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Breathe	By : logsig123 Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 4864 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mass Effect series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
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Ilos
Part of me can't believe what I've done. What Anderson's done. Mutiny sounds like a throwback to the days of ancient sailing ships or maybe the title of a song in a musical about pirates, but they still take it pretty seriously in today's Navy. Hell, I don't even understand why the crew came with me, other than force of habit. They're risking everything on my word that the Reapers exist, that the Conduit exists--whatever the hell that is. That Saren isn't just some pathetic madman running around with a bunch of geth. And that we can stop him and his Reaper master from achieving their goal. It's humbling, that faith, that level of trust. At officer candidate school they talk about the burdens of rank, the loneliness of command. Nice to know what it is I'm feeling.
It’ll be hours before we get to the Mu Relay, and I should try to get some sleep. Sleep would be more productive than what I'm doing now, which is sitting here staring at my terminal screen, not seeing any of the words.
The door opens. For a second I can't tell who it is, but then he says, "Commander." The sound of his voice releases a knot deep inside me. Kaidan. He walks towards me and I stand up to meet him. Sleep can wait.
He starts talking. About the situation we've got ourselves into, about how it could go bad. Says he wants me to know it's been a pleasure serving under me. I can sense the bullshit level about to rise so I throw a pointed innuendo back at him. He fields it well enough, doesn't even blush, but I can tell he's nervous. He's talking too fast and too much. He's trying to explain why he's here, in my quarters. He must be trying to convince himself , because I'm way ahead of him.
When he winds down, I ask him to bunk here tonight, with me.
"Is that an order, Commander?" he asks, half-jokingly.
He's still too afraid to ask for what he wants, and trying to deflect attention from that fact. But I can see that he's breathing a little faster, and his eyes--they're urging yes.
I pull him close and kiss him as possessively as I know how. One hand on the back of his head, the other on the small of his back, trapping him against me. His hair is slightly damp. And he smells like soap, with a rising scent of something I can't name but I know I want. I taste his lips, his tongue. I slide my hand off his back onto his ass and push his body against mine, groin to groin so he can feel how much I want him. He groans.
I pull away just far enough so I can see his eyes, keeping my hands where they are. "Safeword," I say.
I see, briefly, a look of surprise. It turns into deliberation, an internal dialog. And then a self-deprecating smile.
"Vyrnnus," he says.
I nod. "And if you can't speak, use three taps. Like this." I demonstrate on his arm. He looks at me, his mind working, wondering.
I let go of him and step back, fold my arms, put myself in the right frame of mind.
"Strip," I order him.
"Yes, sir," he says. There's no hint of submissiveness in his tone, only a sort of defiant hunger. Whatever nervousness he was feeling before seems completely gone.
Moving deliberately, he sits down--in my chair--and takes off his boots and socks. Stands up again, unbuckles, unzips and steps out of his uniform. He's naked underneath, a nice touch, which I appreciate. I run my eyes over him . He's not intimidated by my scrutiny. In fact, he's-- Damn, there's that look in his eyes. Fuck. Concentrate, Shepard.
"I don't recall giving you permission to sit in my chair," I say.
"No, sir."
I say meaningfully, "And so..?"
He suggests, "You're going to punish me for it, sir?"
"Good guess," I say. "Or would you like to beg for mercy instead?"
"I'll take what I deserve, sir."
I smirk at him and go get my old brown leather belt out of the cabinet. As a fashion accessory it has little to recommend it. Anyone who cares about such things would probably call it uninspired. It does, however, have a number of metal rivets embedded along its length which give it a much more interesting character. The belt makes a dull snapping noise as I pull it taut.
"Assume the position," I say. "You can keep count."
"Yes, sir."
He bends over my desk, which is, conveniently, about the right height. Feet slightly apart, his ass presented to me. God, that ass. I'd like to-- I push those thoughts away. Deep breath. I set my feet. As with throwing a punch, proper hip rotation is the key to this. I don't put all my strength into it, but it's not a teasing blow, not gentle by anyone's standards. The slap of the belt hitting his flesh seems to fill the whole room. He inhales sharply and shudders.
"One," he says. His voice is low, but strong.
I watch the red welts rising on his skin, biding my time. I don't want him anticipating the next one, tensing against it; I want it to arrive unexpectedly. Like with a rifle--if you don't anticipate the recoil, you won't flinch and ruin the shot. When the time is right, I lay down a second stripe just above the first one.
"Two," he groans. I close my eyes and try to decide if that low, breathless undertone in his voice is lust or defiance, or simply a weapon of seduction.
After thirty more lashes his voice is hoarse with pain and pleasure, and if anything, more seductive than before. His eyes are closed, his head thrown back as he breathes raggedly. He's on the edge. One more lash would push him over. In the dim light of my terminal screen I can see the muscles of his thighs held tense, the bead of pre-cum running down from the tip of his cock. I swallow. The sight of his body, in that posture, held poised over the brink in the almost-darkness, is indescribably arousing.
I roll the belt back up and drop it on the desk. He turns his head at the sound. His eyes are burning. I listen to my own heartbeat. He closes his eyes, dropping his head back down. I watch him. When his breathing slows and his muscles begin to relax, I step closer. With one hand on his jaw I turn him towards me and pull him up into a standing position. I kiss him, careful not to let our bodies touch. His hands slide onto my hips, but tentatively. He knows I haven't given him permission. I pull away slightly and give him a warning look. He drops his hands, but his answering look has nothing apologetic about it.
I lean in and kiss his neck, trail my lips down his throat, along his collarbone, down his chest. My hands are moving down his spine onto his ass, tracing the raised, tender lines I've left there. My teeth drag over his nipple and he shivers. I bring my hand to his other nipple and pinch, twist. He groans and he's breathing hard again. He swallows, and I know he wants to move closer, to feel me against him, but my hands keep him still, our bodies just barely apart.
"Is there something you want, Lieutenant?" I ask. I'm aiming for condescension in my voice, but I get mostly just amusement.
His jaw works. "Yes, sir." He doesn't bother hiding the heat in his eyes.
"And what would that be?"
He looks into my eyes. "To get these clothes off you," he says. "Sir."
I let go of him and reach into the cabinet next to my desk. I take out the roll of duct tape. Still one of the most important inventions known to mankind. Maybe a close second to the mass effect drive.
"Turn around. Hands behind you," I say. He complies, and I wrap his wrists together, just tight enough to be uncomfortable. I toss the rest of the roll onto the floor by the bed.
"Turn back." He faces me again.
I spread my hands. "Carry on, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir." There's something like laughter in his eyes.
He kneels in front of me, leans down to the floor by my feet. A faint blue glow, an electric tingle, and my foot is being lifted off the ground, straight up. I suppress a laugh. When my foot is a few inches off the ground, his teeth clamp onto the back strap of my boot and in one swift motion he tugs it off my foot and throws it to the floor. His face on my ankle now, pushing the pant leg up, teeth on my sock. Another quick flick of his head and my foot is bare. The blue glow disappears and my leg is released. With barely a pause, he repeats his performance with the other foot. Under ten seconds. I am seriously impressed.
He sits back on his heels and begins to stand. On the way up, as if it's an afterthought, his teeth grip my belt buckle. A slight movement of his head, a click, and it falls free. He's on his feet now, face against my chest. His teeth find the tab and he drops his body back down, leaning back to unzip my uniform without snagging on anything.   Up again, teeth on the sleeve, pulling it off my shoulder, down my arm. Then the other arm. Finally, two sharp tugs at hip level, and I’m naked, a pool of discarded clothing around my ankles.
He's standing up in front of me, smiling at the look of admiration on my face.
"Stunning," I say. And I don't just mean his teeth.
He smile widens, and he steps closer. "Do I get a reward, sir?"
I kiss him, deep and slow. He moves up against me, his skin smooth and warm.   His cock hard against mine. When we pull apart his tongue blazes a wet trail down my neck, chest, stomach. He catches my eye for one moment, a single breath, then plunges his mouth down over my cock. I move my hand onto the back of his head, my fingers in his hair. He knows exactly what to do. Each time he slides down he goes a little lower. On each slide up, his tongue swirls against that sensitive spot under the head of my cock. And through it all his mouth applies warm, slick pressure. I let the waves of pleasure wash over me until I feel his lips around the base and the muscles of his neck flexing around the head. He's making a sound in his throat, and the vibration god-- I can't let him go on much longer. So I tighten my grip on his hair and pull him off me, pull him to his feet.
"Get on the bed," I command. He moves to the bed and sits down on it. I use that time to reach down to the floor for my uniform and retrieve the folding knife from the my pocket.
"Hands," I say. He turns his body so I can reach. I unfold the knife and slice through the duct tape. I rip the tape off and roll it into a ball, tossing it aside. He rubs his wrists and looks at me curiously.
"On your back," I tell him.
I position myself so I'm straddling his thighs. I hold the knife up in front of his face. His eyes flick to it, then to me. I drop my hand down towards his chest. When the knife reaches him I let the point dig into his skin. It's as sharp as a razor, and cuts at the slightest touch. I draw it slowly across his chest. A faint line of blood grows as his body belatedly realizes what's being done to it. His eyes close and his head goes back. I watch him carefully. The pain hits him and his breathing quickens. I lean down and run my tongue along the cut, tasting the salt of his blood. He moans, his back arching.
I lean back and wait till he relaxes. Then I draw another slow red line across his ribs. I work my way down his body this way, with my knife and tongue. By the time I've drawn a line down the inside of his left thigh he's shaking, his breathing loud and harsh. As I lower my mouth to his skin, his hips thrust involuntarily. I fold the knife closed and put it down, waiting till his fists unclench.
When his eyes open again, I say, "Roll over."
He obeys and I move back further between his legs. Then I lean down, pull his cheeks apart and slide my tongue down his crack, over his tight pucker and on to where his balls hang. His gasp of shock turns into a groan and he writhes, torn between confusion and pleasure. Another slow lick back up, then I force my tongue into him, as deep as it will go. He cries out, loud enough to be heard on the other end of the deck. I try not to laugh.
Instead I stand up and walk around to crouch next to his head. I grab him by the jaw and growl, "You're very indiscrete, Lieutenant."
I slap him backhand across the face, hard. The fire flares in his eyes, but his lips clamp shut. I pick up the roll of duct tape from the floor, tear off a strip and apply it over his mouth. Then I stop at the cabinet and squeeze some lube out on to my hand before climbing back onto the bed.
Two lubed fingers slide easily into him. I move them in a slow rhythm, savoring the sound of his muffled moans. When he starts to push back against my hand, I rake the fingernails of my other hand down his back and across the welts on his ass. He tries to cry out again. I pull my fingers out and wait, listening to his breathing.
It takes a long time for him to relax. When I've waited long enough, I grab his hips and roll him over. I move up close to him, look into his face as I lift his legs, placing them on either side of my neck. His dark gaze holds mine as I push my cock into him, leaning into him. He can't speak, of course, but his eyes say clearly fuck me. I fuck him hard. He's moaning again, and I have to fight to not moan with him, to not lose myself in the sensation. I force myself to breathe deliberately, to watch him, watch his eyes close, feel him under me, feel his muscles tensing, his back starting to arch. I thrust deep into him and stop, slide my hand onto his cock, grip him, stroke him. He groans desperately, his fingers curled into the sheets.   I reach forward with my free hand, covering his nose, cutting off his air. His eyes fly open, and in a moment, register understanding. He closes them again. I feel him clenching around me and I stroke him faster. His body shudders violently as the orgasm hits him, his cock pulsing in my grip, spurting over his chest. Instantly I remove my hand from his face, peel the tape off his mouth, and watch.
For several long moments he lies there, just breathing. Deep, fast breaths. Then he licks his lips and swallows. His eyes open, focus, and look up into mine. He looks at my hand, still holding his cock. He dips a finger in one of the pools of cum on his chest and holds it out to me. I lean forward and suck it off his finger. He smiles.
"Finish," he says softly. He squeezes me. I begin to move again, closing my eyes, concentrating on nothing now but how good he feels, how much I want him, how much I want to empty myself into him. The release, though delayed, is worth the wait. As it rises through my body I groan his name and breathe, breathe as I give myself up to the pleasure, to him.

Later, after we're done cleaning up and I've slathered medi-gel over all the damage I've done to his body, he says softly, "I didn't expect that from you."
"Didn't expect what?" I ask.
"That sort of... expertise. Attention to detail. Improvisational skill." He smiles wryly. "Self-control."   He shakes his head. "I thought I had you all figured out."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," I say. I pull the sheets up over us and slide an arm around him.
"If I'd known that a faulty scrubber would lead to the best sex of my life--" he muses.
I kiss him softly. "Your life isn't over yet," I tell him. "And there's a lot more we can learn from each other." I close my eyes. "Good night, Kaidan."
He chuckles. "Good night, sir."

--END--
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Breathe