A/N *Cough* Some smut ahead peoples. I kept it relatively PG, but thought I'd give y'all a little warning, just in case you don't wanna read it. :) Please leave reviews, I love reading them and they really give me the confidence to keep writing this. Enjoy!
"You're moping."
I rolled my head to the side to look at Shepard. "No,I'm not," I said, my voice petulant. "I'm . . . musing."
She rolled her eyes, stretching out even more. "Amiee, you may have Vega fooled, but you can't hide it. What's wrong?"
I sat up, stretching out my arms. We'd been working out for hours, trying to burn off energy, and now lay side by side on one of the training mats in the cargo bay, both exhausted and covered in sweat. Letting out a sigh, I rubbed the back of my neck; a habit I'd picked up from James.
"I honestly don't know. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but something feels . . . missing, I guess," I whispered, my shoulders slumping. "It's like, something . . .. Hell, I dunno,Shepard."
Her hand landed on my shoulder, the warmth soothing my suddenly chilled skin. "Maybe Doctor Chakwas can help, she's better at this than I am."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Shepard, you speak to every single crew member, every single day. You get their secrets like a spy or some shit. I dunno how you do it. It's like . . . space magic." I covered her hand with my own. "You care about them all so much, even me, and I'm not supposed to be here."
She rested her head on our joined hands for a few seconds, before popping to her feet. Her unlimited supply of energy made me smile a little. She held her hand out, a look of expectation on her face. I wanted to flop back and sleep, but knew she wouldn't allow it. Letting out a huff of breath, I grabbed her hand and let her pluck me from the floor.
"You need cheering up," she said, her voice matter of fact.
I sighed. "The last time you decided to cheer me up, I ended up drunk and fell asleep in the main battery. Garrus still hasn't forgiven me for throwing up on his bloody gun," I said, wincing at the memory.
I didn't mention the Prothean talking that happened again. The crew accepted it as something that happened when I was either in pain, drunk or really, really mad. The 'Amiee moments' weren't really talked about, but the frequency of the occurrences scared me. I knew I needed to see both Javik and Liara again, but the thought of letting them into my mind . . .. I thought about the huge stack of data pads hidden under my bed, all full of notes that I don't remember writing.
I don't want them to see all that . . .. They'll think I'm frickin' crazy.
Shepard pulled my hand, dragging my attention back to her. "Where did you go?" she asked, her voice soft and questioning.
"Nowhere, just thinking," I said, my throat tight.
She stared at me for a long time, before nodding. "Okay, you're going to the doctor now," she said, her tone brooking no argument.
I didn't have the energy to resist, not against Shepard. I sighed, scooping up my water bottle and made my way to the elevator. By the time I'd entered and turned around, Shepard had already started working over James's punching bag, her body moving fluidly as she threw her punches.
The doors closed, cutting off my view of her and I slumped against the cold wall. My sports bra and yoga pants offered no protection from the metal, but I didn't care. I closed my eyes, listening to the silence that even EDI didn't interrupt. Times like this freaked me out, I hated being alone; being alone gave me time to think. I began to question, thinking about the reactions of my friends and how almost . . . robotic they seemed sometimes, especially when I had an 'Amiee moment'.
It's like they're programed to miss it, or to accept it. I mean, it's a game, yeah, but think about it, shouldn't they at least question? Is this some kind of contingency built in just in case? Why do I speak Prothean? Is it another glitch? Why the hell do I keep finding the notes to myself? Am I going crazy? What the hell is wrong with me?
My inner musing halted when I felt warm hands on my cheeks. I opened my eyes to meet a pair of dark, chocolate ones. "James?"
"Mi Muñeca bonita, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and husky. His thumbs ran over my cheeks, wiping away the tears I didn't know I'd cried. He pulled me into his arms, his hands on my lower back. "Por favor, no llores."
I let him hold me for a moment, soaking up the comfort he offered. "I think we're holding the elevator up," I sniffed, wiping my eyes.
He shook his head, a soft huff of breath leaving him. "I was coming to get you. I noticed you've been feelin' down 'n' thought I'd do somethin' special for you," he said, his voice thick. He scooped me up, settling me into his arms and carried me towards the observation room.
"James, I can walk," I protested, a reluctant smile tugging the corner of my mouth up.
James didn't answer, just entered the room and asked EDI to lock it behind us. He dimmed the light, juggling me slightly to use his hand on the switch, before setting me down. Our lips met, both reaching to one another without the need to say a word.
His tongue met mine, the taste of him making me dizzy as he pulled me closer. "Te quiero tus labios," he whispered against my lips. His large hands framed my face, keeping me a willing prisoner.
I held his hips, using them for support as my legs felt weak and I began to shake. My heart raced, the heat of him warming me to the core. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead to mine, his eyes closed. A stream of breathless spanish left him, words I didn't understand, but held to my heart anyway, because they were his.
I pulled back and looked up, my eyes half-mast, my lips tingling. "I need a translator," I whispered. "I love your language, but I want to know what you're saying to me." I ran my hands up his arms, caressing his silky-smooth skin.
"Later," he breathed. His lips met mine and heat cascaded through me, making me reach for more, only to moan as he stopped to whisper in my ear. "First, I have a surprise." He moved aside, showing me a nest of blankets and pillows spread out in front of the huge window.
"James?" I stammered, blushing crimson. I let him take my hand, leading me to the makeshift bed. My teeth worried my lip, nerves making the hair on my arms stand on end. Don't panic . . .. Please, don't freak out, I chanted in my head. I trusted James, but intimacy . . . we'd never exactly been friends.
"Muñeca," he purred, pulling me down into his arms, my back to his chest. "I want to make you feel good, but I'm no good with words. I am good with my hands though, and I thought-" He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted to give you a massage, then hold you through the night. I can't stand to hear you cryin' alone anymore." His lips brushed my ear making me shiver.
His hands moved up my arms, kneading in small circles, almost as if testing or asking permission. I nodded, feeling his slight moan of approval ripple through my back. He shifted, lying me on my front and unhooking my bra. He brushed my hair aside, before disappearing for a second. I didn't have long enough to tense before he came back, kneeling beside me, his hands returning to my skin.
"This has lavender, spearmint and sandalwood in it," he told me, running slow sweeps of his palms up either side of my spine. "It'll help you relax."
The scents filled the room, assailing my nose and making me moan. The mix of his skin on mine, the pressure of his fingers and the smell sent waves of languorous pleasure into every fiber of my being. I moaned, husky and broken, as I sank into the sensation; I felt like I floated in a cloud of feathers, each one cradling and caressing my body.
He chuckled. "Mi mujer hermosa," he whispered. "My beautiful woman."He increased the pressure and I almost purred, turning into melted butter. I let out a small chuckle, picturing myself like a cat having its belly rubbed, sprawled out without shame for fuss. Once he'd spread the oil, he kneaded my muscles, working the knots until I couldn't even think straight anymore.
I could have sprawled there for hours, letting him ease my worries away, but the burning ball of desire in my chest rose with each sweep of his hands, making it difficult to even breathe. I tried to hold it back, but I was a slave to my need and I couldn't help but roll over. For him, I felt no shame, I felt only the need to touch him as he touched me, to show him how much he meant to me.
His eyes moved over my body like the rays of the midsummer sun, warming me, setting every nerve on fire with the desire and love in that scrutiny. I held out my hands, but he didn't take them, instead he tugged off his shirt pulling me into his arms to straddle his lap.
"This is at your pace, Muñeca. You tell me how fast and how far," he whispered, his hands carding into my hair and cupping my head. "I promise, if you want me to stop, I will."
I shifted a little, settling more comfortably on his lap as my thighs tightened around his hips. I leaned down, kissing him softly, learning his lips as if for the first time. My hands roamed his chest, dancing over the firm skin, tracing the sweeps and dips of his muscles until he growled, impatience and need coloring the desperate sound. We panted, our lips inches apart, his breath fanning my cheek. I lifted into him, nipping his bottom lip gently, grinning a sly, wicked little grin as I felt his body respond.
"You make me want so much," I whispered, rocking my hips against his. "Touch me." The friction sent another lick of heat through me, and I cried out as his hands cupped my breasts, teasing the soft flesh until the tips begged for his touch. "Please." The words ripped from me as his mouth dipped down to capture the peak between his lips.
He let his hands wander freely, tracing my waist first before testing the curve of my hips with his palms. My ribs and stomach received the same attention, not a single inch left without the searing warmth trailing behind his sinful hands. My hands rooted to his shoulders, clinging to their strength as his hands tossed me into a stormy sea of sensation. The delicious friction of skin on skin, the heady swells of passion, the thundering of my own heart threatened to wash me away, and so I held tight to him. My safe harbour.
I wanted more, but couldn't speak, so I let my fingers spear into his mohawk, tugging his mouth to mine, telling him with my tongue how much I needed him. Our clothes fell to impatient fingers, leaving us bare to one another, no barriers, no shields, nothing but each other. I adored his body with my hands and mouth, he worshipped mine with his, heat rising with every kiss or touch exchanged.
James whispered words of encouragement in both his language and my own, praising me until I felt no insecurity, fear or doubt. His dark eyes meeting mine, he rose above me, his arms taking his weight. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice tight, strained and gravely.
"Yes." The words came without hesitation, and as we joined, I knew this man had my heart, body and soul. With him, in that single moment of star-like light, I realized that this had been what I felt missing, this connection, this second in time where another soul joined with mine. I needed that feeling of completion, and James had given it to me, selflessly, honestly and without reservation.
His lips met mine as we moved in unison. "Te amo, con todo mi corazon y el alma," he whispered against them, the words reaching into my heart and claiming my soul.
"I love you too."
I had found my missing piece.