Author's Note – I'm tweaking as I go, but updates to this one should be pretty quick until I get to where I hit my block. This one has a lot more M-rated content than my usual fare, but there's enough plot tying it together that it doesn't quite qualify as PWP.
Thanks to all who have read, faved & followed, with special shout-outs to KalenCaelli, ANCIENT WARRIOR, & TheWickedTruth89!
"Kiss me," Miranda breathed and was rewarded with a soft, almost chaste touch, a gentle brush of lips that vanished, then returned. Hands framed her face reverently as Evan kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids with a tenderness that completed her undoing. The desire that she had spent so long telling herself that she couldn't possibly be feeling surged up to overcome years of carefully constructed restraints, and her fingers tangled in the blonde curls, pulling Evan's mouth back to hers. The needful sound that escaped her was answered by a soft growl from Shepard, and suddenly the Commander was pressing forward, the scant space between their bodies vanishing entirely, hands wandering, lips and tongues meeting in a brief fight for dominance before Miranda surrendered, letting Evan claim her mouth in a heated, hungry and dizzyingly thorough kiss.
A strong thigh nudged between her legs, pressing against the throbbing heat at her core, and when her hips rocked in instinctive response, the friction -
"Bed," she gasped out, not quite breaking the kiss. "Now." She was trying to make it sound like a command, but it felt like a plea, because her body was careening toward a fever pitch, and if that leg kept rubbing against her, she was going to come, and she didn't want to, not yet, because it might be over once she did, and she didn't want this to ever end.
Shepard's hands slipped beneath her thighs and lifted, bearing her weight without effort; she wrapped her legs around the Commander's waist, twined her arms about her neck and threw herself back into the kiss as Shepard carried her to the bed. She didn't let go, pulling Evan down on top of her, relishing the weight pinning her to the mattress, the heat that raced across her skin when Evan's lips trailed down her throat, the tip of her tongue tracing the line of Miranda's racing pulse, but then Evan was slipping a hand between them and down, cupping her, and even through her suit, it was enough to send her toward the edge again.
"Your clothes. Off," she groaned, pushing on Shepard's shoulders. "I want to watch you," she managed to add in response to the questioning look she received.
There wasn't an ounce of flirt in the girl; she pulled off her clothes like she was stripping down in a locker room, but the way her eyes never left Miranda's face and the hungry, wondering look in them had the Cerberus operative's breath catching in her chest. She was used to people staring at her breasts, her ass; she'd made an art out of getting people to focus on her looks and forget about her intelligence and training. She'd caught Evan checking her out a few times, and the soldier had clearly approved of what she saw, but it had never been her primary focus, and Evan had never underestimated her.
"What?" Shepard wanted to know, standing there balanced on one foot, trying to pull off the sock that was the last piece of clothing on her body, a faintly worried expression on her face, as though she thought Miranda might have changed her mind.
"Nothing." Miranda shook her head, feeling an affectionate smile curving her lips, even as her eyes roamed over Evan, admiring her own work: trim and athletic, the tanned skin crisscrossed by the scars that she refused to let Dr. Chakwas erase. Memories, she called them, and she could recall the circumstances behind every one, including the names of companions who hadn't survived. The story of a life, written on flesh in a way more poignant than Jack's tattoos could ever be. "Come here." She stretched out her hand, and Evan took it, allowing herself to be drawn back onto the bed.
"Now what?" she wanted to know, her fingers toying with the neckline of Miranda's bodysuit, the gleam in her eyes suggesting that she had her own ideas if Miranda couldn't think of anything.
Miranda pulled her down into another kiss, letting her hands roam along her lover's strong arms, across her shoulders, down her back, over her hips and ass, feeling the scars beneath her fingertips, the play of the underlying muscles as Evan moved on top of her, nipping at her lower lip and chin, the heat of her breath washing over Miranda's skin. She let her nails rake lightly along Evan's back, felt those lean hips roll against her in response, and then Shepard's mouth was back on hers, tongue slipping into her mouth in a velvet assault that heated up quickly, sending her control skating back toward a razor's edge.
She broke the kiss, panting. "My clothes," she managed. "Take them off me."
Evan nodded. "Fast … or slow?" she asked, her fingers at the top of the seam that secured the bodysuit and a barely-leashed intensity in her eyes that had heat pooling low in Miranda's belly.
"Slowly," she ordered. "Take your time." Her eyes slipped closed as Evan's lips found her neck, fingers releasing the magnetic catch on the seam. She peeled the suit away bit by bit, mouth and fingers exploring every inch of exposed skin with an intensity that had Miranda writhing beneath her before she'd gotten both arms free. She kissed her way down each arm, eyes locked on Miranda's as she drew each finger into her mouth, teeth grazing, tongue swirling, pressing a final kiss into the center of each palm before working her way back up, following the line of a collarbone to the hollow at the base of Miranda's throat.
She drew a slow breath when the black lace of the bra was exposed, her eyes darkening with desire. "Nice," she murmured approvingly.
"Nothing but the best," Miranda quipped, then gasped as Shepard bit lightly at a nipple through the lace, fingers teasing beneath the edges of the lingerie before moving away. "God, Shepard!" Her fingers tangled into the blonde hair, trying to pull her closer, but Evan ducked away with a chuckle.
"You said slowly," she reminded her, leaving the bra in place and drawing the bodysuit down to her waist, lips trailing fire over her stomach, tongue swirling patterns against the skin, and Miranda's hips were rocking against her in a helpless reflex, fingers fisting in the sheets. "And why am I not surprised that they match?" she remarked when the black lace underwear were revealed. Miranda's retort died on her lips as Evan nuzzled along the crest of her hipbone, a single finger slipping just under the waistband and following it around before pulling the suit over her hips and down. She gasped when two fingers dipped between her legs, stroking a teasing path against the lace before withdrawing.
"So wet," Evan breathed, raising the fingers to her mouth and running her tongue along them, her eyes back on Miranda's face. "Should I hurry?"
"No," she said, shaking her head and wondering why, when she was the one giving the orders, that it felt like Evan was the one in control. Miranda had always orchestrated her sexual encounters, taking what she required for her own satisfaction, giving as little as was necessary for the gratification of her partners, letting them think they were running things. Evan was breaking her rules in this, as she had been since the moment she had opened her eyes in the lab, but right now, at what could well be the end of all things, all Miranda cared about was drawing this moment out as long as possible, leaving no time afterward for the regrets that felt inevitable.
Green eyes regarded her for a long moment, hunger, amusement and that burning intensity swirling in her gaze before Evan nodded slowly and returned to her work, pulling off Miranda's boots with exquisite care, then drawing the suit down her legs and – finally – off.
Fingers whispering a delicate path back up her legs, soft kisses trailed against her skin, the feel of the lace being drawn down and off, and then hands at her waist, coaxing her into turning onto her side. Evan sliding behind her, the heat of skin on skin drawing a moan from her lips. Hands behind her, releasing the fastening of the bra, pushing the straps over her shoulders and off, sliding down and around and up to cup her breasts, kneading and pinching; hips rocking against her from behind; a hot mouth at her neck, licking, sucking, nipping; strong legs twining around hers, spreading her wide as one hand left her breast and swept downward over her stomach, then lower. She let her head fall back against Evan's shoulder, panting cries escaping her before she found her voice.
"Evan, yes … God, yes! Please … please..."
Fingers pressed into her: two, then three, filling her deliciously as they stroked slow and deep. She rocked her hips to take each thrust deeper still, shuddering when a deftly curled finger found the center of her pleasure. Her rhythm faltered as she tried to stem the rising urgency that was again threatening to overwhelm her.
"Let go, Miri." Shepard's husky whisper in her ear, tongue curling along the shell, teeth grazing the lobe. She shook her head mutely, hips still moving to match Evan's ministrations, reveling in the sensation, terrified of what lay beyond.
Shepard's arms and legs tightened into a tender prison, and the motion of her hand became relentless, purposeful, each thrust sweeping over that spot deep inside as her thumb found Miranda's clit, working it in tight circles while her hips ground against Miranda's ass. "Let go," she repeated, the breathless words more plea than command. "I've got you, just let go, let me feel you come for me, come for me, Miri!"
The impassioned entreaty seared through the fraying remnants of Miranda's control, and she screamed Evan's name as her climax shattered her, left her writhing helplessly in Shepard's arms as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled through her. Evan was relentlessly thorough, her body cradling Miranda's while her fingers kept thrusting, stroking, pushing her higher and higher, her voice whispering endearments and reassurance as Miranda arched and bucked and cried out, anchoring her even as the storm she had incited consumed the Cerberus operative, leaving her sweat-drenched and trembling in its wake.
Gentle hands gliding over her skin, soft kisses against her neck and shoulders, easing her back down, guiding her onto her back, and then a weight and warmth that she never wanted to be without again settling over her.
"Don't cry." She opened her eyes, meeting Evan's worried gaze as her lover brushed a finger along the curve of her cheek, catching the tears that she hadn't even realized were falling. "Please don't cry."
"I can't do this!" she said hoarsely, watching the worry in Evan's face give way to confusion and hurt. "You can't do this!"
"What -" she started, but Miranda twisted, pinning the taller woman beneath her, straddling her hips and pressing her shoulders to the mattress.
"You can't do this to me!" she said fiercely, tears still spilling from her eyes. "You can't make me -" she broke off, her mouth working soundlessly, the words caught in her throat. "And then just go off and get yourself killed. You can't."
Evan studied her in silence for a long moment, comprehension washing over her features, then squirmed from under the press of Miranda's hands, propping herself up on one hand and reaching the other up to touch Miranda's face with exquisite gentleness, brushing the damp hair away from her cheek and waiting until the brimming blue eyes met hers.
"I guess I'll just have to live, then," she said softly. "Won't I?"
Miranda stared down at Evan, relief and terror fighting for possession of her faculties, with a healthy dose of confusion adding to the inner chaos. She knew a promise when she heard one, and without exception, promises made to her were broken sooner or later. But Evan Shepard didn't break promises; whether a sister saved or a foe killed, what she promised, she delivered, and the notion of both of them surviving this suicide mission suddenly seemed like more than a razor slim chance … which opened up a whole new panorama of possibility and risk.
The urge to flee was back and stronger than ever. This was the point in all her other sexual encounters at which she gathered up her clothes, dressed and departed. She never stayed once her needs were satisfied, never cuddled or engaged in chitchat with the other person. Never wanted to. She had no idea what to do now, but Evan seemed to have plans of her own, if the arm that had settled possessively around her waist and the lips trailing pure sensation along her neck were any indication. Those plans definitely didn't seem to include Miranda's departure, and renewed arousal joined the churn of emotions.
That at least offered another sort of escape, a way to drown out the rest. Capturing Evan's face in her hands, she kissed the other woman fiercely, then pressed her back onto the mattress, suddenly determined to find and kiss every scar on the body beneath her. Evan submitted, green eyes watching her briefly before slipping closed as a rumbling groan rose from her chest when Miranda's lips found the pale line just below her left ear, where a piece of flying shrapnel on Virmire had taken off the very tip of the ear lobe. Then moved to her forehead, just above her right eyebrow, where a flying bottle had shattered against her skull during a bar fight right before her unit shipped out to Akuze. Another closer to the center, where she'd split her head open head-butting Grunt into obedience.
Down, lips brushing over the nose that had been broken and reset at least twice,evading Evan's questing mouth, instead kissing the mark on her chin received during hand-to-hand combat in N7 training. Lower: the bullet wound in the right shoulder, the knife slash across the upper chest from a monomolecular blade wielded by a thug on Omega. She found herself briefly distracted when she reached the level of Evan's breasts: not so full as her own, they were nonetheless perfectly proportioned to the commander's trim body and, judging from the way Evan was suddenly arching and gasping beneath her, exquisitely sensitive.
She toyed briefly with one taut nipple, then the other, before resuming her quest and sliding a bit lower to find the spot where a geth sniper on Therum had scored a line along her ribcage. Shepard stiffened suddenly, an odd wheezing sound escaping her, and Miranda froze, the tip of her tongue barely touching the line of the scar. For a moment, she thought that Evan was laughing at her, but a quick glance at the commander's strained expression suggested a different explanation.
"Are you ticklish?"
"No," Evan replied quickly. Too quickly, and when Miranda nuzzled the spot again, the wheeze rose to an undignified squawk.
"Stop that!"
The sensation in Miranda's chest was one that she couldn't recall feeling before, but the instructions it was giving her were quite clear, and an evil chuckle escaped her as she attacked the vulnerable area with her fingers. Evan thrashed beneath her, but not so vigorously as to throw her off, and the protests soon dissolved into helpless laughter that amazed Miranda. She'd never heard Shepard laugh like this. Enthralled, she went in search of other ticklish spots, and was making quite satisfactory progress when Evan's fingers unexpectedly found a spot behind her knee that she'd never known was there and turned the issue into a two-way contest of groping and dodging, thrashing and – God - laughing as she had never laughed.
Play shifted to passion in an instant; one moment they were tickling, the next they were kissing hungrily, hands moving with different purpose, touches that seconds earlier had evoked uncontrolled mirth now sparked heat and need and oh, god, right there, don't stop!
They twined together, skin sliding on skin, Miranda's scar hunt forgotten in the sudden flare of urgency, Evan's fingers pressing into her, slowly at first, then faster, harder, the roll of her hips intensifying the movement.
Yes...yes...yes... Her lips moved soundlessly as she rode each thrust, feeling the tension coiling ever tighter. She slid one hand over the flat plane of Evan's belly and between her legs, her fingers slipping into her lover, mirroring her motions, hearing Evan's groan of approval, feeling the intensity feeding and growing. Green eyes burned into her, drinking her in, making her feel unbearably exposed, and she shut her own eyes, trying to focus solely on sensation...
"Look at me."
She couldn't deny that breathless request, opened her eyes, and the sight of Evan beneath her, face damp with sweat and rapt with rising pleasure, was enough to send her sliding toward the edge.
"Not yet," Evan whispered, the cadence of her fingers slowing, drawing her back, a smile touching the commander's lips at her frustrated whimper. "Not yet, baby. Together."
Together. Miranda understood her. She'd reached climax at the same time as her partner on occasion before, but it had always been pure happenstance, nothing actively sought. The hungry look in Evan's eyes as she spoke, the unexpected endearment, had anticipation shivering down Miranda's spine, and she threw herself into the challenge wholeheartedly, catching her bottom lip in her teeth as she tried to gauge Evan's level of arousal, match it to her own...
Evan's laugh was gentle, fingers weaving into her hair, drawing her down. "You're thinking too much, Miss Lawson," she teased, her breath warm on Miranda's neck as she found the pulse point and nipped along it. "I've got you, just trust me and let go."
As simple as that? She wanted to retort, to say as much, but then Evan was doing things with her mouth and hands and hips that made thinking all but impossible, let alone talking. Suddenly it was as simple as that, with deft touches pushing her back toward the precipice while increasingly urgent whispers guided her own efforts, their voices tumbling together in the silence of the room.
That's it, right there, like that, just like that, so close, so good, so damn good, oh God Evan, coming Miri, with me, with me now!
She buried her face against Evan's shoulder, gasping and quaking, feeling Evan arching beneath her, muscles tightening around her fingers in rolling waves, hearing her name falling from the commander's lips over and over, holding on tight, her inside Evan, Evan inside her, moving together in a fevered synchrony as pleasure crested higher and higher still, until she collapsed against Evan with a final shudder.
She wasn't sure how long it took until she found the strength to lift her head, but when she did, she found green eyes regarding her with a tenderness that took her breath away.
"That was -"
"Incredible," Evan finished for her. "Beyond incredible." Her fingers came up, tracing Miranda's cheek, the line of her jaw, her lips, that wondering expression back on her face. "Beyond anything I ever imagined."
"Been imagining this, have you, Commander?" Miranda quipped, trying to be flippant, but while Evan smiled at her words, the green eyes watched her with a serious intensity that made her heart do a nervous flip-flop in her chest.
"Longer than you'll ever know," Evan replied softly, capturing Miranda's hand and guiding it to the scar below her ear, then to the one on her chin, then to the knife scar on her chest, flattening Miranda's hand over it and covering it with her own. "I never did thank you," she went on, "for not getting rid of these."
"They were important to you." Miranda had read that in Evan's psych profile, hadn't understood it at the time, but she'd been under strict orders not to do anything that might alter Shepard in any way unless it was vital to the resurrection process. It had seemed like such a minor detail then, and she felt a wave of guilt for the gratitude that felt undeserved. "It really wasn't my -"
A finger on her lips silenced her attempted explanation, and the kiss, slow and deep, drove it away completely. The fingers that were still within her flexed, withdrawing slightly, then pressing forward in a gentle thrust, and her hips twitched in a startled response.
She broke the kiss, staring at Evan in confusion. "Again?" she asked breathlessly. Her body, which had felt utterly sated only seconds before, was already starting to respond, heat prickling over her skin, a rising pressure low in her belly that could only be assuaged by rocking against Evan's hand. But how much time did they have? Shouldn't they be resting -
"Ah-ah." Evan stopped her as she began to turn her head, looking for the clock. "We've got time, and I don't plan to spend it sleeping, at least, not yet." A quick twist reversed their positions, the weight of her pushing her fingers deeper for an instant before she withdrew them and licked them clean, her eyes never leaving Miranda's face. "So yes, again." She dipped her head for a kiss, allowing Miranda to taste herself briefly before shifting, moving lower. "And again." A brief pause at the hollow at the base of the throat before moving on, kissing along the slope of a breast until her mouth covered a nipple, sucking it to a hard peak while a strong hand kneaded the other, and Miranda was panting, her head thrown back, fingers gripping Evan's hair. "And again." The heat of her breath gusting over damp skin, teeth grazing against achingly sensitive skin, her husky promise filling Miranda's ears:
"We're not even close to done yet."