Re: Virgin Femshep/Thane 2/3(I think?)
anonymous
September 20 2014, 19:35:44 UTC
A/N: I also subscribe to the OP's notion that there hasn't been anyone since Irikah. Also, as I was working on this, it turned out that some of Shepard's nerves stem from interspecies concepts of attractiveness.
It has been ten years since Irikah, ten years since he was last with a woman. He had thought he might be somewhat shy about being with someone new. But now, with Shepard finally in his arms, he is surprised again, this time by how easy it is for him to take the lead. He knows she needs him to, and there is nothing he wouldn't do for her.
His lips and tongue work in concert at her throat, slowly painting a line of kisses up to her jaw. Muscles flex under his fingers as they roam up and down to explore the contours of her back. When his hands carefully tug the hem of her shirt up and touch the warm skin at her waist, she tenses slightly, and he pauses.
"It's okay, don't stop," she whispers, "I'm just, ah-- nervous."
"Don't be, siha," he replies, "I could never find you anything short of amazing." He strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers; she leans into his touch.
He backs up half a step to remove his jacket and vest, but when she realizes what he's doing she's suddenly tense again, hesitant and unsure. Catching her forearm, he kisses the inside of her wrist, brushes his fingers over her pulse until she's able to meet his eyes once more. He pulls her arm around his neck and holds it there, willing her to understand that she has nothing to fear.
When he lets go, she reaches up to touch his face, running her fingers over the hard ridge along his cheek. He hums a little in approval, but soon needs to make an adjustment -- what she's doing isn't unpleasant, but he's aching for something more.
"Hmm... not quite," he says gently, grasping her hand and moving it lower, guiding her to the brilliant magenta of his frills. "Try-- mmm." The sudden rumble in his chest is so strong, so deep, that it makes her gasp. Encouraged, she moves her fingers in another stroke, slower this time but with more pressure. It nearly makes his knees buckle, and he groans aloud.
She keeps it up, but he manages to get himself under control. When he starts pulling off his clothes this time, she doesn't shy away, though her fingers hesitate briefly. Holding eye contact, once again stroking her wrist, he places her hand over his heart. Finally, she takes in the unfamiliar sight of him and blinks once. An expression of pleased surprise lights up her face.
"Stripes," she says softly, and traces her fingers over them.
"Yes," he smiles back.
"I don't have anything like this about me... I'll be very dull in comparison." Her face clouds over a little. This insecurity is part of what has been making her so wary.
"Whatever I see will be you," he reassures her, "and nothing could be more beautiful to me."
It has been ten years since Irikah, ten years since he was last with a woman. He had thought he might be somewhat shy about being with someone new. But now, with Shepard finally in his arms, he is surprised again, this time by how easy it is for him to take the lead. He knows she needs him to, and there is nothing he wouldn't do for her.
His lips and tongue work in concert at her throat, slowly painting a line of kisses up to her jaw. Muscles flex under his fingers as they roam up and down to explore the contours of her back. When his hands carefully tug the hem of her shirt up and touch the warm skin at her waist, she tenses slightly, and he pauses.
"It's okay, don't stop," she whispers, "I'm just, ah-- nervous."
"Don't be, siha," he replies, "I could never find you anything short of amazing." He strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers; she leans into his touch.
He backs up half a step to remove his jacket and vest, but when she realizes what he's doing she's suddenly tense again, hesitant and unsure. Catching her forearm, he kisses the inside of her wrist, brushes his fingers over her pulse until she's able to meet his eyes once more. He pulls her arm around his neck and holds it there, willing her to understand that she has nothing to fear.
When he lets go, she reaches up to touch his face, running her fingers over the hard ridge along his cheek. He hums a little in approval, but soon needs to make an adjustment -- what she's doing isn't unpleasant, but he's aching for something more.
"Hmm... not quite," he says gently, grasping her hand and moving it lower, guiding her to the brilliant magenta of his frills. "Try-- mmm." The sudden rumble in his chest is so strong, so deep, that it makes her gasp. Encouraged, she moves her fingers in another stroke, slower this time but with more pressure. It nearly makes his knees buckle, and he groans aloud.
She keeps it up, but he manages to get himself under control. When he starts pulling off his clothes this time, she doesn't shy away, though her fingers hesitate briefly. Holding eye contact, once again stroking her wrist, he places her hand over his heart. Finally, she takes in the unfamiliar sight of him and blinks once. An expression of pleased surprise lights up her face.
"Stripes," she says softly, and traces her fingers over them.
"Yes," he smiles back.
"I don't have anything like this about me... I'll be very dull in comparison." Her face clouds over a little. This insecurity is part of what has been making her so wary.
"Whatever I see will be you," he reassures her, "and nothing could be more beautiful to me."
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