Fic: Engine Calibrations. Mass Effect 3, Cortez/Vega
What, I wrote fic. Mass Effect 3 Slash. I don't even. What.
870 Words, PG-13, No Spoilers for Anything, Really.
It's way past normal bunk time, which means Cortez has the Normandy shuttle bay all to himself. Well, he has to share it with the weird robot dog that doesn't do much other than pace up and down the deck, but that really doesn't count as company. It's been this way many nights before, just Cortez and the Kodiak shuttle, a long night of engine calibrations ahead of them both. He's elbow deep in one of the thrusters when he feels the arms wrap around him from behind. He jumps a little, wrenching his arm just a bit before he manages to slide it out of the Kodiak. Cortez knows exactly who has sneaked up on him, as much as he doesn't want to admit that James Vega is capable of sneaking up on anyone. It's the arms that gave him away, the massive arms that can only belong to the arms master who insists on doing pull-ups half the damn day just across the deck from the very spot they both stand.
Cortez barely manages to shrug himself out of the bizarre rear hug his comrade and crewmate had tangled him in, catching a whiff of Vega's breath as he does so. He's not sure what Vega's been drinking, but he's had enough that it's obvious on his breath.
“Awww come on, Esteban,” Vega says, slurring his words just enough that Cortez knows he's not completely drunk... but James is definitely not sober. “You gonna tell me you don't want a big cuddly hug from your pal?”
“You're drunk, lieutenant,” Cortez says, rubbing under his shoulder a bit to alleviate a bit of the pain. “Maybe you should head back to your bunk.” He thinks about just how much recalibrating he's going to have to do after mis-aligning that thruster, and that's already an extra half hour of work before he can let himself hit the bunks himself. No way he'd fly that thing for Commander Shepard without it in perfect shape, and the big lug was here trying to be funny instead of letting him work.
“Esteban, you need to loosen up,” Vega says, laughing a bit. Before Cortez even knows what is happening, James is stripping off his shirt, leaving Cortez to stare for just a moment in disbelief, and another to admire what doing all those pull-ups exactly does to James' pectoral muscles. He catches himself quickly, shaking his head and looking pointed into his friend's eyes.
“I have no idea what you're up to here, James,” he says, hoping that being casual will get through to the big man. “But I've got work to do, and you have a night of drinking to sleep off, and so I think there's a clear cut way this should be going.”
“Estebaaaaan,” comes the voice of James Vega, his face curled into a silly smile. “Come on, I'm not saying we do it or anything, not with that robot probably recording it for the commander, I'm just saying we should hug. Without shirts. Like men.”
“I...” Cortez is flabbergasted, and he pinches the bridge of his nose just for a moment while he tries to figure how to not break out laughing at James. “I should go.”
The last reaction he expects is for Vega to burst out laughing himself, but that is exactly what happens. The man's shoulders heave with genuine laughter, before he falls to his knees and punches the deck a couple times while catching his breath after such a powerful laugh.
“What the hell is so funny, James?” Cortez says, just shaking his head.
“I... I should go,” Vega says, sputtering between a giggle that is just as ridiculous coming from a man of his stature. “What are you, the commander? I should go. I should go. I should--” he devolves into laughter again, this time joined by his friend. After a moment, Cortez reaches a hand down to help Vega to his feet. It's his surprise again when he finds himself pulled down on top of James instead.
“James, I have cali--” Cortez starts, but it silenced when a meaty finger is pressed against his lips. He doesn't mean to, but for a moment he can taste the mix of salty sweat and just a hint of alcohol from Vega's hand.
“You're not allowed to say calibrations, or I'm gonna start picturing you with a Turian head and then I won't be able to do this,” Vega says. Before Cortez can even ask what is going to happen, his head is a rush with the sensation as James' rough lips press against his own. He feels his muscles tighten for a moment, then he relaxes a bit, shifting his weight to deepen the kiss just a little bit. For a moment, there isn't a war, there aren't giant death machines out destroying half the galaxy, there aren't any calibrations or shuttle diagnostics to run. There's just the feeling of skin against skin, the taste of his friend both salty and sweet in his mouth, the rush of the moment and the feeling of something right.
870 Words, PG-13, No Spoilers for Anything, Really.
It's way past normal bunk time, which means Cortez has the Normandy shuttle bay all to himself. Well, he has to share it with the weird robot dog that doesn't do much other than pace up and down the deck, but that really doesn't count as company. It's been this way many nights before, just Cortez and the Kodiak shuttle, a long night of engine calibrations ahead of them both. He's elbow deep in one of the thrusters when he feels the arms wrap around him from behind. He jumps a little, wrenching his arm just a bit before he manages to slide it out of the Kodiak. Cortez knows exactly who has sneaked up on him, as much as he doesn't want to admit that James Vega is capable of sneaking up on anyone. It's the arms that gave him away, the massive arms that can only belong to the arms master who insists on doing pull-ups half the damn day just across the deck from the very spot they both stand.
Cortez barely manages to shrug himself out of the bizarre rear hug his comrade and crewmate had tangled him in, catching a whiff of Vega's breath as he does so. He's not sure what Vega's been drinking, but he's had enough that it's obvious on his breath.
“Awww come on, Esteban,” Vega says, slurring his words just enough that Cortez knows he's not completely drunk... but James is definitely not sober. “You gonna tell me you don't want a big cuddly hug from your pal?”
“You're drunk, lieutenant,” Cortez says, rubbing under his shoulder a bit to alleviate a bit of the pain. “Maybe you should head back to your bunk.” He thinks about just how much recalibrating he's going to have to do after mis-aligning that thruster, and that's already an extra half hour of work before he can let himself hit the bunks himself. No way he'd fly that thing for Commander Shepard without it in perfect shape, and the big lug was here trying to be funny instead of letting him work.
“Esteban, you need to loosen up,” Vega says, laughing a bit. Before Cortez even knows what is happening, James is stripping off his shirt, leaving Cortez to stare for just a moment in disbelief, and another to admire what doing all those pull-ups exactly does to James' pectoral muscles. He catches himself quickly, shaking his head and looking pointed into his friend's eyes.
“I have no idea what you're up to here, James,” he says, hoping that being casual will get through to the big man. “But I've got work to do, and you have a night of drinking to sleep off, and so I think there's a clear cut way this should be going.”
“Estebaaaaan,” comes the voice of James Vega, his face curled into a silly smile. “Come on, I'm not saying we do it or anything, not with that robot probably recording it for the commander, I'm just saying we should hug. Without shirts. Like men.”
“I...” Cortez is flabbergasted, and he pinches the bridge of his nose just for a moment while he tries to figure how to not break out laughing at James. “I should go.”
The last reaction he expects is for Vega to burst out laughing himself, but that is exactly what happens. The man's shoulders heave with genuine laughter, before he falls to his knees and punches the deck a couple times while catching his breath after such a powerful laugh.
“What the hell is so funny, James?” Cortez says, just shaking his head.
“I... I should go,” Vega says, sputtering between a giggle that is just as ridiculous coming from a man of his stature. “What are you, the commander? I should go. I should go. I should--” he devolves into laughter again, this time joined by his friend. After a moment, Cortez reaches a hand down to help Vega to his feet. It's his surprise again when he finds himself pulled down on top of James instead.
“James, I have cali--” Cortez starts, but it silenced when a meaty finger is pressed against his lips. He doesn't mean to, but for a moment he can taste the mix of salty sweat and just a hint of alcohol from Vega's hand.
“You're not allowed to say calibrations, or I'm gonna start picturing you with a Turian head and then I won't be able to do this,” Vega says. Before Cortez can even ask what is going to happen, his head is a rush with the sensation as James' rough lips press against his own. He feels his muscles tighten for a moment, then he relaxes a bit, shifting his weight to deepen the kiss just a little bit. For a moment, there isn't a war, there aren't giant death machines out destroying half the galaxy, there aren't any calibrations or shuttle diagnostics to run. There's just the feeling of skin against skin, the taste of his friend both salty and sweet in his mouth, the rush of the moment and the feeling of something right.