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The Translation in Blood	By : Mayamahal Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 19003 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bioware or ANYTHING in the Mass Effect universe, including the characters therein. I make no money on this story.

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
While she briefly entertained the idea of tempting death and teasing the Turian under her with deliberate, meticulous exploration, she decided it was better to live and explore the terrain of his body when it was horizontal, level, and not the only thing between her and a plummet into a body cast.
She did stretch up to kiss his mouth however, but she missed and ended up caressing the end of his twitching mandible with her lips. And discovered something new, if the ripple through his body told her anything.
Smirking a little, she twisted back around and found her foot holds and groped along the stone for a good grip, and went back to work.
They aren't too far from the surface, but it's an hour before Hannah stumbles into open air and a warm night.
The sky above is littered with stars in a sky that competes with Earth at its most beautiful; violets and deep, azure blue sweeps roads and paths across a sky strewn with cosmic diamonds. She's too distracted staring up at the heavens to even consider offering the Turian a help out. Her head is tilted back so far that her throat is exposed to the world, filling her eyes with the breath-taking wonder of the surface world.
They've come to a deep ravine, a trickle of a stream at their feet, fed by what looks to be a wide pool further ahead, though it's hard to see in the darkness. Scans show that the walls of the small canyon are steep and high, almost a hundred feet in some places, while as low as thirty in others, with a consistent floor of about twenty five feet wide. It stretches forward almost two, three miles before it narrows to about four feet and turns into an underground river.
The sound of water echoes and multiplies, soothing and peaceful, and it strikes Hannah at how strange it is to find such a place in the middle of a war.
It reminds her of who's behind her.
She turns her head, noting the silence, and her eyes flick back and up to find the Turian staring at her. She tilts her chin at him as she turns around, feeling suddently shy; out in the open, above ground, smelling the moving, living air with nothing to keep them together but steep walls and ...
...and...
He reaches for her wrist slowly, drawing it up to access her interface and pull up a program. It isn't one she recognizes, and she frowns at the screen he's selected, trying to figure out what it is. He taps in a setting, keys in a code, and she feels something snap between her nerves. The sensation makes her jerk and shake her head, freeing her glowing arm to clutch her temple. What a peculiar-
"You are so incredibly different, and then yet so familar."
The voice is the same rich, deep cadence she's become so <s>fond</s> used to in the last week, but with the words plied in a rhythm she understands, it assaults ears in a completely different way. Her eyes are glued to his lips, Hannah frozen and speechless as he steps toward her. His hand reaches back, three-fingered and graceful, to pull her hair forward and snap the band that keeps it in place.
Her eyes close at the release of tension, and the undeniable bliss of his talons moving across her scalp to thread through her tresses. When his hand clenches into a careful fist, her lips part in a soft gasp, knowing full well that if he wanted to cut her throat or hurt her at all, she was completely at his mercy.
He tilts her head with a gentle but aggressive jerk, growling softly under his breath, breath she can feel across her lips as he both draws her up and lowers his head down. Her lips part further and she opens her eyes just in time to feel the strange, leather-soft pliability of his mouth brush hers.
She twitches her face innocent surprise, eyes going wide, her soft lips accidentally trailing along the edge of his split mandible, followed by her tongue as she suddenly feels the need to wet dry skin.
The shudder that ripples through him is echoed in her, the moan born of his mouth resonating through her chest until she can't tell if it's because she's pressed against his sternum or because they both groaned in the same key at the same time.
His hand tightens in her hair until she whimpers, her head tilting back willingly when gentle breath teases across trembling skin. She's breathing hard, eyes squeezes shut, confused and elated and so very very guilty-
"-all kinds of a fool... violating about ten different... -my prisoner and-"
It takes her a moment to understand that it's him she's hearing, the soft utterances almost inaudible with him leaning down, mouth against her throat. Knowing that he's just as lost as she is makes her lips twitch, and then smile, and then she's giggling and slipping her arms around his waist.
He draws back just enough to look at her, head tilted and mandibles fluttering in that amused expression she's seeing more and more from him.
"Oh?" God his voice is so sexy, it scalds her cheeks like fire and makes parts of her quiver in a manner that is absolutely fucking indecent. "Is it all so amusing, little pyjak, that we're separated from land and crew, wrapped in each other like a pair of rutting Asari in the middle of a warzone?" One of his talons strays down her cheek, like it did that morning not too long ago.
It fascinates her how the translator is not only picking up words and nuance, but emotion as well. Or maybe that's already there, and it's warping sound-waves simply to understand and-
Okay, Hannah. Nerdish curiosity needs to get put away until the morning. She stands on her toes to brush her lips across his other twitching, external jawbone, rewarded with a tightening in her hair and a soft, flesh-melting growl.
"I don't know half of what you just referenced," she murmurs, hands giving in to her desire and trailing up the impossibly lean, graceful lines of his narrow waist. The shudder and curse from him tells her how much he likes it. "But you can call me names and tell me how dishonorable we're being, and how we're a disgrace to our species' and that we'll get tossed in the brig or quarantine or whatever...."
His hands go around her body, echoing her caress to dip into her waist, and then draw around the deep, deep curve of her hips. Hannah moans softly, her lips brushing the seam of his mouth; she can feel his own quick breathing, delicate little pants that make her want to coax noises from this well-behaved, fascinating creature.
She trembles under his touch. It makes him smile again, she can see it in the dark. "...but right now, all I want to do is encourage this cross-species liaison until I'm more versed in Turian physiology than any other human on this planet-"
There's a low growl, sharper than before, and then she's swept up and carried over to a sheltered alcove she missed when they first came to the surface. His strength is something she's seen before, but actually feeling how effortlessly he picks her up, and with her being no light-weight, is a little jarring. He's resting her back into a soft surface, muttering 'moss' when she tries to identify it in the dark, but then he's working at her belt and pulling up her shirt and-
It becomes obvious he knows what he's doing when she's naked faster than she's ever managed on her own, hovering over her and looking down along the landscape of her body like he's seen this terrain before. Laying there in nothing but her tags, a predatory fellow leaning above her, Hannah feels quite vulnerable. Her hands twitch to cover herself, but she changes her mind and draws gentle fingers across the leathery plate of his mouth, feeling him breathe, watching him respond to her touch.
It occurs to him, she thinks, that this is far, far more foreign to her than she is to him, given what he showed her on the vids and how easily he disrobed her. His brow draws together in a soft frown, cupping her hand with his as her fingertips stroke across his throat, looking for his pulse. He guides her to what she's looking for, a gentle flutter felt further down and over than a human, protected by the bone-like cowl that cradles the pedestal of his neck. Her other hand, then, strays to his chin, tracing the white lines that glow by starlight, and moonlight, like the path of a map on gray granite.
"We don't... have to do this now," he ventures softly, that amazing voice of his tripping through her very bones. It's hard to keep her eyes open when he speaks, and she's suddenly aware of how goddamn tired she is.
She doesn't say this, however, instead tracing a fingertip along the middle line that starts above the edge of his chin, traveling up to his nose, smiling as she feels him inhale and twitch his nostrils as she keeps going up. When the white path splits, she uses two fingers and draws them between his brows.
He rumbles at her, a low, deep sound that starts in his chest, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand. Her palm presses into the beautiful shape along his head, the mark sweeping back; she wonders if the pattern keeps going, and she wonders what it all means.
She's more tired than she thought; he's answering the words she didn't mean to say aloud.
"It does keep going, but you won't see it tonight." She can see his teeth with him this close, beneath the movement of speech and the opening and closing of his mandibles. "And it means a lot of things; status of family, birthplace, origin of line..."
His voice gets lower and huskier with every word, and she's soon closing her eyes and turning her head to better let the audio honey access to her ear. "Please," she moans, soft and frustrated. "Just ... keep talking. I'm seriously almost there..."
His startled laughter makes her grin, but it melts beneath the sudden weight of him. She's instantly watching him again, his mouth trailing down the swell of her breast to stroke teeth gently across a nipple.
Her whole body jerks and she cries out, arching her chest into his mouth before she can stop herself, hands gripping his shoulders in shock. His expression too registers surprise, lifting his brows at her as she flops back, whimpering and shaking.
He just looks at her a moment, waiting for her to gather her composure, before asking dryly, "So I take it it's been a while, hmm?"
She jerks up her head to glare at him, cheeks flushed and body squirming. "N-NO. I just... you're very uh ... it's not like-" she tries to explain/lie/evade, but it's a little impossible; she feels so very naked.
His mandibles keep flicking in an alternating pattern, his expression again one of contemplation. With a sigh, eventually he draws up and presses into her side, trailing a hand across his belly before gently cupping the breast furthest from him. When his thumb trails across her nipple, the sensation makes her jump and arch her back, gasping again.
"So very sensitive... even more so than an Asari's..." he murmurs, pleased.
"What's... what's a..."
"You recall the blue woman, the one that looked the most like you? Well, that's what they're called; Asari."
"Ah. What are the men of that species called?"
"There are no male Asari."
That got her attention. "What? No way, how is that-"
"The point I mean to make, my dear," he continues, riding over her curiosity, "Is that Asari are the most sensual, universally appealing sentient creatures in the galaxy. Graceful, beautiful, with responsive nervous systems and the ability to breed with anyone." His clawtips danced across her stomach again, making her shiver.
"If you are a decent physiological example of the females of your race, then your physical sensitivity might just put them to shame. And you are so very similar..." He purrs, hand brushing down lower, drawing a line from hip bone to hip bone low across her belly.
The flush of heat and wetness she responds with makes her blush, and she hopes in vain that he won't notice.
"Ah... yes," he sighs, eyes lidding halfway as he tilts his head down, admiring her pelvis. "So incredibly responsive... I wonder what else about you is similar." It's almost like he's talking to himself.
"What? What do you-"
But then he's pinning her thigh open with one of his long lean legs, knee drawing it aside as careful fingers brush up her thigh and trace the seam of her sex.
Her mouth falls open to protest or something, only to have the words melt into a plaintive little moan when his fingertips find her clitoris.
Okay. Completely unfair. And here she'd been hoping that God loved her species best, but now it appears that love was shared with the Asari, at the very least.
He again demonstrates that he knows what he's doing; he's tracing around the little nub, coating fingers in juices to work across it again and again, pausing once to pinch at it to watch her buck into his palm and dig fingers into the moss under her head. One arm slips around her shoulders as he nestles close, nose tucked just under her ear, mandibles fluttering under her neck as he slides a long, thick finger into the wet, clenching opening of her body.
Her head falls back with a whimper to shame her, shaking hands groping for a grip on him as her composure starts to unravel. She manages to wind an arm around his neck just before he starts to move his hand, and soon enough she's clinging tightly to him as he strokes and thrusts and pushes within. Her cries get louder and louder, making him pull her tighter to him so he can wrap his arm around and cover her mouth with that same hand.
Once in place, however, the man goes to town.
He adds a second finger and picks up pace and pressure, hard rapid thrusts that have her face contorting into an expression of distressed pleasure, the woman yelling into his palm. He's as pent up as she is, desire that feels like it's been stretched for days, focused into this once moment to touch and feel and know. Her thighs spread wider and her hips lift in offering, desperate and unabashedly eager, and soon, she can hear him growling things to her.
"-tight and so wet... and so eager... so brave... Spirits... so beautiful... I think you'll come for me soon, mmm? Yes..." She feels something warm and hot and wet touch just under her ear, then draw down in a slow line towards the pulse at her throat. She feels teeth, bites back a loud whimper. "Yes... come for me, I want to watch you... no distraction, no hurry... let me see..."
Oh...fuck... is about all her brain can conjure up.
He curves his fingers up hard and his thrusts slow, drawing out wail after loud, muffled, jagged wail, and between that and his murmurs into her ear, Hannah shatters like dropped glass.
Her spine arches like a bridge, naked body convulsing by starlight against the moss, her muffled expressions of orgasm accompanied by the gentle ripples of water across stone. Once, twice, three times she bucks into his hand, only vaguely wishing it's his hips her thighs are spreading wide around, her sex clenching down on his stroking fingers hard enough to surprise a curse from him.
When she falls back to moss and Turian, she's breathing so hard she's almost sobbing, euphoria and adrenaline and a day of constant climbing quickly draining the last of whatever energy she had. She's limp and boneless, and if he was waiting until now to kill her, she probably wouldn't so much as flail in protest.
He holds her close for a long while, drawing fingers through her hair and purring deep within his chest. She's fighting sleep, trying to listen to his breathing, his heartbeat... wondering if she fried her translator because she swears he's speaking to her, but she can't understand a word he's saying...
At one point, his warmth leaves her and she does voice protest then, a small little noise that she'd never claim as hers. He returns eventually with one of the thermal blankets unpacked and the rest of the gear tossed carefully to the back of their natural shelter. When he slips in next to her, he hasn't a stitch of armor on, warm, leathery body sliding along hers with a friction that has her sighing. Heat aside, however, she notes that he's a little damp. Almost dripping, even.
That rouses her some, making her look at him quizzically when he draws her back to his chest. He shrugs at her.
"Cold water can help keep me from becoming a rapist in the night," is all he has to offer.
The giggle it pulls from her is tired but sincere. "...wouldn't put up too much of a fight; don't think it'd be rape, neither... either... n... whatever."
He rumbles again at her, opening his mouth to run teeth along the curve of her shoulder. The responding quiver has him growling softly. "Stop that," he grumbles. "You're going to eradicate my attempt to remain gentlemanly."
She snorts into his neck. "You started it," she mumbles, squirming to get a leg around his waist.
The groan he voices this time is feral and loud, a tremor running through him hard and irrepressible. "That... don't do-"
Hannah stops. She pulls her head back and stares at him. "Is that... is that what I think-"
He growls and shoves her over to her back, arms braced as he curls over her, mandibles flicking in agitation. His hips are between her thighs, his body once to tell her yes, indeed, that is what she thinks it is. Hot and moist, the tip of his erection nudges at the flesh between her thigh and the apex of her hips. She goes immediately still, eyes wide, staring up at him.
...oh god oh god oh god-
His voice is breathless, strained to the limits of control and she feels a stab of pity for him. "I intended to wait until morning," he grits out, shoulders and arms shaking with the effort to hold back. "So we could learn together... and I could teach you and it wouldn't... but..." His control is seriously slipping; one hand moves to grip her hip hard enough to bruise.
Hannah is panting, so impossibly turned on that she doesn't understand it, wondering somewhere in the back of her head if it really has been that long. She's trying to think through the rush of desire and pheromones, questioning her motives... and all she can come up with is, I want this.
Decision made, her hands move up to cup his face, thumbs stroking over the pale lines marking his beautiful cheekbones. He snarls when she first touches him, and she feels the tremor in him increase to quakes, his body curling forward more to press his face into her hands. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, trying to focus on what she's about to do. What's about to happen.
"Hannah," she says softly.
Still shaking, he pauses, head tilting at her. "Hannah?" he ventures. The sound of her name with his voice makes her moan, the sound almost a coo. "What's.. what's that?" he manages, swallowing visibly above her.
She smiles a little, one hand straying to run a fingertip down that center line along his chin. "My name."
He blinks at her. "You... give your family name first?" he asks, struggling to focus.
She shakes her head. "No. That's my individual name."
He goes almost completely still.
"Hannah ... is your individual name." He says it like a question. Almost.
She nods carefully. Had she offended him?
He says nothing, but then the shudder radiates through his hips and he grips one of her thighs, drawing her leg up and pushing into her in one slow, seamless stroke.
Her head falls back and any effort she had to keep her eyes open and locked him are quickly pushed away. He doesn't move at first, letting her adjust even though she's sure it's costing him a small measure of sanity to stay like this. He leans down and she feels his teeth again at her shoulder, her throat, and then along her jaw towards her hairline.
Then, his mouth is at her ear, growling under his breath, but she hears him say it, soft and desperate:
"Sparatus."
It's enough to make her whimper in surrender.
His rhythm is quick and shallow at first, no easing her into it. Thankfully, his earlier antics make such niceties almost unneccessary, but Hannah can't help but grit her teeth at the size of him. There has to be a texture too, she can feel it when he draws back, but the friction is building into a heat both physical and metaphorical; he's almost a scorching temperature, his hips pushing and pounding harder and harder...
His grip shifts and he's pushing her leg back at the knee, sitting up over her and pressing his other hand against the stone wall above her head. The shift in angle has her near screaming, his insistent bucking jostling flesh and curves and tangling her hair against the moss. Her other leg hooks around his waist and he snarls at her, pushing her knee to her chest and curving his body over her, above her, free hand gouging marks in the cave wall as he fucks her mercilessly.
She comes screaming, straining under him and clenched around him, back bowed and hands clawing at his fore-arms as he continues to pound into her through her coming.
His name becomes a battle-cry and a plea, her yells fading to frantic, aching whimpers, begging him to come because if he keeps going she's just going to break again and oh god please please just fucking-
Her release ripples out in hard waves, mouth open in a silent scream.
The world spins and suddenly she's on top of him, his hands on her hips and he's working her up and down, bucking his pelvis to meet her, growling dirty, dirty words that she can barely pick up on but feel down into her bones. Her hair is a tangled halo around her shoulders, her body pliant as he helps her ride him, her hands gripping his wrists in a desparate attempt to hold on. Her thighs draw up and squeeze against his waist, and then he's saying her name, his body bowing up and straining beneath her. Her euphoric stupor cracks when she feels him pulse, and then jerk inside her, a spurt of heat and wetness that sends a flush from her toes to her ears.
She can't remember the last time she's felt ...that...
The image of her daughter flashes through her head for the briefest second, and she bites back the inappropriate urge to snicker. Oh wait. Yes she does.
The sight of him going relaxed under her takes the last of her strength, and he needs little coaxing to draw her down to him. Still connected, it's a delicious notion to fall asleep this way as he draws the blanket over her, still panting and definitely still shaking. They cling and tremble together, murmuring nothings as lips touch and cheeks brush. He runs a hand through her hair, careful of the snarls and tangles, and she traces fingertips along the strange divides and fissures across his chest.
They don't remember exactly when sleep claims them, but the last thing Hannah remembers is watching the sky go from dark blue to soft aquamarine, the beginning of birdsong tickling her dreams.
- 9
- 10
- 11
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The Translation in Blood