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Soft puffy clouds. Vega wasn't quite sure if he was dead and gone to heaven or had just magically developed the ability to fly, but he was pretty sure he was resting on soft puffy clouds, his back whispering to tell him it was all sorts of nice and comfy here and would he please just stay like this forever.
He felt himself smiling dopishly, the rest of his body also sending his brain telegrams telling him he was a good man and a nice man and holy shit did he feel good.
Except...
...for the sudden awareness of pounding between his ears, like a racquet-match lobbing grenades instead of balls.
The nice soft puffy cloudy feeling was still there, but the increasingly thunderous throb forced him out of his floaty la-la land. He groaned himself awake and aware, prying open his eyes that felt like they were ground together with sandpaper.
"Bucket's on your left," said a distant, familiar voice.
The best he could manage was a, "huh?" and then a sudden mad yelp and scrambling for purchase in the clouds as he realised the soft puffyness was actually empty space because he was floating with stars all around and...
"Easy, Vega, just a dream."
Shepard. That was Shepard's voice. What was she doing in empty space? That made no sense.
His brain poked at him, somewhat pained, reminding him it existed. His eyes connected the dots first. He wasn't actually floating in empty space. He was looking up at an overhead viewport with a really nice view of the stars.
And the clouds weren't actually clouds; he was in a bed. A very nice, soft, comfortable bed.
And that soft blue glow? Fishtank, not a sky.
And, since he was actually a pretty smart guy, his brain helpfully pointed out that this wasn't his bed in the crewquarters.
The throb between his ears intensified when he pressed his hands against his face, leaning his head back into the nice soft pillow.
Okay Vega. Think. Think.
...
...
Nope. Nothing useful was coming to him. He was going to have to ask.
"Why am I in your bed?"
Addendum from brain: 'in your bed, naked?' Those sheets felt silky against his ass.
Soft but deep laughter from somewhere beyond. Definitely Shepard's.
"I didn't feel like getting dressed to haul your heavy ass down to crewquarters after you fell asleep."
Yeah, okay, that made sense, but, "How'd I get here?"
There was no reply for a couple of moments. He sat up gingerly, dragging the blanket covering him up to his chin, blinking owlishly until he discovered Shepard. She was all the way across the cabin, sitting at her desk, looking back at him through her display case.
"We went here together, from the party," she said after some silence, speaking a bit slower. "Do you remember?"
That, was a good question. He poked his poor grenade-lobbing brain. His brain poked his memory. Which shrugged and gave him some scattered impressions of a very wild party and a lot of booze and dancing in the streets to celebrate being alive. And not much else. At least nothing to explain how he'd gone from encouraging Alenko to lick alcohol off Esteban's chest, the last thing that was fairly clear, to waking up naked in Shepard's bed.
"Uh... no. Not really."
Another moment of silence, then, "Oh. Well...." Uncomfortable pause. "Head bothering you? Let me get you something for that." She rose from her seat and wandered into the bathroom.
Vega looked around for his clothes. Saw his underwear all the way over on the stairs. Shirt on the floor. Pants... nowhere to be seen. Oh yeah, this was adding up to a very specific picture, very quickly.
He'd fucked Commander Shepard. And didn't remember a minute of it.
She returned from the bathroom while he was still trying to figure out whether to congratulate or kick himself, and he got a good look at her as she walked over to the bed. White tank-top, the kind that went under dress blues. Grey-black ship/station fatigues. Hair properly bound back. No bags under her eyes, no clumsy steps. If he didn't have a vague memory of her standing on top of a bar with a bottle in each hand, declaring all drinks were on her, he would've thought she hadn't drank at all. Slap on a uniform top and she'd look ready for duty.
Damn. He had no idea what he looked like, but he imagined it didn't make a pretty picture.
Shepard sat down on the bed next to him and smirked at him when he clutched the blanket, totally not acting like a blushing maiden, and tugged one corner off his shoulder. She was holding a small painkiller-dispenser between her fingers, which she unceremoneously jabbed into his skin without asking or letting him hesitate. A tiny prick of pain, familiar from his hardsuit's medigel dispense system, and then the warm painlessness started spreading almost immediately. She'd given him the good stuff, alright.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
She dropped the dispenser on the nighttable, but stayed on the bed, looking at him. She didn't look unsure, not exactly. Little bit awkward, but hiding it well. Vega knew his own awkwardness was in full bloom, so she was probably trying to make him feel better. And shouldn't people who had sex just a few hours ago be able to share space without feeling silly?
"Did I do anything, uh.... You know...?" He didn't quite know himself what he wanted to be told.
"Inappropriate? Not at first. Just dancing, flirting, fooling around." She lowered her voice an octave, conspiratorically. "But you got a bit wild after the ryncol."
"...I drank ryncol?!"
Vega's hand unbidden went to his stomach, which wasn't feeling all that happy, but wasn't telling him there was a big giant hole in it either.
"Actually, I drank the ryncol," Shepard said with dark amusement. "You licked the bottom of my mug after I emptied it. Don't know how much you got in you, but your face sure got expressive."
Well... well that did explain why his tongue felt rawer than usual. "Umm...." he mumbled intelligently.
"Yeah, and then you went a bit caveman on me. Dragged me part of the way here by my hair."
Say what?? Though now that she mentioned it, he'd had some mildly erotic fantasies about running his hands through it and pulling her head back, but....
"Now you're just shittin' me. Right?"
"Nope. I was as surprised as you are." She simply sounded amused by the whole thing.
Still, not his style. "Uh.... I'm sorry?"
"Don't be. Your arm's not broken, now is it?"
Good point. "No, I guess not."
And then there was awkward silence again. He was trying to get a feel for what she was thinking, but she was pretty closed off, nearby but not intruding, calm and composed, but just a little more overly casual than he usually saw her. Was she okay? She was watching him right back, and Vega was pretty sure things weren't permanently ruined, or he wouldn't have woken up in her bed and gotten a really nice painkiller and--
Oh, get with the program, Vega. You woke up all confused and missing a chunk of memory, and now she doesn't know whether or not you're having regrets. It's your reaction that she's waiting for, dumbass.
Well then, how was this for reaction? He let the blanket fall to pool in his lap – she'd seen him naked already, and she apparently liked his chest, from the way she began eyeing it, like she wanted to lean forward and give him a thorough licking. He reached over and stroked her shoulder, his larger hand easily covering most if, just a friendly, but intimate gesture. She relaxed, tension and pressure venting out of her like she'd been holding a breath too long.
Then, when she twisted her arm to give him access to the softer underside, he trailed his hand down along her exposed skin, deciding he liked this kind of contact with her.
He'd been right, she'd just been waiting for him to make the first move. Things stopped being awkward and started getting interesting.
And since they'd had sex, there was totally no reason not to touch her more, right? Shepard didn't seem to think so at least. She was staying right on the bed next to him, gamely squeezing his hand when he finished his stroke down her arm. Simple, physical affirmation that they were good. If that wasn't green light, he didn't know what was.
And since his ego kept pushing the question to the forefront, he was just going to have to come out and ask. "So, was it good?"
Shepard looked at his chest again and licked her lips, then found his eyes, hers glittering. "Oh yeah."
His man-ego patted him on the shoulder. Mission accomplished, Vega reigns supreme, even when drunk off his ass.
"Could you maybe...." oh, to hell with it. Worst she could do was toss him out. He turned on his most suggestive grin, "refresh my memory?"
She smirked wickedly and uncoiled, like flipping off a gun's safety, and drew herself fully up on to the bed, sliding one knee over his legs. "Yeah, I think I can do that."
He had about a split second to think that, holy fuck, she was actually going to do it, and then she surged forward and her mouth captured his, no shyness, no hesitation. She pressed hard enough to force his neck to bend back before he caught her head in his hands, stemming her. He was pretty sure the sound she made, deep in her throat, was a growl. Not scary; arousing. And then she was crawling forward, clambering on top of his thighs because her knees couldn't quite reach the bed around his legs. Her strong limbs around his felt like a vice that could tighten any moment but simply chose not to. Vega's breath caught, she teased his lips with hers, made him forget to hold her head back, and then another insistent press made him forget about getting air.
Her hands went to his shoulders, deft fingers sinking into his skin and muscle like a sadistic masseuse, and she calmly pushed him down into the bed, bracing against him, using his own body for leverage. He used his abs to hold back against her, which it took some doing, and only enticed her to press harder. The feel of coiled power against him was heady, and he let himself be flopped back down into the springy bed. He felt a brief sensation of freefall before being swallowed up by the giving fabrics, his head hitting her pillow with a light bounce.
Shepard followed him down like a tiger pouncing on a prey, lips unrelenting against his, her tongue inviting itself into his mouth without asking, dominating his with fast flicks. He ran his hands into her hair and closed his fingers, trying to get some control, but her neck's muscles stubbornly withstood him, he'd have more luck trying to bend steel.
There was no great finesse to the kissing, but no fumbling either. Vega felt his blood heating up, moaning without meaning to, finding his every attempt to lead the dance firmly rebuffed by her skilled, single-minded lips.
Perfect. So damn perfect, her physical confidence in handling his body the way she wanted to was shooting darts of arousal all the way from his brain to his groin. But there was just one little thing wrong with the scenario.
Too much damn cloth between them. The cover. Shepard's clothes. And Shepard was way too busy kissing his breath out and caressing his pecs – he had a feeling he was gonna have to ask if he wanted to have her hands touch him elsewhere – to bother getting undressed. He reluctantly let go of her hair, not surprised in the least when her head suddenly sprung against his from the release; he'd been pulling pretty hard. She muttered an apology and leaned down to kiss along his jaw, teeth rasping against his skin, then applying her lips to his neck.
Okay, that was fine as long as she didn't start biting before he had the opportunity to bite back. He reached down to the blanket stuck between them and started pulling and dragging it. Shepard only barely helped, shifting herself only most reluctantly when he tapped her thighs and knees, and while it was nice getting her amazing ability to single-mindedly focus on something directed at him, he wished she hadn't looked quite so amused when the fabric slid along the head of his very much interested cock, making him bite down on a manly whimper.
Once it was out of the way, he grabbed the hem of her tanktop and slid his fingers underneath it, feeling her stomach twitch at the sudden touch. His hands were large against her waist, and she wasn't tiny at all.
"Off?" he asked. Nicely, because he was a nice guy.
She sighed her assent against his skin, kissed his chin and then planted her hands straight on his chest to raise herself to sit up, a lot of her weight on his exposed thighs. He felt her flex under his fingers as she straightened. Given a free line of sight, he yanked the tanktop up over her breast, not caring whether it went smoothly. She caught it the last bit of the way, stretched her arms and flexed out of it, back arching, hands over her head, flinging it off to wherever.
He licked his lips when he got to see her shapely chest magnificently naked, magnificently sexy, and--
"Huh, I'll be damned."
On the swell of her right breast was a small tattoo. He ran his thumb over it, which covered it completely. N7 in black and red, located right about where a bra-strap, if she ever wore them, would hide it.
"This is like a brand new experience for you, Vega," Shepard teased, putting her hands on her hips, abs and pecs flexing demonstratively, showing her amazing chest off. "You got enthusiastic when you found it yesterday, too."
Dammit. He was never going to live this down.
He tried distracting her by squeezing both her revealed nipples, and if he did it a little bit hard, well, blame it on excitement, right? Which did draw a gasp out of her, voiceless but excited. He liked that, liked it a lot. Wondered how to get her vocal-cords into the game, too. He palmed her breast, liking the way they fit in his hands, and her hands joined his, encouragingly. But when he let his gaze wander downward from her boobs, he noticed something unhappy about her skin. She had quite a few recently healed injuries left from the final hour of the war, hinted at by new-looking skin. But some of the bruises were fresh, and a pair on her waist looked disturbingly handprint-shaped. Like, Vega-sized.
"Did... uh. Did I do... those?"
Shepard looked down her body to see what he was looking at. "Huh. Yeah, you put a few of those there," and before he could form another apology, her body was on top of his again, her naked breast brushing against his pecs, and her mouth firmly pressing him into the pillow, more like a bite than a kiss. "And before you get any ideas," her lips were a mere breath from his, "you are under the mistaken impression that you could have done something to me that I didn't permit. You can't."
That was reassuring. Not that he'd been worried. And his man-ego poked its head in again. "You sure about that, Lola?"
Now that got another laugh out of her, and she bit his jaw, just a nip of the teeth, before answering. "Absolutely." A lick on his neck. "Though you're welcome to try."
How could he not, when she taunted him with that damn low sexy voice? So that's what he did. He grabbed her with a solid grip on her chest and twisted her down into the bed, rolling himself on top of her, shoving his knee between her thighs--
--and yelped when she magically produced even more momentum. A vertigo-inducing heartbeat later they'd done a full circle and he was on his back again. Vega then had the privilege of getting forced down into that nice cloudy bed, silky sheets against his back. Shepard's strong firm body glided against his, pressing unrelentingly, her hands on his chest, her weight pinning him and making the mattress shift.
"Huh, you're heavier than you look."
She had busied herself with licking his nipple and made a huff of a laugh, thoroughly finishing what she was doing at her own pace before letting go long enough to say, "And here I thought you said that yesterday just because you were drunk." Her breath chilled his nipple, the sensation unexpected, but not unwelcome, and then she was working her way along his abs, fingers trailing after her mouth.
"Uh," he was saying that a damn lot, "didn't mean anything by it, you're perfect."
"Damn straight, and you love it." She backed her confident declaration up by sliding one knee between his legs, the coarse feel of fatigues against his more sensitive inner thigh making his dick twitch. Still needed to get her undressed, dammit. He fumbled his hands around her waist, finding the fastenings for her pants, but not seeing what he was doing because her head and chest were in the way, draped over him. She was making little appreciative moans, tongue and lips drawing along the muscles on his chest, head bobbing as she went, leaving a wet trail that contrasted to the heated skin. She was worshipping him, alright, and he was liking it. And so was his cock, for that matter, thinking nice thoughts about those lips around it instead of lavishing his chest. Too bad it didn't have any muscles worth her worship, but maybe he could persuade her.
Because as much fun as it was to get her thoroughly turned on by just laying back and letting her amuse herself with his chest – and it was great fun, about time he got some positive encouragement for all the workout time he'd spent – he really wanted some cock action. He was already so hard his dick was touching his own belly, squeezed in between their bodies and not getting anywhere near enough attention or friction.
He managed to fumble Shepard's pants open and shove them down just a bit, not having the reach to push them down off her hip, but enough to make space for his rough hand to slide between her legs. He didn't do it carefully or gently, because he thought she wouldn't want or expect it. She was hella warm, and damp, and when he slipped a finger up into her wet folds she made a nice soundless gasp against his chest that went straight from his ear to his groin. He easily found her clit and worked it with practiced motions, slightly hindered by having a bad angle, not really hitting her nerves right. But all he wanted was her attention, which he got once he stopped drawing circles with his fingers and made a few fast taps.
Her hands that were splayed on his chest weren't budging, though she looked up at his face quizzically – hello Shepard, long time no see. She rested herself down on her arms, pinning his no-longer-moving hand between their bodies, his arm caught in the cleft between her breast.
"Yeah?"
"I know I'm all kinds of sexy and it's distracting you, but would you please get naked already?"
"Oh alright," she grouched in mock-disappointment and slid off his body and onto the floor in a single graceful movement. Then she cocked her hip and shoved the fatigues off along with her underwear with minimal effort, maximum efficiency. And because she was Shepard she stood, not posing, just standing a moment, letting him whet his appetite. There was power in that body, and she looked so damn fuckable. And that gave him a really nice idea.
When she came to crawl right back on top of him, muscular body flexing like a predator, she leaned herself on one arm for balance. He grabbed it out from under her, pulled and shoved as fast as he could, using his full strength and rolled his body into the movement, flipping her neatly over onto her back. Her surprise was a barely audible huff, and he noted in passing how she sank nicely into the silky sheets, just like she belonged in them, before he started kissing her, giving her payback for some of the bruising she'd done on his lips earlier. Her hands slid aimlessly along his back, blunt nails scraping his skin, and she bucked beneath him, producing hot skin to skin action. He slid his right knee right up between her thighs to stop her, getting a startled voiceless – damn voiceless – gasp out of her.
Then her eyes narrowed and she bit his lip, and the next thing he knew she'd kicked his left knee out from under him with a firm swipe of her leg. At the same time she caught his neck and arm against her chest, arms gripping like a vice, and shoved off the bed in a full-body surge, putting those glorious muscles to use. She flipped him over again with a firm roll, the motion perfectly executed, no superfluous movement, no wasted energy. Just sheer control. The imposed closeness was thrilling, more so because it was she who forced it.
Then her face was looming over his, her weight returned on top of him. "Don't even try it, Vega. I like you just the way you are, on your back in my bed, sprawled out on my sheets, completely and utterly at my mercy."
He couldn't help the way his breath hitched, or the warmth that spread from his face down his body. He tried to catch her waist again but she caught his wrists and brought them down to the soft bed on either side of his head, palms up, pushing them into the sheet, stopping her pressure just before the firmness turned to pain. Her grip was like satin-covered steel. He flexed his muscles, pushing up for real, putting all his strength into testing her grip. She shifted forward and added her full bodyweight and superior leverage to her own considerable muscle power.
He didn't gain an inch. The hold was strong and seriously held, no quarter given what so ever. She was right, he was utterly at her mercy.
That was a new experience. Dangerously new; his fight or flight instinct was fluttering in the back of his mind, not sure what to do about all these new impressions. And it was arousing as hell too, because his cock was throbbing just at the thought. He hadn't met anyone who could actually hold him down, not for real like this. Her hands weren't taken out of any fantasy, no impossibly perfect manicure, just hard, unrelenting fingers.
He tore his eyes from his wrists to her face. She looked excited, glittering with passion, and he realised with a start that she was enjoying what she was seeing, the sight of him flustered and dominated, watching him expectantly like she was hoping he'd try something again. And he would, eventually. Maybe. Just... there was just one thing he wanted first, very badly. He had to draw two breaths to get it out.
"Lola, please fuck me already." He would've been embarrassed begging, if not for the overwhelming need to be fucked.
Shepard smiled. "Mm, I will. Just thinking," she traced a lick along one of his tattoo-lines, "whether I should be gentle with you," a bite where her tongue had been a moment ago, "or not." One final swipe of her tongue, and then her eyes were on his, captivating, filled with dark lust.
He met her hypnotic stare, the rest of the room fading away, and had to swallow to get his voice to work again.
"Don't be gentle," he asked, his throat raspy with lust.
Her smile transformed into a grin that made his stomach flutter in anticipation. She tightened her hands around his wrists, hard, firm grip strangely filling him with elation rather than the dread he was supposed to feel. What the hell was she doing with his emotions?
"I won't."
Shepard sealed the promise with a long, luxurious kiss, and he felt his eyes drift closed, just enjoying the moment. She was shifting on top of him, sliding downwards, thighs on either side of his body, searching her way with carefully measured flexes of her hips. His cock, hard as rock and very expectant, met with warm softness and Vega couldn't tell if she was deliberately teasing him when she let him slide along her folds a few times. He moaned impatiently against her mouth and she nipped him again, then her lips left his.
"Look at me," she ordered, and his eyes flew open before he'd even fully registered what she'd said.
The very moment he made eye-contact, she slid herself onto his cock with a soundless gasp, and there was constricting tightness around his head, impossibly slick, too warm, too much. He moaned and bucked up, to get more, but she nimbly shifted out of reach, matching his movement, letting just his inflamed head stay past her breech.
"Look at me, Vega," she repeated, and he realised his gaze had wandered, eyes half-lidded, unfocused. He pried his eyes back onto hers, feeling an almost electrical sensation when she latched on to his gaze, that shot its way to his balls when he saw the reflection of himself getting fucked in her eyes. And from the way she grinned, she was getting off on it too. She was wet, so very wet, and he was harder than he ever remembered being, and she eased herself down his length with a slow and fluid flex. Being enveloped by her warm walls, so soft compared to everything else about her, made him shiver, and his breath caught and released without his say-so with a moan that had started all the way down in his belly.
When she'd seated herself fully on his cock, Shepard's eyes bore into his, a silent dare that said, 'you're mine now, gonna do something about it?' And no, he realised with a flutter, he wasn't.
Vega surrendered.
Shepard licked his lips with a firm swipe of her tongue, if it was to praise him or console him, he didn't know. Then she started moving with a heady mix of power and control, using her holds on his body – her thighs gripping his hips and her arms clutching his wrists – to slide herself along his skin, back and forth in a full-body fuck. Every little downward thrust was accompanied by a gentle squeeze on his wrists – well, gentle in that it only turned from a steely grip to a slightly more steely grip. He flexed ineffectually and tried to break his hands free, just for the sake of it, and she smiled but held them down, steadily squeezing, steadily fucking him.
His legs trembled. He wanted to thrust, wanted to hurry the pace, get deeper, harder. But every time he did, she insidiously darted away, never letting him slip out, but not letting him get deeper either. When he wrangled his hips to rest back down against the sheets, she resumed her own chosen pace on his cock, her own use of his body, and dammit, he was caught between being frustrated and enjoying every moment of it.
Which he told her by glaring at her – or at least tried to. He was sure she was totally impressed by the way he punctuated the look with a deep wanton moan that surprised even himself.
He didn't know what she saw on his face, but her grin softened and she stole brief kisses from his lips on her way up his body, syncing her thrusts and her lips perfectly, never once breaking eye-contact. Now he could hear her gasps, near-silent, more felt against his skin than heard. It was small comfort to know her riding him was having an effect on her, too. Oh, she was game, that was clear, hotly turned on and passionate, yes, absolutely. But there'd been no sign that her body was anything other than under her perfect control, not until now. But whatever she was feeling, however her grinding and sliding was taxing her, he was way worse off.
Vega had to start breathing lightly, concentrating on relaxing and not letting his cock do what it wanted the most, to keep himself from coming, but it was hard. Shepard was deliberately pushing him, forcing him towards the climax, reading his body's every reaction to what she was doing, adjusting her approach accordingly. Her downward thrusts were growing stronger, harder, ending in little slaps of skin against skin. His shivering was almost constant and his balls were telling him he was close and that he was not the one in charge of deciding when to unload.
And she knew exactly what effect she was having on him. Her stare into his eyes, straight into his mind, grew too intense. He had to close his eyes against the pressure, knowing he was giving up more than just his sight. Shepard chuckled, sounding pleased.
"That's it, Vega, just relax. You feel so nice right now," she whispered encouragingly, and he drank it up.
This was new, too. He'd never just laid back and let himself enjoy, let himself experience, not the way he was doing now. Every squeeze on his cock, every glide along its length, every push on his wrists just fed him sensation after sensation, whether he could take it or not. He could feel the sensations work their way into his mind, growing larger in his consciousness until he slipped into a headspace where the only things he was aware of was intense, unrelenting pleasure and Shepard moving on his body, absolutely intertwined. He lost track of time completely, unable to tell how long she kept riding him, knowing it felt like forever. Somewhere during it all he became hyper-aware of her sudden rhythmic contractions around him. Lost at sea, thoughts scattered, he could do nothing but feel it all. Then her voice bypassed his conscious mind entirely when she huskily ordered him,
"Vega. Come."
He did, screaming loudly, completely unable not to. His cock pulsed so hard he thought he was going to faint from the sensory overload, and he thrashed in the bed, bucking beneath Shepard. She held him down mercilessly, impossibly firm against his wild flailing, her hips pinning his against the bed when his back arched. She rode it all out until he was utterly and totally spent, breathless, fightless, not a bone left in his entire body, and absolutely, completely sated.
* * *
He clung to consciousness with his fingertips, gone far enough that Shepard's lips on his startled him out of whatever space his mind had escaped off to, reality feeling more like a dreamy mirror of itself.
He pried his eyes back open, and only then did she release him, her fingers unlatching from his wrists like they'd been glued down, and he felt his hands starting to tingle. He even felt surprised he could move them at all, like her hold on them was supposed to have been permanent. There were going to be bruises, and he found he didn't care, at all.
Shepard's fingers, impossibly gentle now, drew a caress over the red marks.
"You okay?"
He knew he was grinning when he said, "Hell yeah." And he didn't just mean his wrists. He felt... he felt great. Exhausted, but strangely energised, like a part of him had been unlocked and was still flying free. He had no idea how to put that in words though, so he just repeated, "Yeah, I'm good."
She chuckled knowingly and collapsed on top of him, finally showing some trace of humanity in her. He felt like a puddle of sweat and pleasure melting into the silky sheets, and she... well, she'd done all the work, but she sure didn't look like it. But at least she was panting lightly when she settled herself against him comfortably, head resting on his arm, hers slung across his chest, pasting herself against his skin.
"You're a damn good ride, Vega."
His man-ego preened and glowed from the compliment, and he realised he liked it – a lot. Saying thanks seemed inadequate, so he just settled for giving her a one-armed hug. They breathed together in silence for a while, just enjoying the closeness. This was nice. Peaceful.
Shepard's fingers started lazily trailing along his chest again, making little laps around the bitemarks she'd left. "Memory refreshed yet?"
"Mmn." Still gone, dammit. She'd have to stay the sole keeper of that event. But if what they'd just done was any indication of last night, then Vega considered himself one lucky son-of-a-bitch. Who, as it just happened, was going to try his luck again. "So, Lola, do I ever get to nail you to the mattress?"
Shepard grinned, the evil conspiratorical look firmly back on her face, and she leaned in, her breath hot on his ear as she whispered him her answer.