Slow Dance, 1/?
anonymous
August 10 2013, 00:34:05 UTC
I've been meaning to do something with Hackett for ages, so this kinda spiraled out from dancing to smut. So, here goes. Hope you like it! __________
The awards had all been given, all the speeches made, the food eaten, and now that everyone was starting in on the open bar the band kicked out the brakes and started playing some lively dance tunes reminiscent of the old swing-style back on Earth. Shepard sat at an empty table, surrounded by the remnants of her friends’ meals, and watched with a tumbler of scotch in her hand. The ice was beginning to melt and she drew random patterns in the condensation. She watched Garrus dancing with Tali and sighed, a small contented sound.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a wallflower, Commander,” said a familiar gravelly voice behind her and she twisted around, a smile ready on her lips.
“Evening, sir. Nice speech you gave, up there.” The man in question grunted a thanks and sat down next to her. He put his drink, also scotch, on the table. “Guess that makes two of us.”
“So, is there some reason why the hero of the galaxy isn’t dancing at her own party?”
“First of all, it’s not my party. Second, my legs aren’t quite what they used to be.” She used the cane at her side to tap her left calf, resulting in a dull metallic thunk.
“I hear that. How are you holding up these days?” The way he looked at her, like he actually wanted to know and wasn’t just asking to be nice, made her answer honestly.
“Well enough, I guess, considering. I still have trouble sleeping, but that’s nothing new. Learning to walk on a prosthetic is a bitch.”
“You look good.” Shepard scoffed and sipped her scotch, dripping condensation on her neck. Hackett watched while the droplet trailed down her skin to disappear beneath the neckline of her dress.
“So do you.” He raised his eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. Hell, it was true, and tonight seemed to be a good one for honesty.
His mind made up, Hackett stood up and offered her a hand. “Dance with me.”
“Sorry, Admiral, I can’t do the Lindy anymore.” She frowned. “Not that I’ve ever been able to do the Lindy Hop, but you understand.”
As if on cue, the band transitioned into a slower waltz. Shepard rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Dance with me,” Hackett said again, and her body responded with a shiver. He helped her up and stopped her when she went to grab her cane. “You won’t need that, I’ve got you.”
He led her out onto the floor and brought her around in front of him, his broad palm resting on her lower back. With a deftness born of long practice, he led them around the floor in slow, shallow steps that didn’t tax her legs too much. Once Shepard thought she had the rhythm down, she could stop concentrating so hard on not trodding on his feet and could appreciate how different Hackett looked. He’d opted for a tuxedo rather than his dress blues, and she had to admit that her own floor-length green dress looked very nice against him. Felt nice, too, to be touched like this.
“How’s the leg?” he asked in a voice just for her, low and somehow intimate in the close bubble of space encompassing them. Her fingers, held lightly in his, tightened just a fraction.
“Fine, thanks. So, um . . . I hear you’re overseeing the clean-up effort on Earth.”
“Yes, I am. It’s progressing gradually, but that’s to be expected. People are still reeling from the war; they need some time to get their balance back before they can start concentrating on recovery.”
“Sounds familiar.” Hackett huffed a laugh, and it looked strange on a face that had always seemed so grim and hard. It was a strange she could get used to, though. She moved closer to him, his body warm and solid, and his hand pressed against her back, silently urging. She looked up at him and promptly forgot how to breathe for a moment as his ice-blue gaze met hers.
__________
The awards had all been given, all the speeches made, the food eaten, and now that everyone was starting in on the open bar the band kicked out the brakes and started playing some lively dance tunes reminiscent of the old swing-style back on Earth. Shepard sat at an empty table, surrounded by the remnants of her friends’ meals, and watched with a tumbler of scotch in her hand. The ice was beginning to melt and she drew random patterns in the condensation. She watched Garrus dancing with Tali and sighed, a small contented sound.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a wallflower, Commander,” said a familiar gravelly voice behind her and she twisted around, a smile ready on her lips.
“Evening, sir. Nice speech you gave, up there.” The man in question grunted a thanks and sat down next to her. He put his drink, also scotch, on the table. “Guess that makes two of us.”
“So, is there some reason why the hero of the galaxy isn’t dancing at her own party?”
“First of all, it’s not my party. Second, my legs aren’t quite what they used to be.” She used the cane at her side to tap her left calf, resulting in a dull metallic thunk.
“I hear that. How are you holding up these days?” The way he looked at her, like he actually wanted to know and wasn’t just asking to be nice, made her answer honestly.
“Well enough, I guess, considering. I still have trouble sleeping, but that’s nothing new. Learning to walk on a prosthetic is a bitch.”
“You look good.” Shepard scoffed and sipped her scotch, dripping condensation on her neck. Hackett watched while the droplet trailed down her skin to disappear beneath the neckline of her dress.
“So do you.” He raised his eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. Hell, it was true, and tonight seemed to be a good one for honesty.
His mind made up, Hackett stood up and offered her a hand. “Dance with me.”
“Sorry, Admiral, I can’t do the Lindy anymore.” She frowned. “Not that I’ve ever been able to do the Lindy Hop, but you understand.”
As if on cue, the band transitioned into a slower waltz. Shepard rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Dance with me,” Hackett said again, and her body responded with a shiver. He helped her up and stopped her when she went to grab her cane. “You won’t need that, I’ve got you.”
He led her out onto the floor and brought her around in front of him, his broad palm resting on her lower back. With a deftness born of long practice, he led them around the floor in slow, shallow steps that didn’t tax her legs too much. Once Shepard thought she had the rhythm down, she could stop concentrating so hard on not trodding on his feet and could appreciate how different Hackett looked. He’d opted for a tuxedo rather than his dress blues, and she had to admit that her own floor-length green dress looked very nice against him. Felt nice, too, to be touched like this.
“How’s the leg?” he asked in a voice just for her, low and somehow intimate in the close bubble of space encompassing them. Her fingers, held lightly in his, tightened just a fraction.
“Fine, thanks. So, um . . . I hear you’re overseeing the clean-up effort on Earth.”
“Yes, I am. It’s progressing gradually, but that’s to be expected. People are still reeling from the war; they need some time to get their balance back before they can start concentrating on recovery.”
“Sounds familiar.” Hackett huffed a laugh, and it looked strange on a face that had always seemed so grim and hard. It was a strange she could get used to, though. She moved closer to him, his body warm and solid, and his hand pressed against her back, silently urging. She looked up at him and promptly forgot how to breathe for a moment as his ice-blue gaze met hers.
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