CONTENT WARNING: more of that sex thing- and now we can add violence to the mix.
[ 4 :: This is What You Are ]
-not alone-
The thought as the only thing Shepard could cling to- that there was someone watching... and for a moment, she felt a spark of panic. The name that should have sprang to mind immediately was whisked away by sudden aphasia, but the reason she was here was still there, however dimly. Though specifics were hard to grasp, she knew that it was important to mask her confusion, her alarm- that she'd been instructed to play along, but keep her wits about her if something like this occurred. The thought was gone just as quickly as it surfaced, however, overtaken by the base simplicity of physical pleasure, her every justified concern neatly pushed aside in favor of indulgence; of wanting something some part of her knew she shouldn't have let herself fall prey to in the first place.
"Look at me," she heard as she felt Morinth raise, though the teasing between her legs continued. "Just for a moment."
Reluctant, but in many ways hoping this would be the moment the ardat-yakshi made her move- when her eyes turn black, Shepard, when she attempts to meld with you, is when her guard will drop, and I will strike- to put this to an end, she went against what little common sense she had left- but no sooner- and complied. There- mercifully- in the familiarity of the face she observed- those eyes still as blue, as legible as ever, no darkness to be found save in the intent expressed there- the name that had eluded her- Samara- was finally lifted out of the haze and brought back in to her thoughts.
It was a name she clung to as she heard Morinth speak, those words, "You won't hold back on me," spoken so calmly, so compellingly for their simplicity, "will you?" hitting her as hard as the slowed pace of the biotics that teased her clit.
Heard herself reply, "Don't think I could- if I tried," even when she thought to simply nod.
"So don't try," Morinth replied, the intensity of the disembodied stimulus ratcheting up to provoke a sharp gasp from the woman beneath her. "Just let it happen... show me how badly you've needed this." Leaning down again, her cheek brushing against Shepard's own, she drew her lips along the curve of an earlobe, and said, "Show me how grateful you are that anyone's bothering with you in the first place. That you just like to pretend you're cold, unfeeling..." There it was: every reason in the world to shy away, to throw the brakes- even as she found that she didn't want to, but, "Now... listen to the sound of my voice-" proved to be the last legible thing she'd hear Morinth say.
At first, it would have been easy to blame it on the synaptic crossfire brought on by the asari's hand picking up lost momentum; on the shock of pleasure that forced her eyes shut, forced a hoarse moan from her lips, the answer to the spiteful request in exactly the way Morinth wanted her to. It should have frightened her, how distantly she felt the sting of humiliation that came from that, but it didn't; should have bothered her that it sounded as if Morinth was speaking to her under water. It was only the tone she registered, the resonance, the seductive, feminine lilt, that acted to magnify her physical responses in much the same way as a lush, provocative fantasy would, during those times she sought relief by her own hand.
An exertion of will; exactly what she'd been warned about.
The thought of fantasy allowed her to cling to the shreds of an idea, no matter how disoriented by both physical pleasure, and the thick fog closing in around her. As much as she'd tried to deny her interest, to leave the matriarch's image out of her own fevered imaginings out of simple respect, Samara had entered her mind regularly. If she could just catch sight of the woman, use her as an anchor, she could possibly, hopefully, win back some modicum of control. Give herself something that would allow her to remember being brought to orgasm by something other than the thoughts Morinth was attempting to impose on her.
And there she was, standing in the ardat-yakshi's blind spot, patiently waiting- assured enough of her daughter's distraction to be present, but not enough to close the distance. Shepard's gaze locked with the justicar's as she heard Morinth's voice drone on, felt those sensations tear through her, and found there was no way to meet that look with anything except a silent request, however much it probably looked- felt- like begging, a desperate need for the woman to not only be present, but acknowledge her. At first, the pleading entreaty was met with mild surprise- and then, the quiet acknowledgement that was so sorely needed, even though there was the apologetic urging to continue, conveyed in little more than a faint, encouraging nod.
It wasn't the swift conclusion she wanted- but it was something to cling to, something to ascribe the fierce contraction that gripped her muscles to, someone to superimpose over the predator that was attempting to drag her under. Closing her eyes, she brought into focus every torrid fantasy, every sordid thought she'd ever had about the matriarch- imagined, as she felt the bud of flesh Morinth's fingers had retreated from inside of her to again tend directly, that Samara wasn't focused on the task at hand, but on her, specifically. That the low moan drawn from her throat, the parting of her legs to take in more of the pleasure offered to her, gave rise not to concern, or pity, but to the undeniable need she herself had felt, even reveled in, none too long ago.
Mercifully- it was working. As distracted as she was by Morinth's continued murmuring in her ear, as reminded as she was of the predator's presence as her hand gripped a leather-clad shoulder to steady herself, the visuals that flooded her thoughts did an impressive job of keeping the immersive effects of that fog at bay. In her mind's eye, it wasn't Morinth's hand, but Samara's that worked tirelessly between her legs; wasn't Morinth that spoke to her, that summoned another ragged, urgent moan from her throat, but Samara, lavishing affection on her, viscerally moved by her every response, eager for a chance to let her reciprocate.
It was only when the images flickered that Shepard fought to open her eyes, struggled to refocus in order to keep from losing ground again, seeking out the justicar's gaze to again center her thoughts on that anchor. And be it self-delusion, a sense of obligation, or an act of sincerity on Samara's part, Shepard was grateful to see something beneath the hints of sympathy- see a return on the desire she wanted to imagine was present. It didn't matter, then, if it was solely for her benefit, for the benefit of the mission, or a truthful expression- it was enough.
Enough to take with her every time her eyes closed, every time her hand clutched at Morinth's shoulder, every time she heard herself moan or whimper-
"You're so close," Morinth murmured into her ear, those words coming through clearly, the tone of them, her reaction to them, making it so difficult to maintain her train of thought that attempting to focus felt physically painful. "I can feel it. You just need to let go... for me..."
Shepard heard another moan break from her lips, felt herself teetering right on the edge of orgasm- and something far darker.
"Tell me you will," Morinth continued, exerting more pressure against her clitoris, movements quicker, more determined. "Tell me it's all for me..."
Her eyes snapped open on that, the stare she fixed on Samara as direct as she could manage, even as she felt herself slipping, "-All for you," said haltingly, voice strained, ragged- but at least she knew, without question, who she said it to.
And there, relief. In the maddeningly brief amount of time she had to maintain that gaze safely, she'd gotten the last thing she needed: permission, from the only person present who could give it to her. In that moment, Shepard's eyes closed abruptly, the sudden climb towards an end-game starting with a fierce contraction, and ending with her head tilting back, back arching hard to press her body against Morinth's own, an audible inhale pulled in sharply as her fingers clutched harder at the ardat-yakshi's shoulder. And though she held that breath as long as she could, absorbing every escalating wave of sensation, she let it out in a hoarse cry once the tension broke entirely, hips grinding against the hand between her legs of their own volition. Between gasping, staggered attempts to breathe, she felt herself lose what traction she'd gained, the intensity of the orgasm blurring her thoughts, the world around her seeming to fade for as long as it took to absorb the impact.
Dimly aware of Morinth's hand retreating from beneath her slacks, she felt the asari's slick fingers tease at her lower lip, the scents of sex, of exertion, plainly apparent through each panted breath, heard Morinth say, "Good girl," barely registering the snide taunt couched in a tone tailored, perversely, to be soothing, those damp fingers sliding downward to take hold of her chin. "You really do take orders well. Honestly, if you keep this up, I may actually start to miss you when you're gone... but- for now, all I need you to do is open your eyes- and listen carefully..."
Her will thoroughly atrophied, she didn't resist the request; was given little room to do anything but simply comply. And there, finally, she saw what Samara had told her to wait for: saw those deep blue eyes turn pitch black-
-just as she felt her world begin to fray, and tear apart at the seams.
[...]
Morinth saw it, the moment her eyes opened to the mind of the woman beneath her.
First, there was a name- Shepard- one she might have recognized, had it not been overshadowed by what sat, predominantly, within the woman's thoughts.
Guilt, uncertainty, fear, desperation, lust, gratitude- a potent mixture Morinth might have reveled in before, had it anything to do with her, personally. But none of it did- in regards to her, there was only expectation, that this would be end result; that she would do exactly as she was doing presently, all for the sake of painting a target on her back for the shadow that loomed over her shoulder. The shadow that stole her prey's attention in those vital moments where it should have been placed elsewhere, that had attempted so many times to rob her of her life, and was aiming to do so again.
No.
Anger, betrayal- those words seemed too impotent to place on what she was feeling. It all rose up in her suddenly, her teeth gritting, lips pulling back to bare them, her every muscle tensed and ready to go in for the kill... not with a meld, but with her hands, nails, teeth- Would have felt all of it more acutely, been able to act on the impulse, if she'd been present for the moment, outside of the disembodied connection she'd engaged. Worse, precious milliseconds had already been bled away from what little time she had to save herself, allowing an opening for the one thing she'd run from for the better part of three centuries.
She should have disconnected right then and there, ceased the meld, readied herself, but her executioner was too close; that much, she knew from what she saw in the mind she'd entered. Even if she pulled back now, it was already over.
You did this-
There was no fear to touch with those words, words that, in their earthly form, should have been howled so loudly that all of Omega felt stricken, shaken. But there was no reaction; no nothing... because she'd dulled it, she'd made sure it was dulled. Nonfunctional.
And for what little of the moment remained, her mind screamed, ceaselessly, at the woman her will had overtaken, clawing and raking its way through thought and emotion to get to the nervous system she sought to short out, to afford her would-be executioner one last insult- but nothing came of it. She had let her anger last for too long, had started her attempts to take one last life too late.
The truth of that came as swiftly as the realization, in the form of a hand clutching hard at her jaw, instinct wrenching her back to the present, just in time to become aware of the back of her head being seized-
"Be still."
-of the tension going through that grip-
"Know that I loved what you were."
-of the sting of moisture in her eyes-
"Know that what you are, must end."
-all followed by a sudden, wet snap rattling between her ears, the world around her turning abruptly to one side in a single, powerful motion.
There was resonance in that sound, a throbbing echo that became a visceral, keening wail, the likes of which she'd never heard; that no one but the dead would ever hear, she realized, aware of, but unable to feel, her body beginning to fall.
The sound faded with the descent; there was no pain to follow, no sudden blackness... instead, there was only the hard collision of her head against the floor. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, the back of her own shoulder in front of her, the angle awkward, unnatural; could feel her cheek against the inflexible polymers of the tile beneath her, the rest of her body- gone, seemingly. Lungs, heart, limbs- everything was gone, disconnected, little more than a useless weight pressing her face against the ground. Her attempts to breathe went unanswered, the rapid beating of her heart, absent.
Little more than a memory.
A hand pressed against her forehead then, a silhouette appearing in front of her at a dizzying angle, "Rest now," spoken so gently, so fondly, that it both incensed, and shattered what as left of her. "And find peace-"
The rest of the words were muffled, but she knew them already; knew what they meant. It was wounding to hear them, to hear that voice, that tone, the one she'd heard at a time when she could nestle down in the warmth and comfort of a small bed to watch a Thessian sunset outside her window. Sometimes that voice would sing to her- other times, it would just speak, gently, or tell stories. Warm, welcoming, appreciative, in a way, as if to make up for the days of distance.
Her ears failed her as the thought crossed her mind, her eyes quick to follow, leaving little more than flickers of memory. Of hatred, of frustration- of a longing to feel in death something she'd been robbed of so often in life: being rocked to sleep in the arms of the woman that both loved, and loathed her, just one last time.
To that longing, there was no answer; there was only the yawning void that stretched around her, that embraced her, as nothing else in life ever had