Miranda hardly had the chance to lock the door to the commander's cabin behind her before Shepard was on her. She was still facing the control panel when strong hands fell on her hips, sliding around to trace the lines of her abdomen, and she gasped.
"Impatient," she said, meaning for it to sound scolding, but she was so flustered already that it broke in the middle.
Shepard's nose found the side of her neck and trailed up to her ear, leaving a swath of gooseflesh in its wake. The affliction only intensified when Shepard breathed right against her skin, low and soft, "I missed you."
"I saw you five minutes ago," Miranda pointed out, stifling a groan. She'd expected Shepard to be forward, but she hadn't expected this. The commander's hands, her mouth, sparked flames wherever they passed. It might not even take sex to push her over the edge at this rate.
As if she could read Miranda's mind, Shepard chose that moment to press a hot, lingering kiss to the hollow behind her jaw and whisper, "Exactly."
Miranda gripped Shepard's wrists, desperate for some chance to get a handle on the situation. "Well, I'm here now," she shot back more shakily than she would have liked.
"And I've got you all to myself," Shepard agreed, mouthing over Miranda's pulse point, then the muscle of her neck.
Miranda didn't get a chance to reply before Shepard's hands were on her hips again, pulling her around so her back was to the door and her front was flush to the commander's. She was a little mollified to find that Shepard was breathing as hard as she was, each inhale pressing into her own chest, each exhale heating the air between them until it was scorching. Like this, Miranda finally had the opportunity to reciprocate, winding her hands around Shepard's shoulders and pulling her in. The commander sank readily into the kiss.
They had kissed a few times since Shepard's return from the Bahak system, during quiet moments in the lounge or Miranda's office, but it had never been like this. It had never been this free, this thorough, without concern for who might walk in and interrupt. This time, they had all night.
This time, Miranda set the pace to something slow and deep, and Shepard submitted even though they could both feel the tension singing through her muscles. Because to her, this was not just a fling. This was not just a one-time affair to blow off steam and move on. Miranda wanted to show Shepard that this was different, this was more than anything she'd had in the past, even if she could not quite voice it aloud.
She ran one hand up from Shepard's shoulder to her face, cradling her cheek. The other she buried in short red hair and pulled, and finally it was the commander's turn to gasp in surprise. Miranda took the chance to press her advantage, driving the kiss even deeper until Shepard's gasp turned into a full-throated groan and she suddenly didn't feel like going so slow anymore.
Shepard seemed of the same mind, dragging her hands down from Miranda's hips to her ass, then her thighs. Then, suddenly, she set her stance and lifted, and Miranda's hands flew back to the commander's shoulders as she found nothing behind her but air.
"Shepard," she gasped, caught off guard.
The commander paused. "This okay?"
"Yes." Miranda's reply was instant. She hadn't meant to make Shepard stop; she wanted anything but that. She leaned down to capture her lips again, saying into her mouth, "God, yes, Shepard." This angle was even better, if anything. The commander had to crane her neck to return her kiss, and her torso was deliciously firm between Miranda's legs.
Shepard didn't reply except to squeeze her thighs fondly and kiss her harder, and Miranda had no complaints. She was so caught up in the feeling, in fact, that she did not notice Shepard turning them around until her back was not pressed to the metal of the door but cool glass instead.
Shepard let a portion of Miranda's weight lean back against the fish tank and pulled away to look at her. Miranda had no idea what the commander must be seeing, but she was well rewarded with the image of the redheaded woman cast in an ethereal blue glow, her skin radiant beneath the light. The shadows of passing fish flitted their way across her cheekbones, and Miranda traced them with her fingers.
For a moment Shepard looked like she was going to say something, but then she blinked and the instant passed. Instead she just smiled at Miranda, private and sincere and so, so tender. Miranda was too shell-shocked to return it, but she hoped her touch would suffice.
Then Shepard leaned in again, and it was not to kiss her, but to nose at her neck instead. It wasn't until Miranda heard a metallic pop at her throat that she realized Shepard had undone her collar—with her teeth. And she didn't stop there, either. As Miranda clung to her shoulders and tried to think straight, the commander took her zipper in her mouth and began to pull one slow link at a time, the warmth of her breath marking her passage down Miranda's body. She made it past the ridge of her collarbones, then the expanse of her sternum. Between her breasts she stopped.
And laughed.
"What?" Miranda said, a little snappishly. What could possibly be funny at a time like this? What could possibly be more riveting than the fact that Shepard was undressing her against a fish tank?
Shepard nodded to her chest and replied, "That's definitely not regulation."
Miranda glanced down to see what the hell she was talking about and registered that—ah, right—she was wearing her laciest lingerie. "Perks of operating outside the Alliance," she quipped. And she'd had to prepare for the occasion, after all.
Shepard chuckled again and nuzzled into her chest. "I'm not complaining," she murmured against the skin there. Then she stopped speaking in favor of taking Miranda's zipper in her teeth again and resuming her descent. She did not get very far, however, before breaking off with a discontented groan.
"Problem?" Miranda asked smugly, relishing the chance to turn the tables on the commander for once.
"Even I don't bend that way," Shepard grumbled with a glare at the half-done zipper. "Mind giving me a hand?"
Miranda had two hands free, in fact, but she was much more interested in carding them through the commander's thick red hair than sparing one for her zipper. "I think not," she returned haughtily. "It's much more enjoyable to watch you embarrass yourself." Truly, she was enjoying this. The camaraderie; the comfort they shared. Intimacy had never been anything but quick and clinical before. With Shepard, it had the potential to be—more. Meaningful. A step towards closeness rather than a reason to run. She wasn't anxious to make it end so soon.
But Shepard was flushed and impatient and she was not known to let things get in her way. "Oh, so that's how you want to play?" she challenged, and her hands tightened on Miranda's legs to keep her steady as she stepped away from the fish tank. She took another step, and another, and Miranda didn't have to be a genetically engineered genius to figure out where Shepard was headed.
The breath still rushed from her lungs when Shepard dropped her onto the mattress.
"Just as a disclaimer," the redhead murmured as she crawled on top, dragging heated kisses over the expanse of Miranda's half-bare torso, "I'm really out of practice."
Amidst the heat; the excitement; the pounding of her heart and other places, Miranda found the wherewithal to laugh. She hooked her leg over Shepard's hip, molding them together, and felt safe enough to reply, "Don't worry. So am I."
…
