The Normandy was docked at the Citadel again, which meant he was back at Purgatory with the rest of the grunts, which also meant he was back to drinking to help take his mind off his CO. Until she walked in, anyway. Shepard's gaze found him almost instantly. Don't read into it, pendejo. He was at his usual spot at the end of the lower-floor bar. It wasn't exactly hard to find him.

'Hey, Commander,' one of his drinking buddies bellowed over the music, waving at her. 'Come have a drink with us.'

She smiled and shook her head, pointing to a corner booth in the shadows. James squinted against the strobe lights. It was that potty-mouth loca from Grissom Academy. Jack had an army of empty glasses and bottles on her table but she was still upright and lounging against the back of the couch, reading off her omnitool.

'Next time, but you're buying,' another marine yelled and Shepard laughed and nodded.

He watched her plop down next to Jack, who offered her one of the drinks on the table. Guess not all of them were empty.

James turned his back on them. He was not going to spend his entire night watching Shepard from a distance like some pining fanboy. He let himself get caught up in the easy conversation of Alliance soldiers trying to forget there was a war going on. When he did turn back, it was only to follow people to the dance floor on the upper level. He locked eyes with Shepard once again. She sprawled across her booth, her arm resting on the back of the booth seat and a drink in her hand. Whatever that amber liquid was, it sloshed around the glass as she swirled it, contemplative look still on him. Jack said something that James couldn't lipread in the gloom. Shepard laughed and shook her head, breaking their stare.

He hurried up the stairs after his friends. The sweet buzz of tequila wanted him to go sit next to Shepard and see what alcohol she tasted of. Another shot or two and he would've done it. Perhaps that was enough drinking, at least until she was gone.

He closed his eyes and focused on the pumping music instead, trying to get the melody to crowd out the idea of making out with his CO. A hand caught his hip. For a wild second he thought he'd summoned Shepard there with his brain, but when he focused on who exactly was in front of him it was an asari who was wearing… not much of anything, really. He grinned at her as she pressed closer. Perhaps this was what he needed—a pretty face and nice tits to look down at. Maybe he was so hard up for Shepard because he just needed a good lay. It'd been a while since he'd gone home with someone.

The plan was right on track when, a few songs later, the asari asked with an unsubtle flick of warm fingers under his shirt if he wanted to go somewhere else. He opened his mouth to accept when a confused-looking Shepard caught his eye. She stood on the edge of the dance floor, head cocked to the side as she contemplated the dancers on the moving podiums. She'd partially unzipped the BDUs she perpetually wore when she wasn't in armour. His gaze dipped into the cleavage that was so rarely on display. Not as impressive as the asari's, but it stole his attention anyway. Guess it wasn't that he needed to fuck someone, anyone; he was an addict and Shepard was his drug of choice.

'My place?' the asari asked.

'Can't, hermosa,' he said with an apologetic smile.

The asari followed his gaze. 'You're unavailable?'

You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?

'You could say that,' he replied.

The asari sighed and wandered off to try her luck with someone else.

He slid between the dancers until he stood next to Shepard, who was now swaying slightly but still not quite to the beat.

Liquid courage made him ask, 'Wanna dance?'

She didn't start like she hadn't realised he wasn't there. She just hadn't acknowledged him yet. She faced him then, head still cocked to the side. 'I don't think you can spar here.'

He snorted. 'Not that kind of dance.'

'Oh. I can't dance.'

'Thirty-something years and nobody taught you how to dance?'

She waved her hand, and it followed the rhythm better than her hips did. 'We didn't exactly have a dance teacher on the colony growing up.'

'Luckily for you, my abuela taught dance classes. And I'm damn good at dancing too.'

'Is there anything you don't think you're good at?' asked Shepard with a roll of her eyes.

'Modesty.'

Shepard shook her head but laughed anyway. 'Fine, twinkle-toes, do the impossible. Teach me how to dance.'

'Come to the corner,' he said and shouldered his way through the crowd to a relatively empty spot where a large pillar met the balcony overlooking the lower floor of the club.

Shepard planted herself in front of him, a solider at parade rest, only her pupils were dilated and she had a dopey half-smile on her face that he recognised from drunken poker nights on the Normandy. Unlike Jack, Shepard didn't drink much. Even with that famous biotic metabolism, it didn't take a lot to get her drunk. It took a lot to keep her drunk though, which is why she usually spared the alcohol for the rest of the crew. Now that's a real hero.

'When the music is upbeat like this, do what you want. Jump around, wave your arms, twirl,' he said, doing a less energetic version of his usual fist-pumping dance.

Shepard hopped from foot to foot, waving her arms in the air. She looked more like she was running over hot coals or swinging from branch to branch like a monkey, only a monkey might have actually moved to the beat. He lost it when she twirled, still waving her arms and hopping around.

'Are you tone deaf?' he asked through wheezing breaths.

'You're such a colossal ass,' she said, punching him in the shoulder hard enough that he stumbled against the balcony railing.

She turned to leave but he caught her wrist, spinning her back around and giving her his best apologetic smile coupled with earnest, puppy-dog eyes. He'd perfected them on many a girlfriend in the past.

'Woah, come on now, Shepard. I'm sorry. We'll try something with less… movement,' he said, letting go of her. Shepard scowled at him but didn't turn to leave again. She did, however, rub her wrist as if he'd stung her. 'Just move slow, but don't do that weird shuffle you were doing earlier.'

'I don't do—'

'You do.'

She shut her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest but James could practically see her thinking 'Yeah, I do a weird shuffle'.

'Leave your arms by your side, feet shoulder-width apart, and slowly move your hips from side to side,' he said, demonstrating. When she began to move he tried to cover his snicker with a cough. 'Less like a piston and more like trees in the wind.'

She narrowed her eyes, looking a little less dazed now that she was offended. 'I'm trying.'

The song changed from frenetic to a pulsing, dark rhythm that made time seem to slow down as the dancers matched the song. Her hips barely slowed, and definitely not enough to match any beat you could find within the song. He placed his hands on her hips, her warmth bleeding through the fabric into his palms, and pulled her closer. She made a sound of surprised protest. Her fingers curled around his wrists, ready to rip his hands away.

'Stop,' he said in her ear and, to his surprise, she froze.

Her hands didn't disappear, but it now felt less like she was preparing to tear his arms from the rest of his body.

'Dancing is no different from an exhibition spar,' he said, lips grazing the shell of her ear. He felt rather than heard her breath hitch. 'One movement leads to the next. Don't counter me. Complement me.'

James's hands swayed her hips to the beat properly. Her face was downturned, focused on her hips, and he had a face full of her hair. It was not Alliance-issued shampoo; it was strawberries and dios mio it made him want to spin her around and crush her against him, hardening cock nestled against that ass he'd memorised.

Even though she was swaying in time with him now, her hands limply rested on his forearms and she was concentrating way too hard on her feet.

'Close your eyes. You're too self-conscious,' he said, turning them so he had his back to the crowd of dancers while she mostly hidden between him and a pillar. 'No one's watching you. Just ride out the music.'

She glanced up at him from under dark eyelashes. In those eyes, pupils dilated so they looked completely black, uncertainty lurked. He'd never seen that look on her face before. He kind of liked that there was something he could teach her. Maybe he could find out if there was a badge or something for teaching an N7 how to dance.

James winked, slipping easily back into flirtatiousness. 'Trust me, Lola.'

Shepard licked her lips, nervous, and closed her eyes. His gaze was transfixed on the new shine to her parted lips. They looked soft. If he kissed her, would she throw him off the balcony?

Her hands crept up his biceps, whether involuntary or not, and he shifted closer so there was barely any air between their bodies. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he glanced down at them, expecting her to move away, but she didn't. She didn't open her eyes either. She was doing as he bade: getting lost in the music.

James's heart pounded in his chest so loudly it was a wonder she couldn't hear it. He was engulfed in strawberries and he'd never been more turned on by strawberries in his life. If she got any closer she'd feel exactly how turned on he was.

Shepard's omnitool beeped and lit up. She pulled away and his hands dropped from her hips. Someone, somewhere, must hate him. Gone was half-drunk Shepard who almost learnt how to dance and instead was Commander Shepard as she skimmed the message.

'I have to go,' she said and closed the message.

He smiled down at her and hoped that the darkness and intermittent strobe lights hid his erection. 'Thanks for the dance, Lola.'

For a second he got back the Shepard who let him pull her close and dance. She smiled in return and brushed by him, taking her strawberry scent with her.

He forced himself not to watch her go. Instead, he headed to the crowded bar to get a much-needed drink now that she was gone. Jack was already at the bar and he squeezed into a space next to her. Most people gave her a bit of space. She had a drink in each hand and offered him one, since he wasn't having any luck catching the attention of a bartender.

'You two boning or what?' she asked.

'No. She's my CO,' he said, taking the offered drink with a nod of thanks.

Jack burst out laughing. 'You're a dumbass.'

'What? Why?'

He took a sip of the drink. Whiskey, straight. Cheap whiskey. It burned going down in a different way than tequila did. Either way it chased away the lingering strawberries, so he took another sip.

'You don't tease the Butcher of Torfan and then don't put out,' she said.

He coughed as some whiskey went down the wrong pipe. Jack knocked back the rest of her drink before he'd recovered and waded into the crowd of dancers, leaving him glaring at her tattooed head.