She clings to his side, her fingers stroking his ear, his neck, tangling in his hair. The scent of her is what overwhelms him, really, filling him up; the fragrances that cling to her hair and her scarred throat overwhelming his senses. Her mouth is experienced in a way his isn't, all plumped lips and bold tongue. At first he won't let her in, but she catches his full lower lip between her teeth, bites down so it pinches, and he surrenders with a little agonized sigh.
She sets the pace since he's too overwhelmed to touch her, to slip his hand around her waist, to stroke her lower back, but her hands are demanding and seemingly everywhere, clenching in his hair, his shirt, and her mouth goes to his neck, sucking hard; his ear, to run her wet teeth along the outer ridge there. He's getting hard, the front of his striped flannel pyjamas starting to tighten, and he angles his hips away from her. And when she sits up, slides a knee over his hips to straddle him, he scoots back. "Jane. Janey, sweetheart –"
He raises his hands to her shoulders but she scares away. He drops them, struggling out from under her with some effort, opening the distance between them and pulling his knees up to hide his shame from her. Too little, too late. He looks at her. Her forehead is shining and her cheeks are prettily pink. Making eye contact is almost too stimulating, like touching an electric fence, but somehow he manages to keep his gaze up.
Her gaze is long and steady and she raises up over him, puts her hands on his knees, and gently pushes down, straightening him out before her on the couch. She crawls up the length of him, settles down, straddling him just across his thighs, so when she leans down to nose into the open placket of his shirt, he is pressing into her firm belly. She squirms on top of him, braced with her elbows, and opens his mouth beneath hers.
He's hyper-aware of every little exquisite move of her body over his, her palms kneading his chest, her thighs tense and bracketing him, her hips doing a semi-conscious grind into his, and he doesn't know what to do with himself. His hands are claws for her but he keeps them stiff at his sides until she trails her fingers up his rippling ribcage, encouraging his hands above his head, he tongue invading his mouth all the while.
She breaks for a moment, pinning him like that, her fingers tight around his wrists. He's not sure what he sees in her face, but he's stunned, actually a bit dazed, jaw slack. She tightens her grip and the strength of it makes him squirm beneath her and hiss through his teeth. His cheeks a raw pink.
"We…we shouldn't." He starts as he tries to remember why not. Their fuzzy familal status, Liara, his precarious freedom. Words don't even fully form in his mind before they are dispelled by the press of her lips on his.
She straightens up as she looks intensely at him, as if trying to keep him in place through the weight of her gaze alone.
"It's okay. I promise." Her tone is gentle and almost pleading, like she expects him to break apart if her words are too rough.
Then, very deliberately, her green eyes pointed at his, she rolls her hips. It drags a groan from deep in his chest, and the next hitch of her hips knocks his head back, baring his throat to her.
She releases his wrists one finger at a time, and he keeps them tight above his head as she sits up on him. His eyes flicker open to see her going for the hem of his shirt, and his only protest is to sink his teeth into his lower lip as she slips her hands under and rolls it up over his chest. He crunches up and lets her pull the shirt off over his head and when he flops back down her mouth is already kissing down his stomach.
Her nose finds the groove of his iliac furrow high on his waist, and then follows the wet drag of her lip, her hot pointed tongue. His hands claw into the cushions, muscles in his arms flickering erratically as he watches her dark red head move over his lower belly.
When she drags her face down to rub against him he startles. She nuzzles into him, smelling the heavy salt heat of him, and for a suspended moment he feels the horrible dagger-twist of guilt. Family doesn't do this, he knows it instinctively, yet he doesn't know how to put stop the situation without hurting her deeply, the mere possibility of destroying the intimacy they had built makes him shudder.
He tries to say stop but nothing comes out. A queer spell paralyzes his tongue.
His words failed him, but not his reflexes.
As she starts to pull his waistband gently down, his hands snap into action grabbing hers and holding them in place.
Her eyes lock on to his, first confused then a slight panic appearing as she tries again and his hands hold firm.
She makes a short, impatient noise as she lets go of the hem of his pants, her perfect mouth twisting into a frown, and he wriggles, biting his lip. He can't tell her what he wants, he doesn't know it himself, he can barely form a coherent thought. Moments pass and the silence is fraying his nerves, so finally he puts his hands on the sides of her head, pulling her face up to his again, gently, trying to reassure her with a trembling smile.
He wants to pull her up and kiss her senseless. She lifts her face and at her look, her high flush and the red slickness of her mouth, he feels his heart is about to burst at how beautiful she is.
"Janey, it's okay," he tries to tell her, stroking down her bare arms, but she rips away from him, eyes watering, tumbling off the couch and pounding to the bathroom. The door shuts. Behind the closed door and the roaring fan he can occasionally hear a gasping sob. He grimaces, teeth agony-bright in the fireside gloom, and crushes his knuckles against his forehead.
He drags his hands down his sweat-shiny face. He can't just leave her in the bathroom like that and anyway what he really wants is to gather her up in his arms and nuzzle into her hair and thrill in the electric feel of her skin on his and he wants it so bad he knows he's actually shaking with it. But he can already feel her pulling away from him.
He goes to her door, knocks a couple of times. "Janey, sweetheart, please," he says, but she doesn't answer and she refuses to open the door. "Janey, please. I want to – I need…."
After a moment the door slides open. Her hair's a mess where his hands had twisted in it, and her freckles stand out bright against her pale skin.
"What do you need?" she spits at him. She takes a step forward. "What do you – need?" she says again. Jams the heel of her palm against his bare chest. He jolts back and the backs of his legs bump up against the couch.
"I need you," he says, hands up, trembling in the empty air. "I mean," he says, swallowing, "I need to be – whatever you want me to be."
She folds her arms against her stomach. Suddenly he sees how scared she is, how unsure of herself, how angry, and John bites his lip, biting back everything he feels he should say to her. She tips her head forward so her red hair half-hides her face.
"Sit down," she tells him quietly, and he perches. He reaches out for her with a shaking hand but she shies away and says "Don't touch me. I'll touch you."
"You – you don't have to do it like this," he tells her, voice cracking. Licks his lips. He wants to tell her he's at her mercy, no matter how she does it. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it. I'll do anything y-you want." He can still feel the pinch of her suck marks on the sensitive skin of his neck and he presses his lips together, waiting.
She tilts her head at him, considering. Anything. Moves forward between his legs so he has to tilt back to look at her.
"I want you to come with me to my bed and fuck me," she says softly, enunciating perfectly.
Author's Note: Embarrassingly, I literally forgot I wrote this. I stumbled on my own work while searching for F!Shep and M!Shep fics. Figured I should log in and give these two a little more than a kiss after all that buildup.
A more explicit version of this chapter will be posted on AO3, same fic and author name. I'm sorry for the extra work to read the chapter as I originally intended it but ff does not allow smut and I feel like I'm already dancing close to the edge as it is.