Archive of Our Own

Shepard knows from the start, from six days ago, that sleeping together—actually sleeping, that is—is a Bad Idea. It’s more than the way he knows he snores or the way Vega practically envelopes him or just how warm it is now when he wakes up. No it’s the dreams—the nightmares—that worry him. Every night when they settle in together, Vega sliding in behind him, wrapping his arms around him, Shepard silently prays that tonight won’t be the night that the nightmares return.

He doesn’t know what he’d do in his sleep, whether he’d scream or cry or strangle the closest thing to him.

So, after every blessedly dreamless slumber, when he wakes to Vega’s sweet nothings in his ear, to the suffocating heat that is Vega’s touch, to that musky, comforting smell that is Vega, there are no words to describe just how happy he is. But it’s short-lived, because he knows tomorrow could be different. And, that reminder sinks into him now as he wakes to soft kisses against his neck, pressed to his face.

He hates it. He hates not being able to take Vega’s gestures at face value. He hates expecting the worst from, well, everything. But he just can’t quiet that voice in the back of his mind.

“Hey, babe.” It’s Vega, realizing he’s awake. “Mornin’.” 

“Mmph.”

Vega chuckles as he touches his chin, turns it back to kiss him, and Shepard lets himself be pulled into it, shifts so that they’re chest to chest. He likes this part; it makes the mornings feel less awkward. He never thought he’d actually think about it, but these are the kisses that he likes best, drowsy and warm and kinda gross, now that he thinks about it, seeing as neither of them have brushed their teeth. But, that means something, right? 

When Shepard ends the kiss, tilts his head down, he notices it prodding his abdomen. 

“Wha—really?”

“Ah, sorry?”

“Every time.”

Vega only offers a sheepish smile. Shepard sighs, resigned.

“I could beat you off.” 

“You could, I guess . . .”

Shepard frowns. “But . . . that’s not what you want, is it?”

A bit lip. “Not really.”

“It’s way too early to have lube up my ass, Lieutenant.”

Vega mock-pouts. “Aw, but John—”

“I could blow you.”

Wide eyes. Vega even gawks a bit. “W-Would you?”

Now it’s Shepard’s turn to laugh. “You act like you’ve never had your dick sucked before!”

Vega licks his lips. “Never by you.”

Oh. So, that’s the difference.

“Wow.” Shepard spread his hands across his lover’s chest. “Is it really that big of a deal for you?”

Vega nods impatiently. “You don’t even know.”

And, Shepard really doesn’t, but, it looks like it hurts.

His lover lurches forward for a kiss, but Shepard ignores it in favor of throwing back the covers, the air conditioning rushing in and taking away the heat. He moves between Vega’s legs that part eagerly for him, heels digging into the mattress. Vega only watches him with awe, adoration. It’s a look he’s worn countless times before, but Shepard’s chest still clenches every time he sees it.

There’s a needy hum when he fingers the tent in Vega’s boxers, a burst or precome dampening the fabric. Shepard eases the erection through the boxer’s slit, his touch earning a hiss, a curse, and admires it. Vega has a gorgeous fucking cock, heavy and thick and dark with blood . . . Damn. Shepard was actually hungry for it, starving, and when was the last time he felt that way about a dick?

He remembers, cringes, and shoves that thought away. Some trips down memory lane are best not taken.

So, instead, he dips his head down to taste, taking the tip between his lips, tongue stroking, swirling. He pulls back at Vega’s barely-muffled whimper, warns, “I’m probably a little rusty, you know.”

“I’m barely conscious,” Vega mumbles. “Like I’ll fucking notice.”

With a smile, Shepard drops his head again, engulfs his erection. Hands scrabble at his head, then his ears when they find nothing to hold on to. 

“Oh, babe. Yeah.”

Shepard’s head starts to bob slowly with help from the hands gripping his ears. God, it’s been so long since he’s suck cock that he’d almost forgotten how good it is, how much he loves the briny sharpness of precome, the heady smell of the sweat that’s begun to cling to Vega’s pubes, how much he loves— Shepard slides off with a pop, Vega’s hands disappearing, presses his face against his erection as he pants.

Vega is biting the meaty part of his hand, eyes half-lidded. “Fucking Christ,” he manages around the flesh. “Shepard, are you—shit—yeahhh.” He throws his head back and groans.

Shepard moans himself when he frees Vega’s balls, delves into them and, fuck, this is it. This is the best part of sucking cock, this smell. His own erection makes itself known, pushing against his briefs and throbbing with each ooze of precome. His tongue runs over the bristly hairs, then he wraps his lips around it, wets it in his mouth, and—“Shepaaard . . .”—sucks. So good.

The hands return, frantically urge him to abandon his nuts, to come back to his cock. Shepard lips up the length and meets Vega’s eyes.

“Babe.”

Shepard finds himself smiling at the name; when had he gotten used to it, started to like it? 

“Yeah?”

“I wanna—” Vega’s voice is soft, warm, drowsy, like melted caramel. “I wanna come with you—you, uh—I mean, do you—” His eyes flick down to his lips, and suddenly Shepard understands.

Shepard smiles, ghosts a kiss across the length of Vega’s erection. “You want to know if I swallow? Really?”

“Do you?” Vega presses, his hips jerking at the scant touch. “I just—I want to see you—”

“You want to see me swallow your cum?” 

Vega looks like he’s damn near close to dying. “Shepard, please—please—fuck—don’t tease you cunt, I swear—shit!”

The younger man’s legs begin to tighten, lock as Shepard begins to pump Vega’s cock with a spittle-wetted hand. He flicks a tongue at the dark head. Vega’s toes curl into the sheets. 

“John—John, please—”

Shepard smiles, laves his tongue over the slit. “Relax, soldier. I’ve got you.” He suckles the head, continues to pump his hand in hard, tight strokes. Vega’s hips begin to roll and Shepard has to hold him down with his free hand. 

“Shit—fuck—oh god oh god oh god—”

Precome is salty, slimy on Shepard’s tongue; he laps at it, eagerly watching Vega’s muscles twitch, lock. He’s close, so close, so close—

“Shit—shit—shit—oh shit—I’m—” Vega starts to buck, growls low in his throat, “Coming, Loco! Shit, I’m—!”

The first line of come is thick, sticky, easily reaches the back of his throat, and arrives joined with a wordless bellow. Shepard seals his lips over the head to accept the rest of Vega’s load, the other man continuing to yell into the pillow, his hips jerking, body twitching. When the pulses start to ebb, involuntary spasms running through his leg, Shepard swallows noisily, then takes the entirety of Vega’s softening cock into his mouth. Vega whines, still muffled by the pillow between his teeth. “Oh my god—oh my god—oh my fucking god.” He makes a wounded noise when Shepard gives his over-sensitive cock a final, tight suck and lets it slide from his lips, landing in Vega’s pubes with a wet sound. 

All he can do is stare dumbly when Shepard licks his swollen lips and climbs back up to kiss him. He doesn’t respond very much to the kiss, dazed as he is, and Shepard can only laugh at the absurdity of it.

“It wasn’t even that good, you idiot. Calm down!”

Vega looks appalled. “That’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“Beyond actually fucking me?” 

“Yes.”

Shepard rolls his eyes. “Oh god.”

“You don’t understand! You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt about this, Loco!” 

“You’ve fantasized about me sucking your cock.”

“Well, don’t sound shocked. You were my military-idol-slash-filthy-secret-wet-dream.”

Shepard snorts. Was this the fanboy in Vega, then? He . . . Actually, it’s cute.

“No, I mean, you’ve fantasized about me just sucking your cock. That’s it? Nothing else?”

“Well, of course I have! The cock sucking ones were just my favorites. What were you expecting?”

“I just—I don’t know. Me chained up, sucking your toes or something?”

Vega sits up and grins, his face sweaty and gross and so very Vega. “I wouldn’t say no to that, actually.” He waggles his eyebrows, wiggles his toes.

“I . . .” Shepard cradles his head, huffs a laugh. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Lemme just . . .” Vega’s fingers creep to the waistband of his underwear and Shepard realizes that he’s still mostly hard, his briefs sticky with precome. He straddles his lover’s chest, begins to pull his tee off. “So, how would you like it, babe? I could pull you off . . . Or I could suck you, too. Or finger you instead. Or, um . . .” Vega scratches his chin. “Er, what else have we done?”

A lot for six days, Shepard realizes. When they weren’t on missions or negotiating with dick politicians, they’d been in bed. Or on the floor. Or against the fishtank. He feels like a teenager, rutting like this. He probably has to thank Cerberus for being able to keep up. But, as much as he would love to draw this out . . . Shepard pulls off his shirt and cringes at the clock. “I think I’m okay, actually. We should get dressed—”

“Aw, c’mon, Loco!” Vega reaches back for his—oh, really, Vega?—ass. “They won’t miss you for two minutes.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Come on! Two minutes.”

Shepard frowns, but falls victim to that pout. He scrubs at his face. “You fucking—I can’t even—”

His lover lights up, sits up. “Did I just win?”

“I swear you have the emotional range of a golden retriev—mm.” He finishes the word in Vega’s mouth, then gets swept up into the kiss. “You have two minutes,” Shepard pants. “Starting now.”

“Mm, got it. You need to lose the undies first.” Shepard rolls his eyes, but climbs off to comply. When he crawls back sans briefs, Vega sits up against the headboard, waving something in his direction.

Shepard scowls. “You’re kidding me.”

“I thought you liked ‘Tingling Sensation!” A grin.

“Oh, shut up.” Shepard hisses. He settles in his lover’s lap again, his erection pressed against his abdomen. “You now have one minute.”

There’re the snaps of the lube’s cap, openclose, and Vega slicks his hand with the stuff. “More than enough time,” he crows, reaching between them.

Shepard sighs when fingers trace his foreskin, coaxing it back as his arousal returns twofold. He wraps his arms around the other man’s neck, leans in close. “That feels good,” he breathes. “Won’t make me come in a minute, though.”

A laugh and the strokes become firmer, going from base to tip. “I’m just getting started, babe.”

“Bullshit,” he wants to say, but it comes out as a squeak instead, because Vega’s hand moves. It pumps at a furious pace, making his muscles clench involuntarily, his hips jerking forward. Vega continues; Shepard moans. “Oh—Oh, fuck!”

Vega snickers, his large fist beginning to twist roughly. “Do you think this’ll make you come?”

Shepard can’t answer, managing only to dig his nails into the back of Vega’s head, to rut into Vega’s grip. The man’s practically wringing the orgasm out of him. The pleasure builds sharply, in spikes that send tremors though his body, and it’s all just so fucking violent and quick that his body has kicked into something feral. And, Vega seems to like it, if his encouragements are anything to go by.

“Aw yeah, babe,” he croons, their foreheads knocking together. “Fucking come for me.”

And, his brows knitted, jaw dropped, muscles contracting, Shepard does. He grunts with every shudder, come striping Vega’s knuckles. When that hand pulls away, Shepard makes to moan, but Vega’s mouth stops him.

Shepard breaks the kiss, exhales through his nostrils. “. . . Wow.”

“Mm.” Vega chuckles, noses against him. “Good morniiing.”

“Took longer than a minute.”

Vega brandishes his dirtied hand. “After an orgasm like that, do you think it matters?”

“Of course, it does.” Shepard kisses him again. “So, you do this professionally?”

A laugh. Vega sets him onto the bed, rolls off himself with the promise of a wet washcloth. “I was about to ask you the same thing!”

“Heh, yeah?” 

Running water. “Fuck yeah. I mean, I haven’t been with a lot of guys myself, but you’re a fucking pro.”

He never thought about that.

Vega returns and the washcloth is warm against his stomach. Shepard eyes him carefully.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

Shepard hums when Vega gently cleans his cock, touching far more than he really needs to, smirking to himself. “How many men have you been with, James?” The smile disappears, stops fondling.

He turns into a nervous, blushing mess in seconds. “U-Um. Not . . . many.”

“How many?”

Vega pauses, then shrugs. “Like three? Including you?”

Shepard sits up, slides down to the edge of the bed. “Really?”

“Uh, is that shocking? I mean, how many people have you been with?”

He starts listing names in his heads, races, species . . . He gives up quickly. “Er, a—a few.”

“How few?”

Shepard doesn’t know what to say, but when Vega folds his arms with a, “Damn,” he figures he must have put two and two together.

“That many?”

“Er . . . yeah.”

“Can you—I mean, numbers? Ranges?”

Shepard stares blankly. “A . . . lot?”

“Damn!”

He winces at the exclamation, searches for something to say. Why the hell didn’t he think about this? Why didn’t it occur to him that this could be an issue? “I—sorry?”

The bed shifts when Vega sits beside him, takes interest in his feet. “There’s no need to be sorry, it’s just—” He pauses, rubs his neck. “I guess I wasn’t expecting that at all. Not from you.”

A chuckle. “Did you expect me to be a virgin or something?”

“No, of course not! ‘Specially not with the whole Krogan thing. I just—You—” Vega pauses, regroups. He looks at Shepard uncertainly, as if uncomfortable with what he’s about to say. “You’re so different when you’re around other people, you know? I mean, before all this, when I imagined sex with you, I expected you to be like how you are in the vids. All dignified and professional and controlled—”

Shepard playfully bumps their shoulders together. “You saying I’m not any of those things?”

“Not when you’re with me,” Vega insists, turning away again. “Not when you’re alone with me.”

Silence falls over them and Shepard observes Vega’s neck, shoulders, muscles shifting tightly with every inhaleexhale. 

“You’re upset.”

Vega’s shoulders slump with his sigh. “I’m not upset. Just . . . intimidated, I guess. A lot for me to live up to.”

“No.” Shepard pushes at his shoulder until brown eyes meet his. “I’m not comparing you to anyone if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“John—”

“Vega, look. I know I’ve fucked around, but that’s in the past. Besides, this . . .” Shepard gestures between them. “I think this is different.”

A wounded frown. “You ‘think’?”

“No, that isn’t—!” Shepard sighs and reaches for the hand in Vega’s hand, enjoying the square fingers that interlace with his. “That’s not what I meant. I know this is different, James. You need to understand, besides you, I’ve only been in one other ‘serious’ relationship, if you’d even call it that. Hell, this is the first time I’ve bottomed exclusively in a while! This is all new to me—” He pauses at Vega’s startled stare. “James?”

Vega shakes himself back to reality. “Sorry, I just . . . I didn’t know that.”

“Know what?”

“Any of that.” He shrugs, his gaze going to the floor. He’s sulking like a child, and Shepard’s sure that if he’d been shorter, he’d be swinging his feet, twiddling his thumbs. “It just reminded me that I still know next to nothing about you.” 

Shepard squeezes his hand; Vega watches him longingly. “It’ll come in time. We could even take a day to just talk, if you’d like.”

After a moment, Vega smiles, kisses Shepard’s knuckles. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. What’re we doing today?”

A chuckle, a kiss. “Just the Citadel, a nice day off for everyone.” Vega opens his mouth, but Shepard interrupts. “I’m busy, though. Errands and all that. But, we’ll talk at some point, James, I promise.”

Vega protests against Shepard’s lips, thumbs running over his cheekbones. Shepard melts into the kiss with a small sound, his freed hands going to that chest. “I’ll hold you to it,” Vega swears, brushing his nose down his lover’s cheek.

Dressing is a more of process than it should be thanks to Vega; the man refuses to end the kiss. Even when Shepard pulls a clean shirt on, Vega barely gives him a moment before their lips meet again. As sweet as it is, it’s impossible to tie his boots when the man won’t even let him bend over. 

“James,” Shepard growls against his lips, pushing him away. “Seriously, piss off.”

Vega grumbles and gropes under the shirt that Shepard has just put on. “Come on, Shep—”

“No—get off—We’ve wasted enough time!”

“One more? One more kiss? Please?”

Rolled eyes. “Oh, fine. God, you’re gooey—whoa, hey! No, down!” His legs instinctively wrap around Vega’s waist; he yelps when his back hits the fish tank. “Down, down, down!”

Vega huffs a laugh into his lover’s mouth, their lips melding, moving. A moan rumbles from deep in Shepard’s body. 

“You don’t even know how much I love you,” Vega murmurs, littering kisses down the length of his cheek.

Shepard’s heart pounds. No matter how many time hears it, he still can’t get used to it.

And he still doesn’t know what to say.

So, he dives into another kiss instead, shoving his tongue down Vega’s throat so that he doesn’t ask, doesn’t feel the need to ask. Panting and moaning, Vega breaks away from the kiss, rests his head in the crook of Shepard’s neck. He inhales deeply.

“We should get going, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan, Lieutenant.”

“You know where to find me.”

“Of course. Now, can I tie my shoes?”

Vega chuckles heartily as he sets Shepard back on his feet and brushes his hands down his sides. “Let me.”

Naturally, this ends up being another lengthy process, Vega’s lips and teeth and tongue working along the length of his foot the entire time. They do manage to leave the room at some point, with Shepard practically shoving the mutt off of him, of course. The elevator reaches the bridge and the doors hiss open.

“Hello, Command—” Traynor’s eyebrows shoot up when she spots Vega, his mouth still latched to the Commander’s neck. “O-Oh. Excuse me.”

Vega grins dopily and then lets out a sound “Oof!” when Shepard elbows him, strides forward casually. 

(“I’m going to end you.”)

(“Heh, right.”)

Shepard waits until the doors close and Vega is gone before clearing his throat and stepping to the map with his hands clasped behind him. “We’re heading to the Citadel today,” he announces to Traynor, eying her from the corner of his eye. He really can’t tell in this light, but her cheeks look darker. Dammit. “Any pressing matters I should know of before we take off?”

It takes an extra second for her to meet his eye. “Er, not really, Commander. However—” She fiddles with her console. “You received another message from this Finch character.”

Shepard frowns deeply, his chest suddenly tight.

“Would you . . . like me to delete this one as well?” 

Without a second thought: “Would you, please?” 

She bites her lip. “Sir, I know it’s not my place—”

“It’s not your place,” Shepard states firmly, internally reprimanding himself for Traynor’s wince, but also taking it as a necessary evil. Just—Just the thought of Finch or anyone from his childhood just makes him cringe.

“It’s gone,” Traynor says after a moment.

Shepard gives a sharp nod. “Thank you.” He sets a course for the Citadel.