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Firecracker
Someone said Firecracker to her face once, in Basic, so she punched him in the jaw, but the name stuck. It fits—even she admits it, begrudgingly, with her scattered mop of bright red hair, her freckled blush, her easy temper and quick wit. But to anyone that values their bones intact, she's Shepard or Commander or ma'am.
How has Joker put it? Vanguard of insanity, leap-before-she-looks, cut-twice-measure-once, fire-then-aim? That last one was total bullshit—she uses a shotgun precisely so aiming won't slow her. Of course he liked the nickname, likes muttering it under his breath over the comm, when he's comfortably kilometers from her temper and any thought of retaliation will flit away long before an opportunity can arise.
So she likes it when Vega starts in with Lola, and likes it even more the first time she hears Donnelly use it. In another life, her previous life even, she might've gone for Vega, thrown him down after a quick sparring and fucked him into the floor. She'd probably still go for him, one day, if she wasn't careful.
It doesn't help that they do spar, far too often, hands and fists and knees all over each other, every day soaked in sweat, breathing the same charged air. And every night she stands beneath a cold spray of water, shuddering, at once frustrated and satisfied. For her, there's only so much fingers and toys can do.
So when Kaidan sends a message that he's mobile, she redirects the ship so fast EDI complains, jokingly, of whiplash. She doesn't mind the knowing smiles, or the whispers, or the awful burning in her belly, because she steps through the hospital door and he's grinning at her, all scruffy cheeks and dazzling eyes.
He's a little shy in telling her about the Spectre nod, and she can't resist a little teasing.
“I'd've thought cop would suit you better. So by-the-book. So careful.”
“Well, I know when to be cautious and when to get things done.”
“That you do,” she says, running her hand from his shoulder down. “I see you're all patched up.”
“They did what they could.”
“Not much improving the original, I guess.”
He chuckles, and she's made him blush, so she backs off a little.
“Really, sincerely. Congratulations, Kaidan.”
“Thanks.”
He smiles, and her hand remains on his bicep, fingering the muscle.
“You know,” she says slowly, “I'm here for a while. And I know we should probably, well, talk, but it's been almost three years, and you almost died, and there's this cafe down on the Presidium that sells steak sandwiches...”
“You almost asked me on a date, Shepard,” Kaidan says, and she gives him a predator's grin, leaning in suddenly, lips at his earlobe.
“Sometimes I dream about ripping your clothes off with my teeth and fucking you so hard you can't walk straight for a week.”
He jumps as though struck and rubs his ear, electric from contact.
“Jesus, Shepard,” he laughs. “I've got a meeting with Udina after this.”
“So that's a no?”
She pushes her lips into a little pouty frown, and he shakes his head.
“How exactly am I supposed to pay attention with that image burning in my head?”
“Carefully, I guess,” she says in a coy, breathy tone. “Maybe...focus on something else?”
Her tongue brushes against his neck, followed by her lips, in a lingering kiss. From the doorway, the nurse coughs emphatically, and they separate, shy as busted teenagers.
“The Embassy car is waiting, sir,” he says to Kaidan. “Come with me, please.”
“Call me in an hour,” Kaidan says, taking her hand and squeezing, “and I'll come.”
“That a promise?” she asks, winking.
“You're the devil.”
“I know.”
She remains at the window, hand on her hip, and calls out just before he's gone.
“You know, Major, I hate it when you leave, but I love watching you walk away.”
He turns back with a brief, embarrassed grin, but then a door slides shut between them, and she's alone again. Her jellied legs find their own way to the Presidium, brain blank with warm humming, but she manages to find some of the crew, climbs over the table, and plops into the booth between EDI and Wrex.
“You look distracted,” Garrus says, glancing over a datapad.
“Hmm?”
“Shepard, do you want anything?” Liara asks, collecting orders.
“Not off that menu.”
“Disgusting,” Javik sniffs, standing a half-pace away, arms crossed.
They don't elicit her participation again, and that's just fine with Shepard—she's content to stare at her omnitool's chronometer.
“He said an hour. Has it been an hour?”
“You're shaking the whole table,” Joker says pointedly, but that does little, Shepard's leg still bouncing against the support.
“I shouldn't call. What if it goes long? What if he forgot—maybe he's already reassigned.”
“What's her problem?” Vega asks, on approach, as Shepard checks and rechecks her omnitool. There's no room left, so he pulls up a chair, turns it backwards, and sits.
“She's in heat,” Wrex says.
“That is an inaccurate assessment. Human females do not experience estrus.”
“EDI, don't contribute,” Joker says.
“Maybe I should call. I should call.”
Shepard chews her lip and then drops her head dramatically on the table.
“What if he forgot? What if I call and it goes right to his message box and he's a million light years away already?”
“That is unlikely. Getting reinstated to duty, through security, and onto a new ship would take—”
“What did I say about contributing?”
“I do not like the tone of your voice in addressing me, Mr. Moreau,” EDI says with a cold look. Vega ooohs and laughs.
“So is sleeping in the airlock kinda your version of being in the doghouse?”
“Can we go back to talking about me?” Shepard demands.
“No,” Garrus replies. “Where the hell's our food? Liara's been at the bar for years.”
“Aw, leave her alone,” Steve says with a smile. “She's talking to her father.”
“Her creepy father,” Shepard says, nose wrinkling. “Panties aflame. Who the fuck says that, even if you falsely believe I'm your daughter's girlfriend?”
“Well, to be fair, Commander, when haven't your panties been aflame lately? Just go rent a room and masturbate. You'll feel better.”
Her glare zeroes on Joker, who shrinks a little, having poked the bear.
“You wanna go?” she says. “I will lay you out on this table right now, break every bone in your body, and leave you begging for more!”
“Spirits, Shepard, I can't know these things about you!” Garrus says, head buried in his hands. Wrex just laughs.
Shepard's omnitool flashes, and she jumps.
“Oh my god, it's him. Should I pick up? I don't want him to think I'm desperate. Should I wait? No, I want to pick up. I should wait.”
With an eye-roll, Joker leans across the table and answers the call for her.
“Hi, Kaidan,” he says cheerily. “Shepard's here—she's just trying to decide how desperate she wants to sound. So please come pick her up, take her somewhere nice, and, you know, do as rabbits do.”
“Put us out of her misery,” Garrus agrees.
“The galaxy thanks you for your service, Major.”
Shepard yanks her arm away and vaults over the table, glaring back at them.
“Hi,” she says to Kaidan, a little breathless. “Where are you?”
“Right here.”
A hand grabs hers, spins her around, and she's pulled against a hard body. Kaidan grins down at her, bringing her captured hand to his chest.
“You always were so impatient,” he says affectionately, and kisses her, to a chorus of grateful applause from the booth. She escapes his embrace and tugs at him.
“Let's get out of here.”
His focus is on the table, appraising the assembly, and his tone turns oddly flat.
“Shouldn't I go say hi, at least?”
Everyone's enjoying her torment. Joker takes time introducing the new faces, grinning at Shepard, who mouths death threats over Kaidan's shoulder.
“Vega,” Kaidan says, when they've come around to the lieutenant. “Glad to see you stuck around after Mars.”
Vega salutes and then offers his hand, which Kaidan shakes slowly.
“Not much choice,” he says. “Lola wouldn't let me leave.”
“Lola,” Kaidan repeats neutrally.
“He gave her a nickname,” Joker says helpfully. “Shepard likes it. Better than Firecracker, even.”
“I still don't understand how you crack fire,” Garrus mutters. Vega makes to sit, but Kaidan isn't letting go, fingers clamping down.
“Is that right, Lieutenant?”
“C-Commander Shepard, I mean. Obviously. Just a...just a friendly joke. You know.”
“Oh,” Kaidan says, releasing his grip from Vega's somewhat bloodless hand, “I know.”
Kaidan has an apartment somewhere on Tayseri, so Shepard finds them a cab, and they sit with their knees pressed together the whole ride. She barely waits for him to close the door before she's toeing off her boots.
“Foreplay, great love, sorry you got hurt, blah, blah, blah,” she says, yanking off her socks, and he follows suit, fingers working the buckle of his belt. “We'll have time for that later. Right now I just want you inside me.”
She's stripped down in seconds and pounces on his bed. Kaidan follows with less urgency, slowly peeling off his shirt.
“So that lieutenant,” he says. “Vega. He just gave you that name?”
“Lola? Yeah.”
She poses on her hands and knees, fingers twisting into the sheets, impatient.
“So? He's fun. We dance sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
She turns her head, chin to her shoulder, staring through a haze of lust. He is too far away, and far too clothed.
“It's just dancing, Kaidan.”
“Not with you.”
She waggles her bare ass at him.
“What do you care? I'm here, aren't I?”
“Are you?” he asks, and there's something dark in his voice. His trousers finally come off, and his fingers wrap around his half-hard cock, sliding slowly up and down. She licks her lips almost involuntarily.
“Maybe I'm not,” Shepard purrs, as heat works its way up her chest. “Maybe Vega's got me on the floor, and his tongue's in my cunt.”
She turns away from him again, stretching out her arms, face buried in his pillow. He's on her in that instant, biotics flaring, erection sliding along her wet sex, and she moans a little, pushing back with her own field, writhing beneath his weight.
“What else?” he says. She's taut beneath him, knees together until he shoves them apart, pressing himself flush against her, his chest to her back, chin hooked over her shoulder, hands locked down over her wrists. He pushes her arms up until her elbows are perfectly straight and quivering with the effort to hold them both up. “I asked you a question.”
She whimpers, wiggling her hips to coax him inside, but he shoves her into the mattress with another burst of power, knuckles tightening over her wrists. His mouth is at her ear—so close his teeth scrape her skin.
“What else does he do?”
“Kaidan, he's not—”
He bucks his hips against hers, a warning.
“Bends me over the weapon bench,” she chokes, and he enters her without warning, slamming all the way in one powerful thrust. She's not quite ready and hisses at the sudden fullness. She's almost forgotten how he stretches her, pain and pleasure spiking in her core. “Oh, fuck, Kaidan...”
“What else?” he asks, grinding his hips against her ass. Her voice shakes.
“He fucks me. Hard and—”
Kaidan pulls back, slowly, drawing himself out almost completely, just the tip of his cock at her entrance. He groans, his breath hot against her cheek.
“And, and fast.”
He slides back in, just as slow.
“Kaidan, please,” she moans, flexing against his grip. “Please—”
“No,” he growls. “Keep talking.”
“He doesn't last long,” she gasps. “He's too young, doesn't know enough. But he feels bad.”
She feels good—too good, blood buzzing, brain blank, and she can't even make words anymore, just moans and gasps and sharp cries. He keeps up the same agonizing pace, slowly in and slowly out, just enough friction to burn, to build her up to a steady plateau, each gentle thrust sending delicious shivers through her whole body.
Every inch of skin touching his is slick with sweat, and she needs his fingers, his tongue, needs him touching her.
“Please,” she begs. “Kaidan, I-I'm so close. I need—”
“That's Vega's problem,” he says, but speeds up just enough to torture. She twists and bucks beneath him, seeing only the sheets and her fists sparking blue. There's no relief—if she could just concentrate, think of anything other than his body on hers, the maddening heat, the itch of sweat running down her back and sticking her hair to her face, if she could just summon the strength to flip them over—even on her back she has the upper hand, but he knows her too well, knows how powerless she is like this and how it drives her wild.
Kaidan's breath turns ragged, his face pressing into her shoulder, and she feels the climax tremble through his limbs. He slows, and comes to a stop, still buried deep inside her.
She wants to scream but only has breath for a frustrated sob.
“You never finished your story.”
He releases his grip on her wrists, hands gliding up her arms, over her shoulders, and his arms lock around her waist, drawing her upright. Her instinct is to turn around and punch him for leaving her like that, but her fingers are still numb, and her body throbs with need.
“Show me,” he whispers, kissing the back of her neck, “how he makes it up to you.”
Her hands close over top of his, and she waits a moment for the roar to die down, for her voice to stop shaking quite so bad.
“He...he likes how small my breasts are. How they fit perfectly.”
She pulls his hands, fingers twined together, to cup her breasts, thumbs flicking over each nipple. She leans back into his chest, into the soft kisses he sprinkles across her shoulder, directing his hands to knead her flesh, trace wide circles with calloused fingers.
“He likes that I'm all muscle, likes that I'm different from any woman he's had before.”
His left follows hers, drifts down the tight plane of her stomach, but she's not looking to end anything quite yet. Together they work from the outside in, hands separating along each side, slow loops from breasts to belly to hips. She starts to move, just a little, not enough to dislodge his soft length, but to tease him. She flexes those inner muscles she's spent so much private time perfecting, and his breath catches.
“It's like a game. He thinks maybe it's his one chance to impress me, and he already fucked up. Maybe there's no second chance.”
“There isn't,” Kaidan agrees, trying to steady his breathing by kissing and sucking the skin along her clavicle. He knows her too well, has already figured out what she's doing, but she knows him too—there's no way he'll stop her, no reason to even attempt. So he matches her movements, hips aligned with hers, each fluttering sigh entering Kaidan and exhaling through Shepard.
“He works slow, at first. No dirty talk, no boasting. It's about me, for him.”
She leads his left down again, brushing the top of her curls—he takes some initiative and tugs, sending a wave of tingles through her belly. She moans, louder than necessary, encouraging his gasps. She can feel him getting hard again, can imagine the pleasure building at the base of his spine, each electric spark answered by a pulse of biotic power. He pushes and she pushes back, blue flame following the path of their twined hands to her core.
It's not an exaggeration this time.
“Kaidan. Oh god, that feels—”
His right hand still works at her breast, but his left—fuck, his left is drawing that impossible sound from her throat, first with a hard pinch and then gently rolling her clit, fingers reaching far enough each time to brush where they're joined. He's losing control completely—she can feel the strain in every muscle against hers, the tremble in his thighs, the shallow breaths pumping through his chest.
Her name is a mantra he whispers against her skin, and soon there's no words at all—both of them gasping and crying out in rhythm, biotics swirling in a vortex around them. No one has control now. All she can think of is the heat, is the pressure collecting in her head and her heart.
The explosion starts in her and ends in him, and they collapse together, still joined, hands trapped beneath. After a moment, he rolls off, peeling away his heat and hands. Shepard pulls in oxygen roughly, face pressed into the pillow. She turns onto her back, knocking into his side.
Kaidan's breathing just as heavy, passing a hand over his face.
“Let's see some twenty-year-old meathead make you scream like that.”
She turns her head to him, he meets her gaze, and she bursts out laughing. He grins, pulling her along until she's curled up beneath his arm, leg hooked over his.
“Fuck,” Shepard says. “I need to make you jealous more often.”
She crawls up and kisses him, his head cradled between her hands.
“You know there's no one else I love.”
He flips her onto her back and returns the kiss.
“I know.”
***
“What...what just happened?”
Vega looks down, turning his numb hand over.
“Did I just almost die?”
Wrex laughs.
“Makes you feel alive, doesn't it, whelp?”
“You're looking pale, Mr. Vega,” Steve says with a grin. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Eh, you're lucky,” Joker says as Vega falls back into his chair, dazed. “That woman? Vagina like a bear-trap.”
“Ah, gah, stop,” Garrus begs. “How would you feel if I started talking about your sister like that?”
“A: Shepard is not your sister. B: My sister is fifteen. What you're suggesting is still illegal in 85% of galactic provinces.”
“This is a misuse of time!”
They turn to Javik, who scowls with disdain.
“Wasting energy on copulation when she should focus on war! There will be time for re-population when the Reapers are defeated.”
They quickly return to the argument without comment.
“Shepard is my sister, as close as possible for two people with differing amino acids.”
“Doesn't count.”
“That's racist.”
“Wait,” Steve cuts in. “What did you just say?”
He's addressing Javik, who spares another condescending glance.
“I approve of her choice in mates. He is a strong warrior as well, but her talents are needed for the fight. I have studied your species' gestation. She will be hindered.”
Their heads swivel to Wrex, who shrugs.
“I wasn't joking.”
“Of course not,” EDI says. “But your description was factually inaccurate.”
“Well,” Joker says, after a long silence.
Javik shakes his head.
“Primitives.”