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The Justicar's Dog of War	By : Doirly_No Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 55026 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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After a week of preparation and with twenty hours to go Samara sat in the cockpit running a simulation for the seventh time to ensure the next day’s operation would happen without a hitch. Then she ran the simulation for the back-up plan for the sixth time. As every other, nothing went wrong and her fears were proven false. Still, she ran both once more. What they would attempt was unlike anything they’ve done before and made the centuries old alien worried. No matter what the computer or Shepard said each passing day deepened her concern.
In order to keep hold of her sanity she finally had to push away and retire for the evening. For the first time since acquiring Shepard’s services she was regretting the decision and wishing for the days when only her own life was at stake. This plan, mostly concocted by her subordinate, was just too dangerous. Fingers massaging her forehead she wandered down the corridor.
She called down the hatch to the armory, “Shepard are you finished with your calibrations?”
“Almost, ma’am. Just five more minutes.”
“Very good,” and Samara continued on.
She didn’t stop until she ran out of rooms to cross, which put her where they slept. Filling the back right corner was a king sized bed, parts of which had never been used while the other corner had a simple pad and bedroll. For the seven minutes it actually took for Shepard to finish her tasks the matriarch stood halfway between, lost in thought.
Hearing bare footsteps approach she asked the wall, “Is everything prepared?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Samara turned around and her eyes couldn’t help flicking down. The former commander always wore fatigues not too different from when she still was in the Alliance, but tonight her dress was far more casual. From below a normal, khaki t-shirt peeked prints of purple flowers on panties cut far higher than any other she’d seen on the woman. As her vision lifted she also noted another garment’s lines in the cloth top. Not needing anyone’s approval but her own, the asari strode over and lifted the shirt to reveal matched demi-cups. Shepard released a surprised gasp, but kept her arms out of the way. The involuntary flashing lasting longer than needed to identify the article of clothing.
“I have never seen you wear a brassiere before,” Samara commented.
Shepard came up with the excuse, “It’s for the operation, ma’am.”
The Justicar gave an unbelieving glance and let go of the shirt. “So, you are ready then?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After a sustained silence the superior of the two said, “I am having reservations. Sending you in completely unarmed, without even an omni-tool, is far too great a risk.”
“I will accomplish my mission, ma’am.”
“That is not where my reservations lie. Perhaps I should be the one to go in.”
“How many matriarchs are prostitutes?”
Samara hesitated, but eventually gave a slight nod. “Get some sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Shepard dimmed the lights before retreating to her spot in the corner while the Justicar turned the opposite way to shed her armor, a special place for it at the foot of her bed. When it all was off she looked over to the human on the ground, seeing only her back. She slid onto the mattress as far as she could reach with her feet on the floor. Again her gaze went across the room, a lump forming in her throat from the fear she would never again see this specific sight.
“Shepard,” she called. “Come here.”
The woman shifted to her back to look over and saw a soft smile being returned that doubled Shepard’s will to follow the order. She scurried over, never concerned about looking a fool around her owner. At bedside she stood at attention, eyes to the wall no matter how much she desired to drag them along the blue goddess bathed in muted light before her. The brain cells not drowned in hormones could only manage the task of maintaining proper posture, so she didn’t think to say anything.
Samara had already received exactly what she wanted; a poorly-contained, goofy, Shepard smile. “If you can behave yourself, you may sleep over here tonight.”
“I promise, ma’am!” she blurted already beginning to climb on to the mattress.
“Shepard,” the asari said, pressing a hand to the woman’s sternum. “I am sure you have noticed I only wear my Justicar armor.”
“Yeah.” The human’s already distracted brain was having trouble figuring out why she wasn’t yet lying down let alone why her owner’s armor mattered, so it took a few seconds for her to add, “…ma’am.”
“I would find it difficult to sleep having the material of clothing like yours rubbing against me.”
The woman’s cheer fell as eagerness blunted her thinking and mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”
A chuckle threatened Samara’s lips. “Dressed as you are, you will have to lie on the other side of the bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A defeated Shepard crawled over the asari to the open half of mattress.
“Shepard.” The matriarch traced her fingers along the confused human’s jaw to state the obvious, “Take off your clothes.”
The khaki shirt launched across the room. With great amusement, Samara watched her young pet fall over unhooking her bra. Then with her hair still pressed to the sheets yanked the bikini cut panties off with her butt pointing directly at the asari. The show didn’t last long before the overeager woman completed her roll and sat a moment wrestling the garment off her feet. Only pausing long enough to aim, Shepard then dove for heaven.
“Sheet,” Samara teased as the body settled under her arm.
Faster than could be noticed Shepard pulled away to grab the red, silk cover and reinsert herself where she belonged. Once there she wrapped her arms and a leg around blue flesh. She took as tight a grip as she could without causing discomfort to Samara, having to resist the temptation to move her hand higher than the lower ribs. Her comfort found, she snuck a kiss on the clavicle.
Samara returned one to the top of the head. “Remember, you promised to behave.”
“I’ll be a good girl,” she purred in response.
The elder Justicar stared at the ceiling, stroking soft hair until she heard light snores and felt breaths shallow against her scaled skin. Petting her human proved infinitely soothing and kept her worries at bay. In the lovely serenity she found, she conceded Shepard would eventually defeat her. Only a week ago she had nearly given in, nearly joined when they were in the shower. Still she had yet to find reconciliation with the Code.
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The Justicar's Dog of War