AN: Personally, after playing Dragon Age: Veilguard, I've been very concerned about the new Mass Effect game. I hope they don't screw this up.
The sun hovered low above Meridian's horizon, casting long golden streaks across the calm surf. The beach, tucked away between jagged cliffs and cradled by alien flora, was theirs alone for now. Waves lapped gently against the shore, and the soft hum of distant remnant structures reminded them they were still on the edge of the unknown.
Sara Ryder reclined against a sun-warmed boulder, her bare feet dug lazily into the sand, a can of soda sweating in her hand. Her black and teal bikini hugged her athletic frame, dotted with a few grains of sand and the occasional shimmer of dried saltwater. Cora Harper sat cross-legged on a towel a few meters away, her platinum hair damp from an earlier swim. The white bikini she wore stood out against her sun-kissed skin and mirrored the simplicity she often craved in rare moments like this.
They had found a moment of peace. No kett, no remnant tech going haywire, no colonist emergencies—just the two of them, finally still.
Cora took a long sip of her drink and glanced over, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You know," she said, "you've told me stories about the Initiative, about your dad, and even a few battle scars from peacekeeping… but you've never really told me what it was like on Mars. Before all of this."
Sara smirked, eyes shaded behind her sunglasses. "Mars, huh? You're fishing."
"Come on," Cora teased, nudging her shoulder with a playful foot. "I've heard bits and pieces. 'The glory days,' you called them once. Mateus Silva, buried ruins, weird Prothean puzzles. That time you fell into a sinkhole."
Sara laughed at that, tipping her head back. "Okay, fine. Do you want the whole story? I'll give you the unabridged version. But you're not allowed to judge me for what happened in Lab Three."
"Oh, now I'm curious."
Sara took a slow sip, stared at the ocean a moment longer, and then set the can aside. "I was twenty-two when I got reassigned. Up until then, it was all about blue helmets and bureaucracy. Peacekeeping on colony worlds. Playing politics in riot gear. Then, they pulled me out of nowhere for a support role on Mars. Said it was because of my 'technical flexibility.' Honestly, I think they were just tired of me asking too many questions."
"You? No," Cora said, sarcasm thick.
Sara grinned. "Anyway. Mars. Dust storms, long shifts, and Prothean artifacts that fried your omnitool if you looked at them wrong. And the scientists—gods- were all insane in their own brilliant way. Silva led the team. He had this theory that certain Prothean ruins responded to human brainwave patterns. We'd spend days just standing in rooms, thinking, hoping something lit up."
"And did it?"
"Eventually. But not before I met her. The lab tech who worked in systems maintenance—Tallie. Full name: Tallie Zhen. Human, six-foot-two without her boots, always had graphite smudged on her face, and spoke in equations more often than English. One day, I was calibrating a translator module, and she leaned over and said, 'You're doing that wrong.' That was her version of flirting, by the way."
Cora raised a brow. "Charming."
"It was," Sara said, her voice softening. "In a strange way. She wasn't like anyone I'd met before. Totally locked into her work, obsessed with cracking the Prothean language. But there were these… moments. Late nights, empty labs, old music echoing through the walls. She'd play this 22nd-century synth jazz that made the whole facility feel like a dream."
Cora watched her closely, her expression unreadable.
"I kissed her in Lab Three," Sara continued. "It was stupid. We were running a diagnostics sweep. She started talking about how language is just a reflection of how species see the universe and how we'll never fully understand the Protheans because we'll never think like them. And I just… kissed her. I think we were both surprised."
"Did she kiss you back?" Cora asked quietly.
"Yeah," Sara said. "More than once. We started sneaking off after hours. One time, during a blackout, we stayed in the artifact vault overnight. She talked for hours about her theories, and then… well, one thing led to another."
Cora gave her a mock-glare. "You had sex in the Prothean vault?"
"With someone talking about brainwaves and syntax the whole time," Sara chuckled. "It was… not as weird as it sounds. Kind of beautiful, in its own way. But we knew it wouldn't last. She had her transfer lined up to Io. And when Dad got discharged… everything fell apart. My clearance was revoked. I wasn't allowed within five kilometers of Mars after that."
Cora leaned in, brushing a strand of windblown hair behind Sara's ear. "You ever talk to her again?"
"No," Sara said. "She sent a message once. Just said, 'You lit up more than just the vault.' I think that was her way of saying goodbye. After that, I figured romance just wasn't going to be in the cards for me. Too much baggage. Too many missions. Too many secrets."
"But that's not where your story ends," Cora said softly.
Sara smiled, turning toward her. "No. Because somewhere between cryo pods and kett ambushes… I met some woman."
Cora rolled her eyes, trying not to grin. "Some woman, huh?"
"A driven, relentless, frustrating-as-hell, stunning-as-sin woman. The kind of woman who can break down a biotic field like it's made of tissue paper, then spend the night reading up on Asari combat doctrine just for fun."
Cora's voice caught for just a moment. "She sounds intense."
"She is," Sara murmured, brushing her fingers over Cora's knee. "And when I met her, I realized something. My fate didn't end in a sad story. That wasn't my ending. That was just the middle. Because the real ending?"
She leaned forward and kissed Cora gently, the sound of waves mingling with the warmth between them.
"The real ending," she whispered, "was happy."
Cora tucked her arms around Sara's waist, pulling her close, the soft thump of her heartbeat grounding them both. "Then let's make sure it stays that way."
The kiss deepened, slow and lingering, like the sea wind wrapping around them—cool air against warm skin. Cora's hand slid up along Sara's ribs, fingers tracing the faint outline of old scars, each one with its own story. She pulled her closer, pressing them together on the sun-drenched towel, and Sara melted into her with a sigh, arms circling Cora's neck. The world faded away in those moments—just two women finding solace in each other on a faraway shore.
But then, with her lips still brushing Sara's, Cora murmured, "We aren't exactly alone."
Sara blinked. Her breath caught in her throat—not from surprise but realization. "Oh. Right."
She exhaled and leaned her head back, just enough to look up at the sky. "SAM," she called aloud, her voice clear but casual.
"Yes, Pathfinder?" SAM responded at once, his voice calm and ever-present, as if he were perched invisibly beside them.
"Log off for a while," Sara said, brushing her fingers along the back of Cora's neck. "My authorization."
There was a pause, a microsecond of system verification. No commentary. No pushback.
"Understood. Logging off."
The silence that followed was more than just the absence of words—it was the first true privacy either of them had felt in weeks, maybe months. Sara tilted her head back down, finding Cora's eyes—eyes that burned now, not just with affection, but hunger. Her hand trailed across Cora's waist, fingers slipping beneath the edge of her bikini, pulling her in again.
This time, their lips met with fire.
Cora moved first, pressing Sara gently down onto the towel, her body warm against hers, the faint scratch of sand beneath them a reminder they were grounded in the moment, real and raw. Sara's fingers slid into Cora's hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss. No interruptions. No reminders of missions or responsibilities. Just the soft gasp of lips parting, the shiver that danced up Sara's spine when Cora bit gently at her lower lip.
They didn't speak. Words would've only broken the rhythm.
Sara wrapped her legs around Cora's hips, shifting with her, their bodies moving like a slow tide. Cora's mouth traveled down her neck, tasting salt and sun and the electric pulse of skin that hadn't been touched this freely in too long. Sara arched into her, her breath catching again, and she could feel her heartbeat thundering in her chest—hers, and maybe Cora's, too.
Above them, the sky stretched out in deep blues and purples, stars beginning to flicker awake in the distance. But neither of them looked up.
Cora's hand brushed against the curve of Sara's side, fingers exploring, learning, remembering every inch like it was sacred ground. Sara responded with a soft moan, her nails digging lightly into Cora's back as she gave in to the heat between them.
Their mouths met again—more intense now, more desperate. It wasn't just passion. It was released. From war. From fear. From the weight of legacy and impossible expectations.
Cora's hand lingered at Sara's waist, fingers splayed against warm skin as she slowly pulled away from the kiss, just far enough to look at her. Her gaze roamed Sara's face with an intimacy that made even the quiet air feel thick—half-lidded eyes, parted lips, breath just a little too fast. There was a kind of reverence in the way Cora moved; it was like she was memorizing every detail for the next time she couldn't sleep alone on the Tempest.
She dipped her head again, brushing her lips along the line of Sara's jaw, then lower—soft kisses trailing down her throat, slow and deliberate, each one coaxing another breath, another shift of her hips. Sara arched slightly beneath her, hands still tangled in Cora's damp hair as if anchoring herself in the moment.
The towel beneath them rustled as Cora slid further down, lips exploring every inch of exposed skin with patience sharpened by discipline. Her hands moved with practiced ease, sliding up over Sara's stomach, fingers painting invisible lines along the curve of her sides. When her palms brushed the base of Sara's ribcage, Cora hesitated—not from uncertainty, but from restraint. Her control was like a coiled spring, deliberate and exacting.
Sara reached up, gently cupping Cora's cheek, her thumb brushing along her jaw. "You don't have to go slow," she whispered.
Cora smiled—just faintly—and kissed the center of her chest, then looked up. "I want to," she said simply.
She moved again, kissing lower now, her mouth warm against Sara's stomach. Her hands gripped her thighs, spreading her legs just enough to settle between them, her skin brushing against hers, intimate but unhurried. The closeness, the pressure, the heat—all of it built like an incoming tide, creeping higher, slow and inevitable.
Sara's breath hitched when Cora kissed the edge of her bikini bottom, the fabric already clinging too closely. Cora's lips hovered there, teasing, and her thumbs hooked the sides of the garment, glancing up for silent permission. Sara nodded, a subtle motion, her eyes never leaving Cora's.
The swimsuit slipped down her legs with barely a sound, tossed aside with casual grace. Cora's fingers skimmed upward, gentle and precise, drawing soft gasps from Sara as she rediscovered territory she hadn't touched in far too long. And still, she didn't rush. Every touch, every brush of her lips, was patient and lingering, more worship than want.
Sara gripped the towel beneath her, the fabric bunching in her fists as her body responded—trembling under Cora's attention, hips moving subtly, breath falling into a rhythm that only deepened with every moment. Cora's mouth followed her hands, her kisses turning more purposeful, more focused. Her tongue moved with tender deliberation, tasting, exploring, learning her all over again.
Sara's back arched with a sharp inhale, a soft moan slipping out as she tangled her fingers again in Cora's hair, urging her closer. The stars above them began to brighten against the darkening sky, flickering into view like they were drawn to the warmth rising between the two women on the beach.
Cora didn't relent.
She took her time, holding Sara in the space between restraint and release, reading every sigh, every shift, and adjusting with a soldier's precision and a lover's care. Her hands never stopped moving—one trailing up along Sara's thigh, the other brushing along her ribs, grounding her as her body shuddered with tension building in slow, aching waves.
Sara's voice came low and broken, breathless. "Cora…"
Cora lifted her head, lips brushing just above Sara's hip, her breath hot against her skin. "I'm here," she said softly and kissed her again.
Sara's chest rose and fell quickly now, skin flushed with heat and want, her heart pounding like it was trying to leap out of her ribs. Cora dipped back down, more intense this time—her rhythm steady but growing more firm, more hungry.
Sara lost herself in the feeling. The sunset was behind her, the ocean a blur of distant waves, her mind blank except for the way Cora moved against her—how she knew her. Every breath came like a confession, every twitch of her fingers, every moan, a secret finally spoken aloud under a sky that promised no judgment.
And still, Cora moved slowly. Controlled. Focused. Intent on building Sara's pleasure not in a single moment but over minutes that stretched out long and tender.
The edge approached with aching precision, Sara's grip tightening on her shoulders now, her body straining toward climax, breath breaking as she felt herself begin to unravel under Cora's mouth and hands.
Sara's breath came in shallow, trembling waves. Every inch of her skin felt alive, tuned to the smallest pressure of Cora's mouth, the feather-light graze of her fingertips. Time felt suspended, stretched out between the tension in her muscles and the tender patience in Cora's touch. The beach, the stars, the distant pulse of Meridian's dormant tech—all of it faded into a background hum, dulled beneath the sharp, growing ache in her core.
Cora stayed focused, lips and tongue working in slow, deliberate patterns. She held Sara in place, one hand gripping her thigh firmly, the other stroking slow arcs up along her side, grounding her, tethering her to this moment. Every movement was precise and controlled—but far from clinical. There was heat in it. Devotion. That stubborn fire in Cora that made her a relentless soldier and an even more relentless lover.
She shifted slightly, pressing her cheek to the inside of Sara's thigh for a breath, catching the salty scent of the ocean and the clean, bright warmth of Sara's skin. She glanced up—just briefly—her eyes locking with Sara's. Sara's face was flushed, strands of hair sticking to her forehead, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven pulls. Her lips were parted, her hand still tangled in Cora's hair like she was afraid to let go.
Cora pressed a kiss there, just above the knee, and resumed her rhythm, lips and tongue moving with more purpose now—still slow, still patient, but no longer teasing. The kind of rhythm that promised something deeper, something lasting.
Sara gasped, her hips twitching with the pressure. "Cora…"
Her voice cracked, half-moan, half-plea.
Cora didn't answer. She responded with action, adjusting the angle of her hand and slipping two fingers gently along slick, waiting heat. She kept them poised there, teasing the edge, not pushing in—just applying the barest pressure as her mouth continued to work.
Sara's body jolted with the sensation, her thighs tightening slightly around Cora's shoulders. Her hand moved, not pulling her away but drawing her closer, and Cora finally gave in—slipping her fingers inside with a slow, fluid motion, filling her inch by inch.
Sara's head dropped back against the towel, a low cry torn from her throat.
Cora moved slowly, deliberately, curling her fingers just enough to brush that perfect place inside while her tongue circled and pressed, coaxing pleasure from her like it was a dance only she knew. Sara's breath hitched again, her hands gripping the towel and Cora in turn, caught in the steady tide that had finally begun to crest.
Cora didn't relent—her pace never rushed, never frantic. She stayed tuned to every tremor of Sara's body, every stuttered breath, every soft, gasping moan. Her lips were slick with heat and need, her hand steady as she coaxed Sara higher and higher until every nerve felt stretched and bright.
Sara's thighs trembled, her voice nearly lost. "Don't stop—don't—"
And Cora didn't. She stayed locked in rhythm, the same steady pressure, the same deep focus, her own breath quickening now with the sheer intensity of it. The way Sara moved beneath her—unraveling in her arms, trusting her completely—lit something deep in Cora's chest.
It wasn't about control. It was about care.
Sara's body arched sharply, her breath catching one last time before she shattered—her release rushing through her in a wave that left her clinging to Cora with trembling fingers, her whole body drawn taut and then collapsing into quivering aftershocks.
Cora slowed only then, easing her fingers out gently, pressing soft kisses along the inside of Sara's thigh and hip, grounding her again, whispering unspoken promises into skin and salt.
Sara lay back, boneless and dazed, her chest rising and falling like she'd run a mile.
Cora crawled back up, kissing along her stomach, her ribs, the hollow of her throat, and finally her mouth—soft now, deep and slow, like sealing something sacred between them.
Sara cupped Cora's cheek, fingers tracing her jaw as she kissed her back with equal weight, tasting herself on Cora's lips. Cora rested her forehead against Sara's, her breath brushing softly between them. She didn't speak—didn't have the words yet—but her eyes, half-lidded and shining, said everything.
Sara's fingers slid with aching slowness to Cora's hips, her touch no longer trembling—now guided by quiet intent. She curled her hands around her, warm palms pressed to bare skin, and pulled her down, closer. The motion was unspoken, but clear.
Cora froze for just a breath. Her knees straddled Sara's thighs, and her hands pressed into the towel on either side of Sara's shoulders. She looked down, meeting her eyes. Sara still hadn't said a word. She didn't need to. The look she gave her now was full of the same intensity Cora had seen in battle—focused, sure, absolutely certain of what she wanted.
Her.
The fabric of her bikini clung damp and snug to her skin, the only thing left between them. Sara's hands moved to her sides again, her thumbs grazing the waistband. Cora shifted, bringing her own hands down to meet hers. She lifted her hips, slowly, wordlessly giving Sara what she wanted—what they both did.
The fabric slid down her thighs, past her knees, and Cora let it fall beside the towel.
Then, instead of leaning down again, she paused. Sara blinked, about to speak—but Cora leaned forward, kissing her lips just once, softly, and whispered, "Let me."
She guided Sara's legs apart again and settled between them, skin meeting skin this time, electric and warm. Cora braced herself with one hand, and with the other, she reached down—not to enter, not yet—but to guide her hips into place against Sara's. The moment their bare skin pressed together, they drew in a sharp breath.
Cora didn't thrust. She didn't rush. She moved with a slow, grinding rhythm, their bodies aligned perfectly, her hips rolling against Sara's at a steady, deliberate pace. The sensation—raw, hot, full—shivered through Sara's entire frame. She clutched at Cora's back, her fingers digging in as their foreheads touched again, mouths open, breaths mingling in soft, broken sounds.
Cora kept the rhythm slow, hips gliding over hers in a rising, aching dance. Their slickness made the friction melt into something more than arousal—it was a connection. Intimate. Electric. Sara's cries were quiet now, choked in her throat, her lips parted as she tried to breathe through the mounting pleasure.
Their chests pressed together, sweat blooming between them, and Cora dropped her hand to grip Sara's thigh, anchoring herself as she moved with growing intensity. Still slow. Still controlled. But the pressure mounted with every grind, every wet, perfect slide of skin.
Sara's moans became more frequent, more urgent. "Cora…"
Her voice cracked, raw and honest, full of need.
Cora kissed her then, mouths colliding in a hot, desperate press, swallowing her sounds as she increased her pace just enough. Their hips rocked together in a rhythm now, perfect friction building until their bodies started to tremble. Sara clung to her like she was the only thing keeping her from floating away.
And then she came again.
Her whole body locked, her thighs tightening around Cora's hips, her voice a sharp gasp muffled in their kiss. Cora didn't stop. She ground against her through it, chasing her own release in Sara's aftershocks. The heat between them boiled over as Cora's rhythm stuttered, her breath caught, and she came with a quiet groan against Sara's lips.
Their bodies froze—trembling, wrapped around each other—and then finally relaxed, melting into a tangle of limbs and heaving breaths on the towel.
The ocean filled the silence again, waves brushing the shore like nothing had happened at all. The sky above was now fully dark, stars glimmering in quiet constellations, the light of the remnant towers pulsing faintly in the distance.
Cora shifted, still on top of Sara, but only enough to rest her weight gently along her. Sara's hands moved up her back, fingers slow, lazy, tracing the line of her spine. Neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
Eventually, Cora tucked her face into Sara's neck and exhaled a long breath. "You're dangerous when you're quiet," she murmured.
Sara let out a soft laugh, barely more than a hum. "I've had time to practice."
They stayed like that for a while, the quiet settling in around them. When Cora finally moved to lie beside her, she wrapped an arm around Sara's waist and pulled her close, letting the curve of their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.
Sara turned her face into Cora's hair, breathing her in, the clean scent of sea, sweat, and skin. Her fingers found Cora's and laced them together.
"I was right," Sara said quietly. "About my story not ending sad."
Cora kissed her knuckles. "No. It didn't."
Their joined hands rested between them, warm against bare skin, as the stars overhead wheeled slowly across a sky they had traveled a galaxy to find.
And neither of them let go.