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The last time Shepard had kissed Kaidan, it was on Mars, red dust streaking over armor and sweat-soaked skin, emergency lighting casting lines over the other man’s face that didn’t belong there.
“Words won’t convince you, will they?”
Kaidan hadn’t fought him. He hadn’t stepped away, hadn’t turned his back and walked away. Hadn’t disappeared into the horizon, or Horizon, a bitter word and a bitter memory.
For once Shepard thought they might be able to reclaim a piece of something, what they had before the Normandy went down in a screeching hail of fire and metal.
The last time they had kissed before that was within that hellfire – a quick kiss, a promise.
“I’ll meet you at the escape shuttles.”
Except I’ll meet you became I’m sorry, and he died with the memory of Kaidan’s broken voice breaking through the comm, telling him that it was okay to let go.
So he let go.
That seemed to be the theme, the pattern they had fallen into ever since Shepard had opened his eyes to see Kaidan standing across from him, battered but alive, skin creased with the two years that he had not seen. He had not grasped the enormity of what he had missed. What he had left behind. What two years could do to a man, be it soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes, or stray bits of silver peppering his temples, or a pain so deep that nothing could reach it, let alone begin to sooth it.
And for once, Shepard realized this was something he could not fix. Nights spent in his darkened cabin, watching the pulsing light of his bedside clock, Kaidan’s head tucked against his chest, soft breaths warming his skin – sleep had never been his friend but he found he didn’t need that companionship when he had Kaidan in his arms. But that proximity was a luxury he forfeited the moment he pulled on a uniform and brushed his fingertips over the raised lines of a symbol that didn’t belong to the Alliance.
It had been two years, eight months, and three days since he had felt Kaidan’s hands on his skin, blue light skimming his features as the bed creaked beneath them. Seven months and five days since the pounding in his chest and the fear that everything had been ripped away from him within centimeters of his fingertips had subsided as he felt the pressure of Kaidan’s fingertips digging into the grooves of his armor and pulling him close, the buzzing of the Collector swarms melting into the distant Horizon sky. Three weeks and two days since his hands were wrenched from the edge of the gurney as the doctors took him away. The red dust still clung to his armor and swirled in the sunlight of the Presidium.
Four days since he had stared at the man he loved down the barrel of a pistol.
Words were never enough to fix all of the damage that had been done. Words were Band-Aids holding together gaping cuts that required sutures and salve. Sitting in that café was a back-and-forth of acting and precarious dialogue, tiptoeing through thorns and brambles only to reach a clearing rigged with mines and tripwires. And when speech failed him, he closed his eyes and waited for the explosion.
But Kaidan’s hand reached across the table and laid across his, the pad of his thumb brushing gently across the imperfect bits of scar tissue that calloused Shepard’s knuckles. And when their fingers twined and he felt the warmth of his palm across his skin, he felt that familiar hope that maybe - just maybe - they had a chance to reclaim the certainty they’d lost along the way.
The cold metal of the wall bit into the skin of his back as Kaidan’s hands hiked his shirt up, fingertips drifting across Shepard’s bare sides, palms skimming over his ribs, pulling him close as they kissed in the orange and blue glow that fought the darkness of Shepard’s cabin. His touch was halting, once worn paths losing familiarity as fingers found new skin, built across a latticework foundation of cybernetics and heavy weaves. Shepard broke away to murmur an apology as Kaidan’s hand stalled on his side, but the words died on his lips as Kaidan’s palm slipped to the small of his back and pulled him back in.
There was a time when Shepard could lose himself so easily in Kaidan, fingernails biting into skin, lips swollen, lungs breathless – before the Reapers, before the war, before the Collectors and Cerberus and the collapse of the little bit of stability he had found after years spent drifting in open water. Kaidan was that stability, and losing him was like drowning.
Kissing him again was like breaking through the surface.
Kaidan’s palms slid down his bare back, his hiked shirt catching on the surface of the wall behind him as he leaned into him. Shepard’s breath caught in his throat in a surprised gasp as Kaidan’s hands gripped his thighs and lifted him, weight shifted back against the wall behind him as his legs slid around the other man’s waist. He slid his fingers through the other man’s hair and pulled him back into a kiss, pushing away from the cold metal wall and into Kaidan’s warmth, the fabric of his slacks shifting and catching on Kaidan’s belt until his hips settled into place and they were moving, panting with the friction and the rising heat that spread across their skin like a biotic aftershock.
A flare of blue lit Kaidan’s eyes and Shepard felt the static as it crawled across his skin, and he couldn’t stop the smile that tilted his lips. Two and a half years couldn’t change everything.
They panted together, hips moving in tandem as they kissed and broke apart, teeth catching on lips, eyes fluttering, fingers tightening, brows furrowing. Kaidan’s hands brushed over the healing fissures of scars patterning Shepard’s back and Shepard’s fingers tightened together at the base of Kaidan’s neck, thumb brushing over his amp port and earning a shaking gasp that parted scarred lips.
Shepard buried his face against Kaidan’s shoulder, arms circling around his neck and fingers gripping at the shoulders of his fatigues, nails digging into reinforced stitching and padded leather. He could feel Kaidan’s fingernails biting into the skin of his thighs even through the fabric of his pants, holding him steady as they trembled together, moving faster and faster, mindless of everything but the heat and the friction and the soft spark of biotics connecting skin to skin in strings of blue light.
No… two and a half years couldn’t change everything.
Shepard turned his face against Kaidan’s neck, lips pressing gently to the skin beneath his earlobe, breath hot and shaking in his chest as Kaidan thrust against him again and again and again. He tightened his legs around the other man’s hips, slowing his movements just enough for him to catch his breath and whisper into his ear in a voice that trembled with the undercurrent of emotion that he had denied himself for so long that it was a wonder he recognized it at all.
“I love you.”
When the movements stopped and his feet hit the floor again, he didn’t care about the loss, the lack of movement, the friction or the heat or the pleasure, because Kaidan’s arms were around him and his voice was in his ear, low and husky and broken.
“I love you, too.”
They kissed again, feet moving as Shepard finally took control, hands gripping Kaidan’s wrists as he pushed him back towards the bed. He felt the tug forwards as the edge hit the back of Kaidan’s legs and down they went, mattress giving off a weighty creak as Shepard’s knees settled on either side of Kaidan’s body.
Fingers pulled at buckles and zips and folds of fabric, shedding Alliance blues across the floor until they were finally skin to skin for the first time in—no. No, Shepard was done counting. Their separation was more than its weight in numbers. Time was only a fraction of the equation; time could heal wounds, but time could not heal time.
There would never be enough time.
Kaidan’s palm slid down the center of Shepard’s torso as he steadied himself, fingertips tracing healed scars, faint lined cracks in his skin like shattered rock. He remembered the look on Kaidan’s face when he had seen him on Horizon – the scars had glowed orange around the edges of his face, lining his cheekbones and jaw and temples. He hadn’t been able to identify the emotion in Kaidan’s eyes until he’d looked up from the basin, water catching the orange lines on his face, staring into pinpricks of red shining through the gray of his eyes.
Kaidan had been scared of him – rather, of what he had become, or could have become. Was he even real? Was any of this even real? Was he a monster, or something much, much worse?
Chakwas told him the scars would go away if he reduced his stress levels, made a concerted effort to remain calm - “stay positive,” she had said. Take care of yourself.
Kaidan thought he was a monster. The scars took a long time to fade, turning into thin, pale lines of new skin, ridged and soft. Eventually the cybernetics integrated properly and the glow faded. His eyes turned gray.
He trembled, laying a hand over Kaidan’s as it traced a pale scar line across his heart. Kaidan had always treated his scars reverently, knowing how much pain they brought him – he remembered feeling his palms skimming over the bullet wound scars on his back, or the acid scar on his side. Sometimes Kaidan would kiss him on the forehead, lips trailing over the small scar cutting through his eyebrow. Those scars were long gone, though, but that hadn’t changed the softness in Kaidan’s touch. He just had new scars to memorize.
Shepard took Kaidan’s wrist and pulled his hand away, taking the moment he needed to lean over to his bedside table and rummage through the top drawer. He heard Kaidan laugh, before making a teasing comment about technical virginity that had Shepard pausing in his search to break into awkward laughter. He snapped the drawer shut.
He kissed him as he slid down, fingers tightening around Kaidan’s wrists and eyes squeezing shut as the burn clawed its way up his spine. Their lips parted after a moment and Kaidan breathed out, breath hot across Shepard’s skin. His wrists twisted in his grip and Shepard pushed down a little harder, putting his weight forward until he was filled, teeth biting into his lower lip. He felt like a piece of taut wire, with no give and too much strain – until Kaidan whispered his name, and the calm began to spread between nerve-endings like a wildfire. Their lips met again and he could move.
The bed began to creak with their movements, a constant ticking sound underscoring the persistent hum of the drive core. Shepard pressed his forehead to Kaidan’s and they breathed together, fingers twining as the sheets shifted beneath them and Shepard rocked his hips against Kaidan’s. He felt the mattress shift as their speed increased, before Kaidan lifted his weight and pushed his heels into the bed, allowing him to thrust upwards to meet Shepard’s downwards movements. Shepard’s pace faltered and a ragged moan tore from his throat.
He let go of one of Kaidan’s hands from where he had held them pinned above his head, fingers trailing over the column of Kaidan’s throat and down to the dip of his collarbone. He could feel the breath rattling in his lungs and the steady thrum of his pulse, quick and fluttering beneath his skin, slickening with sweat. He leaned down, fingers caressing the expanse of the other man’s throat, lips pressing softly to side of his neck. He felt Kaidan shudder in his hands as his teeth scraped over his pulse point.
Kaidan’s free hand slid between them as they thrust and bucked and moved, trailing fingertips over the ridges of Shepard’s stomach and feeling his abdominal muscles tighten and tremble beneath his touch. A groan that vibrated across the surface of his skin slid from between Shepard’s parted lips as his fingers curled around him, touch firm and familiar. He matched Shepard’s pace, thrust for thrust, and Shepard’s grip wavered and slipped.
Shepard couldn’t hold back the startled sound that ripped from his throat when Kaidan’s other hand yanked from his grasp and grabbed at the small of his back, giving him the leverage he needed to roll the both of them over. The bed gave a resounding creak at the sudden movement, and Shepard realized with a certain amount of disorientation that the color of Kaidan’s eyes matched the kinetic energy that slid over his cabin’s skylight like water. He could feel the heady thrum of his biotics in the air, pressing against his skin and making his nervous system buzz. Kaidan kissed him and he felt the lick of biotic energy skitter across his skin, legs wrapping around Kaidan’s waist as he resumed their movements, thrusting down into him hard enough to make the mattress shift and creak.
He clutched at Kaidan’s shoulders, breaking the kiss to press his face against the other man’s neck, trying and failing to hold onto the last shred of control he had left. That was the thing about being a Vanguard, he realized dimly. He didn’t have control. He had power, aggression, dominance. But he was never in control. He burned bright, but he burned too hard to be held.
Kaidan was the only person strong enough to hold him, even in those moments he thought he might combust.
He felt the energy ignite across his skin – felt the electricity connect, the blue haze crackling between them and lighting up every nerve ending, every sensation amplified, overloading until the scream left his throat and he came, wrapped tight in Kaidan’s arms.
And when Kaidan’s voice died out as well and the blue haze dissipated, he realized maybe – just maybe – they had finally managed to reclaim a small piece of what they had left behind so long ago.