She held her liquor like a man twice her size. Vega was nicely warped from his string of tequila shots, and Shepard was still matching him. She was standing with her back against the window while she drank, laughing and chatting easily as if she were out with a friend. Vega sat on the edge of the bed. He was finding the situation unusual but quite fun. There had been no mention of alcohol in the briefing, so he was not technically breaking any rules by bringing it in to the prisoner, but it was just enough of a grey area to make it feel mischievous.
'…so this colossal tank-bred krogan has me pinned against the wall,' Shepard was relating jovially, 'and I'm completely on my own – no back up, no nothing. His snarling face is inches from mine, giant paw like a vice at my throat. He tells me that he wants a name before I die. So I tell him: "Commander Shepard".' She let out a burst of laughter, like she just couldn't contain it. 'And he just responds: "No, my name. Okeer never gave me one."' She downed another shot, waited for her voice to return, and continued huskily: 'One of the last words he heard Okeer say was "grunt", so he decides that's a good enough name for himself. Meanwhile, I'm trying to move my arm so I can reach my gun, but he's got me pressed so hard I can't budge. I try to buy some time by getting really ballsy in his face – "My enemies threaten galaxies!" – while my fingers are working on the holster. By the time I've got my weapon to his ribs, Grunt is so impressed with my fearlessness that he lets me go.' She smiled fondly. 'He turned out to be one of the best team mates I ever had.'
'And that baby krogan helped you blow the Collector's base?' Vega asked in awe.
'Uh-huh. And he kind of adopted me as his mother.'
The Lieutenant gawked at her, speechless.
Shepard stared up at the starry English sky, still grinning like a fool. 'I wonder where my baby is right now.'
'That's just freaky,' Vega laughed. 'Definitely not something a guy wants to hear a girl say about a krogan…'
'Could be worse. I could be his biological mother.'
'Hell no…'
'Hey, I'll have you know, I've had offers!' She put a hand on her hip coquettishly. 'I'm quite popular with krogan males.'
'Woah,' Vega exclaimed. 'That's just wrong!'
'How is that wrong, when it's okay for a human to have sex with an asari?' She was obviously joking, but the question was fairly logical. 'They're both aliens.'
'Asari are hot,' was Vega's only reason. 'Krogan are… not.'
'I know what it's all about,' Shepard theorised, trying to keep a straight face. 'A lot of human females are jealous of asari because of the effect they have over our men. But I bet human males feel inadequate compared to krogan.'
'And why's that?'
'Because, next to a krogan, you're a pair short,' she shot at him wickedly.
He was surprised how playful she was being. Emboldened by her daring, Vega threw back: 'Next to a krogan he might have quantity, but I got quality.'
She laughed a raucous, dirty laugh. 'Hah!'
Vega, still laughing, went to pour himself another serving of tequila. The bottle dripped disappointingly. He sagged. 'Ah… Out of tequila,' he moaned.
'That's too bad. It was starting to get fun in here. Who knows where things could have gone…'
An edge to her voice set off an alarm in Vega's head. He detected a strong note of flirtation. His vision swaying slightly, he glanced up at the Commander. Her cheeks were rich with colour and her smile was just a little naughty.
'You're kinda flirting with me, Commander…'
He had intended to say it in the privacy of his own mind. Instead, an ocean of tequila had swept it out of his mouth.
'Calm down, Lieutenant,' Shepard chuckled. 'I'm just kidding.'
Ouch. He painted over his embarrassment with a joke: 'Right, 'cause you're only into krogans.'
'And volus.'
He made a disgusted face. 'And hanar, while you're at it?'
'Can't resist those tentacle legs…'
They both shuddered at the thought and then broke out into laughter simultaneously. Admittedly, they were laughing far more than the situation warranted, but that was probably because of the alcohol. Tequila can make anything seem funny.
Vega glanced at the clock display on his omnitool and realised how late it was getting. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before he attempted to move. Standing up was a big mistake. He watched the room wind around him like a released spring, sending his senses all over the place. Holding on to the nearest object, the chair, he succeeded in leaning upright.
'I'd better go, Commander,' he said.
'Sure, James,' the woman replied, shelving her empty shot glass. 'Thanks for the drink.'
He pointed a blurry finger at her. 'Don't tell anyone I gave you that.'
'Who am I going to tell?'
'…Just saying.'
She laughed. 'All right. I wont. Good night, James.'
He staggered back to his compact quarters. His head swimming with a confusing cocktail of tequila and hazy boundaries, he fell into his bunk without even bothering to get undressed. Time became muddled. Reality plunged into dream. Everything went black.
He found himself back on Omega, the air alight with reds and pinks intertwined in smoke. Music was thrumming somewhere in the background. He had a glass of something blue in his hand. Glancing around, he found that he was sitting at a table in the low level of Afterlife, the main club on Omega. There was an asari girl dancing for him, her body writhing to the beat of the music, crimson catsuit moulded to her skin in all the right places. Vega accepted his new reality without question, sinking back into his seat and enjoying the view. The girl winked at him and spread herself atop the table like a platter of delights. Her head disappeared from sight behind an arced back. When it re-emerged, it no longer belonged to the same girl.
Before his eyes the dancer had transformed into a porcelain-skinned human woman, with a slender body and a head of raven hair. She smiled at him and her eyes gleamed green in the light. He ran his gaze down her figure, the realisation of her identity seeping slowly into his consciousness like a familiar fragrance.
Commander Marie Shepard reined up on her knees and lifted her arms into the air, her petite torso coiling sensually. Her tight abdomen rippled as she moved, every inch of her skin visible beneath the fabric of her suit as if she were utterly naked. The collar area bared her flesh, revealing smooth cleavage which led down to glorious, perfect breasts. Vega was hypnotised by the rhythm of her body. She danced like a goddess, making sweet love to light and music in a breathtaking ballet of pure sexuality. When she rolled her hips he felt his stomach lurch. Heat filled his lower body, rising up through his chest and neck until even his face was burning.
Shepard reached out to him and teased his hair with her fingernails. He tried to catch her hand, but she evaded him. She laughed, the sound echoing beyond the music, and moved across the tabletop away from him. Her back to him, Shepard slid her hands down her outer curves. Vega's eyes slid down along with them. The crimson catsuit was shimmering upon her skin, and when it reached her lower back it poured into a thin strand between her round, unbearably divine, ivory buttocks. Vega inhaled sharply through pursed lips. He watched her muscles resonate as she flicked her hips.
On fire, he edged closer to the table, his drink forgotten, his universe fading behind him. He was overcome with the desire to touch her. Answering his most primal prayers, Shepard came for him. He was gripped by anticipation. She was almost within reach. On all fours like a panther she crawled towards him, and her luminous eyes swallowed him whole. She licked her cherry red lips – damn he wanted a taste so bad!
Closer!
The limber vixen braced her hands against his mighty shoulders and climbed down onto his lap. He felt her weight upon his thighs as she straddled him. It felt good. She came against him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, and her angelic face filled his vision. Her body pulsed to the pounding of his heartbeat, sending shivers up his spine. She leaned in and put her mouth upon the edge of his neck. So real. Her hot breath caressed the tiny hairs on his skin. Her tongue ran along his jawline. Vega bit his lip hard.
Pain jerked him awake.
He leapt into an upright position, casting around in a panic. His shirt was sticking to his back with perspiration, and his trousers were uncomfortably tight. He closed his eyes against the spinning of the room, fighting to regain his senses beyond the ones emanating from his lower regions. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was. The first thing he did when it came rushing back to him was look over at the security monitors. He located Shepard.
Shit. This is not good.
He wiped away a coat of sweat from his face and noticed that his hand came away with a smear of blood. He touched his lip and found that he had bitten it so hard that he'd made it bleed.
No, no, no…
The Commander was curled up in bed, the duvet clenched between her legs and wrapped around her upper body. Vega swallowed back a lusty sound in his throat.
Pull yourself together, man!
He tried. It didn't help that he had an eyeful of those gazelle-like legs from the surveillance screen in front of him. Her shorts had ridden up so high on her left side that he could see the curve where her butt met her thigh. His mind and body were in chaos. He tore himself away from the console and headed for the bathroom. Still fairly drunk – and fully clothed – he groped for the shower controls for a while before he managed to get the water running.
Cold shocked him to his core. He yelped and gritted his teeth against the barrage of water that was at near-painful temperature, immersing himself in it. He could practically feel the steam rising from his body. For a few minutes he simply stood there, praying that the chilly downpour would take away all his new thoughts and feelings.
Not her. Not Shepard. This wasn't like having an adolescent sex dream about his best friend's older sister – who, incidentally, found out later. This was the most inconvenient, inappropriate, and damn idiotic fantasy he'd ever had. He attempted to reassure himself of his own common sense by reasoning that he had not deliberately created that fantasy – it was just a dream. He couldn't be blamed for his dreams, right? He had once dreamt that his father had turned into a Collector drone and tried to kill him. And there was the one where he'd attended a birthday party for the salarian dalatrass, and had arrived to find that he was wearing nothing but a pair of Blast-O underpants. Dreams were dumb and illogical. They didn't mean anything.
Never meet your hero. How many times had he thought of that phrase since coming face to face with the Commander? Now more than ever it rang true. Whoever first said it should have also added: "And never, ever picture your hero naked".
