you know what’s really fun, going through your ps folder and finding stuff you don’t really recall doing. then cleaning it up. kind of. i just love kaidan and his octopus grip ok
Shepard always thought the whole ‘I’ve got your back’ thing was like a turian knowing when to cover your blind spot in the middle of a hostile situation, or an asari who focused on ranged biotic attacks while you charged into the thick of things, or even a big, hard-hitting soldier who tanked like he was stronger than a brute sometimes. And, yeah, it was about the guy you’d known since the beginning calling you on your bullshit, too. His mouth twisting to one side, his eyebrows pinching in the center, his head tilting, and all of it legitimate because he was your superior officer now.
You could call that your conscience. Your inner Kaidan Alenko.
You could call that integrity.
You could call that whatever you wanted, voice hoarse in a dark bedroom, enjoying the moment as much as you wanted but always remembering there were going to be shadows—more shadows, not the kind that warmed under Kaidan’s hands or flushed under his mouth, not the kind two bodies made together, over or under each other, but the kind that came with absence. The shadow pooled in a pillow, in wrinkled sheets, in one swollen eye puffy from not sleeping too well lately.
It was better than dreaming. Dreaming wasn’t so great.
Shepard needed… Well, he needed a hero, somebody larger than life, bigger than the movie screen, all tough-talking tentacles and happy endings. They never showed Blasto in a tight corner he couldn’t shoot his way out of, boxing with shadows, swinging at empty air.
Hanar couldn’t box, anyway. Even had strict laws against it on the Citadel. There were underground rings, of course, but…
Shepard was just trying to stay awake. Keep breathing. Keep afloat. Keep above sea-level. Keep out of the shadows. He was trying to feel the stomach swelling at his back. He was trying to hear if Kaidan snored or not. If that was just a yawn. If he sounded tired right when he woke up. How long it’d take before their bodies so close together made them sweat again, the inside of Kaidan’s elbow, the hair on his belly. The slide of his callused fingers over Shepard’s stomach. Still fitting over all the right freckles.
‘Hey,’ Kaidan said, alarm beeping for morning. ‘You’re not… Did I sleep like that on you the whole night? Must’ve been like… Like you were caught in somebody’s tentacles.’
‘Yeah,’ Shepard said. ‘Well, it wasn’t that terrible.’