Author's Note: The following contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.
…
"Whoa, Indy! Gotta stop you right there."
Liara has no idea what the title James gave her means, but she likes the way it sounds. She slides her hand into his hair, ignores his protest. She's been dying to do that since she first saw him. The shorter hairs are stiff and bristly, abrading her fingertips. The longer ones are surprisingly luxurious.
The look on his face tells her that even though they have shared several pitchers of beer, his wits remain about him. Good. She likes that alcohol does not dull his intelligence. It would be easy to underestimate the marine, given that brawny humans are often construed as imbecilic, given how easily he smiles, given his kindness, but Liara does not miscalculate.
James is a wonderful diversion; she does not want to think about how difficult Raina's departure had been, how much she already misses the little girl. With the lieutenant she can get lost in physical sensation and let the subtle buzz of alcohol wash away her emotions.
She places her free hand on his knee, squeezes, inches it slowly up his thigh. He inhales sharply, puts his fingers over hers, heavy and temporarily preventative. The observation deck is empty save for the two of them. Most of their shipmates are either on leave, bunked down, or part of the skeleton crew keeping the Normandy operational. Liara is reasonably certain they will be alone for some time.
"I've heard about you," James teases.
Liara raises a brow, doesn't resist an amused grin. "You've been talking to Joker."
James shakes his head. He frees her hand, leans back to study her face. "Look, you're—" Liara slides her newly liberated hand further up his thigh. His eyes widen. "Indy," the word, whatever it means, definitely sounds sexy in his breathless accent, "if you don't stop this, I'm not…" His takes a breath. "I'm not gonna." He says it with finality, as though he'd previously weighed honor against temptation. He's been nothing short of respectable. Liara doesn't want his restraint.
She leans close enough to smell his musk. "Do you always talk this much?" she asks, letting her lips graze against his ear.
His eyes snap shut. "Yeah."
"If you've heard about me, then you know what this is." She removes her hand from his thigh, the other from the back of his head. She shifts until she's straddling him. She knows he's erect, but she avoids the bulge. She controls the situation—nothing happens until she allows it. His eyes, dark with desire, watch her. He puts his hands on her hips, but doesn't move them. He seems content to follow her lead.
She starts with his chest, running her fingers over his soft, tight Alliance t-shirt, down the firm ridges of his abdomen. She makes a fist in the fabric above the belt he wears, and jerks the shirt out of his pants. She slips her hands beneath the fabric and feels silky skin over hard-packed muscles. She moans when they ripple in response to her touch. He's unbearably ripped.
She needs more of him.
Her fingers tremble with anticipation as she tugs at his belt. She tries to go slow, struggles to master the tempo of her rampant heartbeat. It's been too long since her last sexual encounter. Now that she has the big marine beneath her, Liara finds she does not have complete command over herself. She cannot undo the goddess-damned buckle!
James shares her frustration; he moves her hands aside and unhooks the accessory for her. Pushing the halves out of the way, he pops the button of his pants. She licks her lips, momentarily distracted by the way his shirt rides up. She can see the barest hint of a groomed line of hair.
While she's preoccupied James bodily lifts her, grasping her backside. His mouthwatering biceps bunch and stretch fluidly as he repositions her so that she sprawls on the couch. He hunches over her, one hand splayed on the back of the sofa, the other still cupping her bottom. He settles the bulk of his weight on one knee, between her legs. He leans down.
Liara realizes he intends to kiss her.
She redirects his attention by reaching down to tug her own shirt out of her pants. She discarded her jacket before inviting him to sit on the couch with her, expecting to get deliciously messy. She wears only a white undershirt over her bra. Liara draws the garment up, trailing her fingers over the flat planes of her stomach. She shivers at her own touch.
"Santo Dios!" James hisses while he watches. His big chest rises and falls with every anticipatory breath.
Liara does not stop—she cannot stop. She retraces her way back down her body until she reaches the clasp of her pants. She unfastens them deliberately, spreads the fly wide. She slides her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties. Then lower. Agonizingly lower. She dips a finger between her swollen folds, feels the slick heat.
She arches her back in pleasure. James takes advantage. He curls his fingers in the band of her pants, catching her underwear. He yanks. Both garments come down, leaving her completely exposed. James shoves himself up, balancing on one knee while he puts his other foot on the floor. His fingers hurriedly jerk his own fly down. Liara wiggles, shimmies her pants to her ankles so she can slip them off. James awkwardly pushes his down before he shucks his shirt.
Liara tilts her head back, watches him through narrowed eyes. He doesn't bother to remove his boxers before he repositions himself between her thighs. She uses slippery fingers to tease her way into his shorts, freeing his impressive shaft. He leans down, considerate enough not to settle his entire bulk on top of her. Needing him, she directs James' erection to her opening. He hovers there, hesitating.
She's on the verge of begging him to fuck her, but his face twists uncertainly. She bites back frustration, forces calmness. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not… you're not… uh, gonna get pregnant, are you?"
Most asari would be turned off by the human's naivety, but Liara finds the deep blush that crawls over his face endearing. She grins. "That's not what this is," she answers.
She wraps her arms around him and draws him against her—into her.
…
Note #2: Reviews and constructive criticism, as always, are appreciated. Thanks once again to Midnight Lion and WordKrush for their assistance. And to Caracal22 for cheering me on! (If you have not read her stuff, I think you should go do so immediately! Like right now! Go. Shoo!)