. I would suggest that you verbalize this consent to each other before progressing any further, but it is not my place to dictate your interactions."
Liara paused to take a breath, and Sam watched the asari fix Shepard with a gaze of such intensity that it seemed to physical grab the soldier and force her to meet her stare through sheer force of will.
"As this encounter is something to which we have all knowingly consented, there is no valid reason for anyone to feel guilt or shame about what transpires." Liara eyes held Shepard's for a long moment before the commander turned away, an indecipherable expression traced across her sharp features.
Liara's voice was quieter as she continued, lowering her eyes to her lap for the first time since beginning to speak. "There is little enough happiness in any of our lives to waste time and energy denying ourselves any pleasure that is freely given."
Her words still lingering in the air, Liara lifted herself off the couch in a single graceful motion and stepped past Traynor to move towards the exit. Standing before the door, she turned back towards the seated women, her measured voice clear as she said, "And now, I bid you both good night."
"Liara, wait." Sam watched as Shepard padded over to the door and leaned into the asari, murmuring words too soft for the specialist to hear. Liara gently grasped Shepard's arm and shook her head, murmuring a brief response. Shepard further closed the distance between them, leaving the barest gap between their bodies as she continued speaking. In response, Liara simply pulled away to give Shepard a long look that Sam couldn't interpret, followed by a barely perceptible nod. Releasing her grip on the soldier's arm, the asari didn't look back as she left the cabin.
Shepard stood facing the door, running her hands through her hair with a loud sigh.
A beat later she straightened her back and turned towards the cabin's interior. Sam's stomach lurched as Shepard settled down next to her, close enough that their knees made contact. The specialist visibly jumped as the unexpected touch sent a shiver of awareness through her body. Another shock soon followed as Shepard's calloused hands enveloped hers, which were still cradled around her whiskey glass. The contact ignited her nerves and an involuntary gasp escaped from her throat.
Strong fingers gently pried the empty glass from her hands, and Shepard's voice held an unmistakable smirk as she broke the silence. "Refill, Traynor? It's good for the nerves."
Sam stared at the glass, dumbfounded by its empty state - she couldn't remember drinking its contents. Shepard smiled at her, but the expression was more predatory than kind, and did nothing to allay her rising apprehension.
Instinctively needing to distance herself from Shepard's wolfish gaze, Sam yanked the glass out of the commander's hands and scrambled off the couch.
"I'll get it!" Sam fought to keep her voice level, but the quirk tugging at Shepard's mouth suggested she'd failed miserably. Nice, Sammy...real smooth. Get a grip, soldier. Sam continued monologuing as she walked towards the table on unsteady legs. Her limbs weren't usually this uncooperative, were they? She knew she wasn't the most coordinated soldier in the history of the Alliance, but she could usually manage to put one foot in front of the other without needing to concentrate so hard.
She sighed with relief when she reached her destination without making an even bigger fool of herself by tripping over her own feet. After setting the glass down on the table she took a moment to clutch the surface's edge in a white-knuckle grip.
What am I doing here? This has to be against at least 42 different regulations. And you know whose ass will be the one sent out the airlock if this all goes to hell. Not the one that the entire galaxy is counting on to stop the Reapers. Besides, it would be criminal to space such a perfect ass. Stop it! That's the sort of thinking that got you into this mess. Stupid, Sammy. Just astoundingly, spectacularly stupid.
Sam could feel Shepard's gaze trained on her back like an enemy targeting system, just as focused and nearly as dangerous. She gave herself a mental shake and busied herself with refilling her empty glass. Surrendering to the reality that her momentary reprieve couldn't last forever, she deliberately recapped the whiskey bottle and turned back towards the commander, leaning against the edge of the table in what she futilely hoped was a perfect representation of nonchalance.
Wearying of being on the defensive, Sam forced herself to meet Shepard's eyes. Unable to think of appropriate small talk, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Dr. T'Soni says you've been having trouble sleeping." She ignored the nonplussed look on Shepard's face and barreled ahead, too afraid of silence to heed her better judgment and call off her plan of attack.
"I mean, she's worried about you. Obviously. And why wouldn't she be? I mean, after all, you and she are...well, of course I don't have to tell you that. She's not the only one, either. Worried, that is...Didn't mean to imply you have a closet full of other lovers. Not that you couldn't. Oh bloody hell, why is there never a Reaper attack when you actually need one? Um, all I really wanted to say is that Dr. T'Soni is worried..." Her voice feebly trailed off as she silently cursed her disastrous decision to open her mouth.
Amusement and consternation warred across Shepard's face in the wake of Sam's babbling. Consternation eventually won out, and her voice was contemplative as she broke the silence. "Dr. T'Soni is...a hell of a lot of things. I don't deserve her."
The statement was factual, offered without any trace of false modesty. Shepard reached for the glass abandoned by Liara and this time settled for a small sip, letting the whiskey linger in her mouth before swallowing it. She gently swirled the glass, staring at the rolling amber liquid before fixing Sam with a hard stare. "She's also off-limits as a topic of conversation."
"Okay," Sam breathed out, voice a mixture of uncertainty and inquisition. "So tell me, Commander, what would you like to talk about? Oh! I've been meaning to tell you about my conversation with EDI about the potential to expand the bandwidth capacity of the QEC. As you know, the current data limit is a single qubit, but EDI has theorized..."
"Traynor." Sam's impending stream of techno babble died as Shepard threw her name across the room like the crack of a whip. "Look, you're smart. Brilliant, by all accounts. So you should get my meaning when I say you're not up here just so we can talk. " Shepard snorted the last word with derision.
Feeling abashed, it was Sam's turn to drain the contents of her glass with a single motion, mimicking the practiced ease of Shepard's earlier display. The soldier stared at her, and Sam chuckled at the question implied by Shepard's raised eyebrow. She was used to the reaction - apparently Marines wouldn't be Marines if they didn't grossly underestimate the ability of a lab rat like Sam to match them drink for drink. It gave her a tactical advantage she'd employed on more than one occasion.
"Careful Commander, your assumptions are showing. If there's one thing a kid from the colonies grows up knowing how to do, it's drink. The frontier doesn't offer a lot of entertainment options besides drinking." And fucking, she added silently.
Shepard inclined her head and laughed, conceding the point. The glint in her eye suggested her thoughts were running along the same course as Sam's. She tipped her glass towards the specialist before draining it, saying, "Well then, here's to colony kids. If they all turn out like you, I'm starting to see the appeal of frontier life."
Sam smiled, feeling herself relax despite the flush she felt creeping across her face - whether from the compliment or the drink she didn't know. The companionable silence soon faded, however, as the thread of conversation led her thoughts to home. She pushed away the familiar feelings of despair she felt at the thought of her family. Not knowing whether they still lived was the hardest part of the war, and a small part of her couldn't help but imagine their disappointment at her transition from a respected Alliance scientist-soldier to her commanding officer's "stress relief."
Besieged by conflicting emotions, she again retreated from Shepard, turning her back on the commander to idly play with the liquor bottle resting on the table. It was so much easier think when she couldn't see the other woman. She still faced the bulkhead as she began to speak, her voice barely rising above the relentless hum of the Normandy's engines.
"This isn't who I am." She wasn't impulsive. She wasn't reckless. And above all else, she wasn't the other woman.
It may not be who you are. But right here, right now, it's who you want to be, some small yet stubborn part of her mind insisted.
Shepard gave no sign that she'd heard the specialist as she responded to her own private conversation. "I tried to fight it." Shepard shrugged, her face caught between a smile and a grimace. "I guess even I can't win them all."
"I don't know why I'm here," Sam mused, continuing her own conversation as she finally turned around - only to startle at finding Shepherd hovering mere inches away, having silently risen from the couch to close the distance between them.
Shepard reached up to gently push a stray lock of hair back behind Sam's ear. "Don't you?" she whispered in a low voice, slowly trailing one finger down Sam's neck. The light, teasing contact left her struggling to keep her eyes open as Shepard's lips came within a hair's breadth of her own. Still aching for control of the situation, Sam placed her palms firmly against the solid chest in front of her and pushed, gaining some breathing room.
Shepard leaned into the hands on her chest, testing their resistance before letting out a frustrated growl. Eyes flashing, she took several steps back towards the middle of the cabin.
"So leave then, if this isn't what you want. I'm not an old Earth pirate captain, and you're not a goddamn spoil of war. No one is keeping you here against your will."
A long moment passed as the women considered each other, the cabin silent except for their slightly labored breaths. Shepard's eyes raked across Sam's body, cataloging the visible heaving of her chest and the flush that was noticeable despite her dark complexion. Their eyes met, and Sam knew from the look the commander wore that her own lust was laid bare for the other woman to see. Shepard confirmed this with knowing chuckle, saying, "Yeah. That's what I fucking thought. "
Sam was torn by a dueling desire to either slap or kiss the arrogant expression off of Shepard's face. Fear of the consequences of either act kept her motionless, completely mesmerized by the woman standing a few feet away.
Once again, Shepard broke the silence. "Now. Tell me you're here because you want this." Shepard punctuated the sentence by unfastening her own belt and slowly drawing it from around her waist. Traynor's eyes hypnotically followed the other woman's motions, and she barely registered her own tongue darting out to lick her lips as she swallowed hard.
"Tell me you're here because you've fantasized about this moment when you're lying alone in your bunk at night, wondering if it's safe to touch yourself." Shepard slowly untucked her shirt, undid the top few fasteners, and pulled it over her head. Sam drank in the sight of the soldier, her standard-issue tank top accentuating the contrasting hard planes and soft curves of her physique. Shepard's dog tags glinted in the cabin's lights as she let her shirt drop to the floor.
"Tell me you're here because that big brain of yours has spent way too much time and energy wondering just how good of a fuck I am." Shepard reached for her pants and undid the top button. She slowly drew down her zipper and parted her fly wide, pushing the waistband down just enough to expose her hips and reveal a narrow band of skin between the bottom of her tank and the top of her briefs.
Sam's brain was misfiring, the visual stimulus of watching Shepard - the actual Commander Shepard, the Savior of the Citadel - put the "tease" in strip tease completely cutting off her higher brain functions. The throbs coming from below her belt told her that the rest of her body was firing on all cylinders, however.
The only response she could manage was a strangled, "Yes."
"Yes?" The smirk in Shepard's voice matched the one on her face. "I don't recall asking a yes or no question, Specialist. What I do recall is giving you a very specific set of orders. Which you are free to disobey - without consequence - by leaving this cabin now." Shepard took a step forward, a predatory gleam in her eyes.
"Your other option is to damn well follow them."