Disclaimer: Mass Effect doesn't belong to me, nor do I intend to profit from this work of fiction.
He hated this godforsaken planet.
The colonists were untrusting, and the wind cut straight through to the bone, despite the layers he wore. His posting was finally, finally over, but he couldn't leave until this windstorm passed.
He paced around the tiny room he'd been given, staring at his bag of gear sitting by the door. With an impatient sigh, he sat at the table and his omni-tool flickered to life. By some miracle, extranet access hadn't been cut off by the storm howling outside.
He read through his messages, and felt his blood run cold at the message from Anderson: There have been several sighting of Shepard, and there are rumors she is working with Cerberus. Further intel suggests Cerberus may be behind the missing colonies. Your next assignment has been changed; you are going to Horizon to investigate. Ostensibly, you will be there to gather data as it has been suggested that Horizon will be the next colony to be hit.
Kaidan turned off his 'tool, and felt a migraine brewing at his temples. Shepard, alive? How was it even a possibility? Liara had insisted it would happen, said a niggling voice in the back of his head. But why would she work for Cerberus after the things they had seen?
He shook his head, innocent until proven guilty, and he shouldn't pass judgment on her until he had the truth. With that thought, a sudden need for her swamped him, and he longed to hold her, to inhale her unique scent, one of gun oil, Alliance issue soap, and a hint of cinnamon and vanilla; a scent he hadn't forgotten in the two long years since she'd been gone.
He'd tried to hold off on thinking of her much, and though his grief had mostly passed, and he'd tried to date some other women, but it was never the same. Shepard had ruined him for everyone but her.
Thinking of her hot lips wrapped around him that one time in the Mako, he freed himself of his pants, and wrapped his hand around his rigid shaft. It had been too long, he thought to himself, bring another memory to mind: him sitting on the floor after a sparring session, leaning against one tire of the Mako; both of them glistening with sweat as she crawled into his lap.
She'd made short work of their gym shorts, he recalled, his callused hand pumping up and down his length, drawing a groan from his throat at the memory of her slick walls stretching as she slid down him, tightening with every thrust of her hips.
He remembered with perfect clarity her mewling pants as her orgasm welled up and sent her tumbling over the edge, and at the thought, his own orgasm ripped through him, and he spent himself into his hand with a harsh grunt.
He sighed and headed to the bathroom to clean up. He stared at himself in the mirror, had he really just jerked himself off at the memory of his dead lover that now might not be dead? Suddenly angry with himself and Shepard, he flared brightly, and slammed his fist into the glass.
He stood, panting at his outburst, his fist dripping blood on the pristine white countertop. "Pathetic, Alenko," he muttered to himself, and set about cleaning up his knuckles, applying medigel to staunch the bleeding. That task done, he cleaned up the sticky mess on his pants, and changed.
He glanced outside as he was stuffing his dirty pants in his pack, and noticed the wind had finally died down. He threw on a jacket, and hurried out into to storm, determined to catch the next shuttle off this colony, hoping to find Shepard sooner rather than later.