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James knows when the interest started, when Shepard became something a little more than the first human Spectre, more than the man who committed a Batarian genocide. They didn’t talk, not really, when James guarded the brig under Admiral Anderson’s orders, but it was still painfully intimate.
He remembers the bags that hung under his eyes, remembers the paleness of his skin, remembers being surprised by just how tired the man in the cell looked. He remembers having to stand watch as the man ate, slept, shat. Was he really the great John Shepard? The man who brought Cerberus and Krogans and Turians and Salarians and Asari and Drell and Quarians and Geth, fucking Geth, together on one ship to bring down Saren and the Collectors and, apparently, the Bahak system and all its Batarian colonies with it?
Shepard the hero and Shepard the villain and Shepard the human all blended into an image that James couldn’t really understand, but also couldn’t forget. For the longest time, he thought he was the only person who has ever seen this side of Commander John Shepard. That is, until he met Major Alenko.
He noticed it early on, when he first saw the two of them interact. There was a blanketed sadness in Kaidan’s face, a regret, a want, when James asked if he knew Shepard. The disturbing part, though, was the fact that Shepard shares the same look. In that instant, James found himself jealous. Who knew how long they’ve known each other; James knew, though, that it was nothing compared to the scant time he spent as Shepard’s jailor.
Jealousy was nothing new to him. Romantic rivalry, though, was. Not that he was in love with back then, per se; that came much later.
That’s why he doesn’t know what to do when Alenko messages him when they’re at the Citadel. He ignores him for the first few messages, because if James is anything, it is pissed. Pissed that the only thing between him and Shepard is Alenko. He knows that Shepard could want him, too, he’s even said so, but . . . but he’s not . . .
Anyway.
It’s not until the sixth message that he moves. “It’s Shepard. Purgatory,” is all it reads, but it’s all he needs to end up at Purgatory, at the bar, panting and wheezing from there.
Alenko greets him with a smile and a wave. “Hey.”
“Shepard?” James grunts.
“He’s in there somewhere.” Alenko gestures to the writing, dancing group, and really? Shepard’s in there somewhere? Doing what? He can’t dance.
James eases, though. “Is that all? I thought he was hurt or something.”
“You weren’t answering my texts, so . . .”
“Oh. Right.” James rubs his neck. “Sorry, got caught up in the poker game, you know?”
Alenko gives him this look and James feels himself go red. Besides the whole ‘romantic rivals’ thing or whatever, Alenko isn’t that bad a guy, honestly. He isn’t even sure if Alenko knows they’re romantic rivals. It isn’t as if he’s declared his interest in Shepard in front of anyone besides Esteban and EDI (and Joker by extension). What if the guy is honestly just trying to be nice?
The guilt only gets worse when Alenko hands him a cool beer and they sit at the bar like everything is all right between them. Like a peace offering for a war he didn’t even know he was a part of. The silence that settles over them is awkward and Vega feels that he should set it right. Before he can open his mouth, though, someone sidles beside him.
“Vega!” A hand clasps his shoulder, hard. He turns and it’s Shepard, sweat glittering along his brow and his eyes a little bloodshot. The grinning pulling his lips is just too unnatural. “About time you showed up! You missed most of the party!”
“Party?”
Shepard looks aghast.
“Wrex has a daughter now,” Alenko explains. “They named her Mordin.”
James gets an armful of Shepard. “Isn’t it great, Vega? I’m so happy for them!”
“I see that, Commander,” James says with a laugh, patting the drunk man’s head.
“But, isn’t it the best news ever? And, the best name ever?”
There’s pain, some kind of hurt, in his eyes. James smiles hard for him; he knows how it feels to bury his friends.
“Fuck yeah, it is!”
“Good! Come dance with me to celebrate!”
Alarms start going off.
James exchanges a look with Alenko. “Ah, nah, that’s all right, loco. I’m all danced out.”
“Whaaat?” Shepard whines and, wow, who knew that he could actually pout. “Oh come on! I just want to dance with someone I know!” he points at Alenko accusingly. “He won’t dance with me either, the dick cheese.”
James can’t help but laugh at Kaidan’s frown. Kaidan clears his throat. “I think we should just head back to the Normandy. The last thing we need is the paparazzi catching you like this.”
Shepard’s pout returns. “But—”
“Aw, you poor bastard.” The other men turn to James who’s tossed all thoughts of a truce. God, this is a new, different side to Shepard, and it’s tugging at his heartstrings. “Do you really want to dance that badly?”
Shepard nods.
“All right, come on.” Shepard giddily accepts his hand and James lets himself be dragged onto the dance floor. “Don’t wait up,” he tosses back to Alenko.
The song that thrums through them is intense with electronic wails and ethereal Asari vocals and a deep, deep bass James can feel in his stomach. When they’ve wormed their way through the throng and settled in the tight knot in the center of the dance floor, Shepard turns and rocks his ass back against James.
Damn, when did Shepard learn how to dance like this?
Shepard sets their pace, following those Asari voices with sweet, slow sways and rolls of his hips. James settles in with his movements, thanking every deity he can think of for the ass rubbing against his crotch.
Besides the occasional elbow or hip, the crowd is only a dizzying whirlwind of skin and lights and hair and sweat. The man wrapped in his warms is the only stable thing, the only thing keeping him grounded. James clutches for dear life.
Shepard’s face vibrates; he’s probably saying something.
“What?” James’ shout is still drowned out by an electric pulse.
So, Shepard turns, wraps his arms around James’ neck and starts to, oh yes, grin. He nips James’ ear and speaks again, his voice husky and slurred.
“You still love me, don’t you?”
James’ heart stops.
“W-What?”
“You do!” Shepard laughs, gives James’ ear a sloppy lick. “So, you probably want to kiss me right now, huh?”
A strong thigh presses against between James’ legs and his, “Yes!” is very much a squeal. He clears his throat and continues at a more natural pitch, “All the time.”
“What about fucking?”
“I want to bend you over every time I see you.”
Shepard pulls back from their close embrace and beams with all the grace of a five-year-old. Then, he crushes their mouths together in a messy, drunken kiss.
“I like it when you fuck me,” Shepard moans against his lips, the honesty and the added weight sending James stumbling. “I want you to fuck me tonight.”
James’ mouth goes dry. “Right here?” It’s meant to be a joke, but that’s not how it comes out.
Either way, Shepard nods, starts lapping along his chin.
That’s sounds like a legitimate proposition, a green light. James wonders if he could get away with that, if sober Shepard would let him off the hook if he takes the offer. Then, he remembers Alenko waiting for them at the bar and—
Goddammit.
James sighs. “I don’t think sober you would like that.”
A snort. “Sober me is a dick.” Shepard catches his lips again and grinds harder. They move against each other in jerky movements, rocking and rubbing and moving in time to the music. James isn’t entirely sure this is dancing anymore, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Because, he just wants to keep him. He wants to take Shepard to bed without worrying about people finding out. He wants to wake up beside him, their legs and arms tangled. He wants Shepard to look him in the eye and say, “I love you. I will always love you.”
Now, he’s just breaking his own heart.
James moans into the kiss and tries to ignore the lurch of his heart.
Shepard ends it with a giggle. It’s then that he realizes that they definitely aren’t dancing anymore. In fact, they aren’t moving at all, standing awkwardly in the middle of the dance with Shepard’s hands running over his chest.
“You’re so muscle-y,” Shepard mumbles, his mouth still so close, so close. There’s that unnerving grin again. “I like your muscles!”
James rolls his eyes, remembering just how drunk his Commander is. But, he smiles, too. He smiles, because everything this man does makes him love him a little more. It’s almost sickening. “Do you?” he says, deciding that now’s probably a good time to head back to the bar. “Why?”
Shepard leans into James as he parts the crowd. “I feel like you can protect me.”
A laugh. Laughing settles the ache in his chest when he recalls when they first met, spending days with only a cell door separating them. “Protect you? The great John Shepard? From what?”
“Everything! Like, you know, reporters, politicians, vorcha.” A shudder. “ Vorcha .”
The poor bastard is scared of vorcha? Really? James nods at Alenko who’s looking might drunk as he stumbles off his seat to give it to Shepard. Before Shepard accepts it, he turns back James, the clarity in his eyes unsettling.
“You’ve got my back, right, Vega?” he very well demands like the Commander he is.
“Of course, Commander—”
“Because you love me?”
Fuck.
James’ eyes meet Alenko’s shocked stare.
Fuck .
He looks back at Shepard and meets his uncertain frown.
“Yes,” James finds himself saying softly. “Always.” It takes everything he has to not cling to Shepard, to not crush him to his body. At least not in front of Alenko; he owes the guy that much. “N-Now let’s get you to be before this shows up on tonight’s new, right Major?” But, Alenko is gone, nowhere in sight.
He should probably feel guilty. Scratch that, he knows he should. But, he can’t bring himself to care when Shepard presses against him like that, his breath alcoholic rank, his fingers entwined with his. All he can do is kiss those fingers, hold his breath, and pray that Shepard actually remembers this tomorrow.