Vega ran. The rain came down upon them, as hard as ever, blurring his vision as he raced away from the apartment. It eviscerated the muddy trail of footprints he left in his wake, so he could only hope the investigators wouldn't find them too quickly. His mind was racing, scrabbling faster than his boots on the wet pavement of the city streets. Shit shit shit, I just murdered a fucking Spectre! He had known that Lola's – no, Nora's – target had been an officer, but a Spectre? He didn't get paid enough for this bullshit.
When he could run no more, he turned into a dead-end alleyway, filled with stray cats and lined with garbage, and set her abruptly upon her feet. She staggered away from him, clutching the shotgun to her breast as she leaned against the opposite wall. He doubled over, bracing his hands against his knees as his lungs gulped cool, wet air. Rain was falling about them in sheets now, unrelenting. Maybe the keepers had forgotten to turn it off? At this point he was grateful. He was also unbearably hot. With a yank, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head and off, revealing the practically skin-tight tank top he wore beneath. He dropped the sweatshirt to the filthy ground. He could feel her gaze on him now, appreciative and lingering.
He turned to look at her, still panting heavily, his chest heaving from exertion. His legs trembled a little. He was rewarded with her smoldering, wanting stare. She bit down on her lower lip as she regarded him. In one long stride, he closed the distance between them and pressed her against the wall, his mouth crashing into hers roughly, mindlessly. He didn't care, he didn't care – he just needed a distraction. His large hands grasped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, and he ground his hips firmly against her with a groan. She could already feel the hardness of his arousal, pushing insistently against her thigh. She inhaled sharply at the sensation, a hiss against his lips, grinding herself against him in kind with a ragged moan. She swept her tongue, the bitter tang of red sand still lingering, across his lips and he obeyed, automatically, opening his mouth to allow her entrance.
She bit down, hard, upon his bottom lip. He tasted blood.
He grunted against her lips and gave her a hips a quick jerk, lifting and smacking her back against the wall as punishment. This was how it went, brutal and fierce and unkind. Both seeking the pain as well as the pleasure. Their lips met again, hungry and ferocious, vying for control. Her hands were hurriedly undoing the buckle at his jeans, while his own hands moved over her petite figure. They explored beneath her sweatshirt, knowing she wore no bra, and kneaded her breasts brutally hard, pinching the already hardened nipples and giving them a tug. She writhed at his touch with a groan, her leg lifting and wrapping itself around his hips. He crushed her, hard, against the wall, lifting her other leg effortlessly, until she was suspended in his grasp.
Now frantic for release, to feel something, she struggled with the buckle of his jeans while his free hand rucked up her shirt to grant him access to her breasts. He took a nipple into his mouth and laved his tongue over the rosy bud, causing her hips to buck wildly against his. She pleaded, whimpered, thrashed under his expert handling. His hand worked the zipper of her jeans open and with deft practice, he slipped a finger inside her, then another. There was a delicious burn as he stretched her, his callused fingers rubbing against her slick heat, his head bent to worship attention on her breasts. He bit down on a nipple. She bit his shoulder in kind, to keep from screaming. Her fingers worked at his buckle, fumbling.
His rumbling growl only fueled her frustration. He nipped again at her breast, hard, and she rewarded him with a shocked gasp.
At last, she freed him, and pulled down his jockeys, just enough to expose him. His girth bobbed against his stomach. He lowered her feet to the ground, and turned her, pressing her face and her exposed breasts against the rough stone wall. He pushed her jeans and smalls just underneath her buttocks, and slid into her without preamble, eliciting simultaneous cries of pleasure from the pair. His length filled her entirely, and he groaned as he began to set a punishing pace. She bowed her back, moaning, as one of his rough hands left her hip to cup her breast, pinching and tugging and squeezing. The rain came down harder now, slicking their bodies with rivulets of cool water.
They rocked against one another ferociously, his fingers flexing, digging hard into the flesh of her backside. She clenched around him and he grunted with each powerful stroke, leaning forward to bite her shoulder, his other hand coming up to knead her unattended breast. Like two wild varren in heat, his chest and stomach pressed firmly against her arching back. His hands were moving again, never settling in one spot for too long. One of his thick arms coiled around her waist, holding her in place. Coarse fingers came around her thigh to rub at the apex between her legs as their hips slammed into one another. She gasped sharply, throwing her head back against his shoulder. He'd certainly never done that before.
A low growl rumbled through him, reverberating through his chest and against her back. She couldn't tell, but it sounded immensely pleased by her reaction. His fingers continued to press and rub against her, and it was so good, and all at once, the white-hot coil spiraling tightly inside her snapped and she came, her orgasm ripping through her like wet fingers through tissue paper. He wasn't too far behind, his hips' movements erratically twitching against hers as he spilled inside her with a stifled groan.
It wasn't unusual for him to step away almost immediately upon finishing. But it hurt more, somehow, this time. She turned to face him as he moved away, her clothing still in disarray, small red splotches raising on her breasts and stomach from the rough wall's surface. She wanted more. She sidled up behind him as he was adjusting himself, her hands slowly sliding across his ribs and over his stomach, slipping her hands under his tank top. She pushed her frame against his back with a sigh that she knew got his blood pumping. His movements stilled, momentarily distracted by the warm press of her flesh against his.
"More," she demanded, her voice a silken purr in his ears. She delighted in seeing his jaw clench with restraint. Her hand slid down the length of his stomach, fingers encircling his fading hardness, stroking him teasingly slow. He stiffened almost immediately at her touch. A groan escaped him through gritted teeth, and he turned quickly on his heel to push her back against the wall. He hated that she had him wrapped around her finger like this, but her slender hands squeezing and stroking him – he'd give her anything to allow it to continue.
She could barely think, with his mouth hot and wet on her neck, suckling the beads of sweat and rain, his hands surprisingly gentle this time as they explored her. She arched into his caresses with a moan. He answered her moan with a rumbling groan of his own, his hips pressing against hers demandingly. Her mind worked furiously through the pleasurable fog settled around her thoughts, and her hands began to search her pockets for that tiny packet of red sand. He could never resist when she spread the little granules across her breasts and beckoned him towards her; she got as much pleasure out of watching him snort it off her as she did when he fucked her.
But she couldn't find it.
Vega noticed her shift in demeanor immediately. He lifted his head, the sodden mass of his mohawk dripping trails of rainwater down his face. He looked at her, scowling a little. "What's wrong?"
"Shit, the red sand is gone! I-I must have dropped it!"
"Good fucking riddance," he snarled viciously.
"Think about it, dipshit!" she snapped, hurriedly pulling her sweatshirt down to cover herself, and pulling her jeans back on fully, pushing him away. She didn't meet his eye. "If C-Sec finds that packet, they'll link us to the crime scene, and then we're screwed!"
Vega turned away from her with a sharp inhale, his hands on his hips. He stood for a moment, rain dripping down his face, his shoulders square and resolute. ¡Mierda!" He swore and kicked a crate full of garbage savagely, sending it flying. A nearby cat hissed and scampered away at the sound. Nora had never seen him this way. He always seemed so cool and collected, sometimes annoyingly so. She was always trying to provoke him into some sort of emotional response, and he'd usually give a shrug of his broad shoulders and give her a teasing half-smile. He was hurriedly adjusting himself, zipping up his jeans and muttering under his breath in rapid Spanish. He leaned down and snatched up the wet, dirty sweatshirt from the filthy ground.
Tentatively, she slipped her arms around his waist, leaning her cheek against his wet shoulder. He heaved a sigh, suddenly bone-tired and drained, the sweatshirt slipping from his fingers and flopping to the ground with a wet slap. His hands were on his hips again, and he almost wanted to push her away, to chase her off and out of his life. Every instinct in his brain screamed at him to cut ties and get away from her. She was destructive and dangerous and too damn close.
"I told you, Lola," he said, his voice quiet but still edged with savagery and anger. "I fucking told you that shit was no good!"
She didn't speak, just buried her face against his shoulder blade. She could feel his heartbeat hammering against his ribs, could hear his lungs gulp cool, moist air. She squeezed him, her arms suddenly seeming so frail against his large frame. It felt like squeezing a warm rock, all hardness and muscle. If she had the proper words to say, she would tell him. But there was nothing sufficient. No words that could convey her gratitude, her sorrow, her fear. She had never been very good with feelings. Imperfect, treacherous things they were.
He shifted in her arms, turning to face her. She didn't want to look at him. She hated herself. She hated feeling weak. She hated him for making her feel at all. His hand came up under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His eyebrows were pinched together, a scowl etched so deeply into his features she feared it would be permanent. She saw his jaw muscle twitch. Her hand glided over it, feeling the scratchiness of his stubble under her fingers. Her thumb swept over his slightly parted lips. She watched rain water drip down his nose, suddenly enraptured. His arms had somehow wrapped themselves possessively around her waist.
And then he was kissing her, but this was a totally different creature than their previous kisses. This was a new breed, soft and slow and tender and painfully sweet, rushing through her like a tidal wave. His hand came up the side of her body, tangled itself in her hair, angling her head just so. It caught her off-guard, made something under her chest writhe with a different sort of need than base, carnal lust. And just when she was used to it, just when her eyes were beginning to close –
He broke away.
It disoriented her, to have his warmth pressing against her and then gone so suddenly, leaving her to stand there shivering. She mourned the loss of what could have been, mouth slightly agape. Were those tears or rain? She abruptly felt as if there wasn't enough air. He stepped around her without meeting her eye, scooping up the shotgun that she had leaned against the wall, forgotten in their lust. He bent, and picked up the sopping black sweatshirt and wrung it out as best he could. He pulled it on without caring that it was filthy and wet.
"Let's go." No familiar nickname, no tenderness to his voice when he called to her. It hurt worse than she expected it to.
The moment was over, irretrievably lost. She turned, all her grace unexpectedly lost, and stumbled after him. He handed her the shotgun without looking at her. He couldn't bear to meet her eye, to look at the pained expression on her face. He hated himself. She took the shotgun from his grip wordlessly, and slipped it under her sweatshirt, shoving the barrel under the waistband of her jeans.
And that was it. Neither of them spoke as they made their way back to Ashley's apartment. He was careful to maintain a distance to her now. Their arms didn't even brush against one another as they walked side by side. She didn't think she would miss the contact so much.
By the time they arrived outside the building, skulking around the same area they had waited previously, investigators had arrived on the scene. There were about 20 men and women scattered in and around Ashley's apartment now. Vega swore quietly under his breath as they watched from the bushes outside, crouched low. It was still early morning, and the grey light provided enough shade in the thick bushes to keep them obscured. But the investigators were putting up a canopy to protect the evidence outside the window from the rain, and they were dangerously close. They edged around them, as quickly as they dared, to get a better view of the interior.
Vega recognized Commander Bailey, but there was another man there, with dark black hair and intense eyes. The first human Spectre. Vega glanced at Nora at his side. The troubled look on her face told him that she recognized Kaidan Alenko too, that she'd recognize him anywhere. He somehow got the impression she'd spent a lot of time staring at pictures of him. She certainly couldn't tear her eyes away from him now. He shifted uneasily, unnerved by how quickly feelings of jealousy had swept through him. Now's not the time for that, pendejo!
The two men were speaking to one another, short, terse words about the dead Spectre, and finally Commander Bailey left. They watched, silent and drenched in the rain, as the investigators packed up their collected evidence. Eventually, Alenko and two turian C-Sec officers posted by the front door were the only ones that remained. He walked about the room, studying the evidence. They watched as he began piecing everything together.
Vega suddenly pulled the assault rifle he'd stolen from the dead Spectre from the holster at his back. He glanced at Nora. She was fumbling with her pistol, pressing a laser sight mod to the top with a click. She froze at the noise, her heart hammering against her ribs. But the loud rain had muffled the sound, thankfully, and Alenko hadn't seemed to notice. They both released the breath they'd been holding, and adjusted their grips on their guns. He pressed the butt of the assault rifle against the inside of his shoulder, but didn't raise it. Her grip on her pistol was white-knuckled.
He was inspecting the bullet from Vega's shotgun now, pulling it from the wall and staring at it in wonder. Vega mentally kicked himself. He should have known better than to use illegal shredder mods on his ammo. Nora must have noticed his mistake, too, because she cast him a furtive, uneasy glance.
And then Alenko was looking around, and realization dawned on his features. It was now or never. They raised their guns in unison.
Two laser dots trembled on his chest.