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encephalon2014-04-16 05:57 pm
hypotheses) wrote in encephalon2014-04-16 05:57 pm
Entry tags:
gross xeno fuckathon post
♥ hey how u doin lil mama
lemme whisper in ur ear ♥
[Everything normal. It's wrong how much she wanted him to express doubt and have to explore more. She's his commanding officer; self-control is something she needs to have, especially now. This is business, and however many times Shepard has to repeat that to herself, she will.
And now the other side, Mordin reaching over her to examine. The heat that radiates off of his body as he bends and brings his arm closer to the first breast he touched is nearly tangible. Shepard has to look away to keep from looking at him, worried about what might show in her face and eyes right now. There's an all-too-familiar tingle in her core, and Shepard wonders if this is a mistake. If she should go.
She can't, though, she realizes moments later. She can't go to Chakwas about this. Mordin's her only choice, and he'll get the job done. She needs to be a good soldier and suck it up. Catching his line of conversation and clinging to it like it was a lifeline, Shepard attempts to distract herself from his perfect hands. Her voice is a little more hoarse than usual as she speaks.]
Are you implying humans aren't good at multitasking? I'll have you know I can do plenty of things at once. I just choose to focus on avoiding bullets when they're in the air. It's tactically sound. Sometimes I mix it up and even push buttons while we're being fired at.
[But not as efficiently as he's pushing her buttons without even trying. At least she's not sinking so low as to breath deeply and try to get his fingers on the one place they're clearly avoiding. He'd know. She will avoid insulting his intelligence.]
And now the other side, Mordin reaching over her to examine. The heat that radiates off of his body as he bends and brings his arm closer to the first breast he touched is nearly tangible. Shepard has to look away to keep from looking at him, worried about what might show in her face and eyes right now. There's an all-too-familiar tingle in her core, and Shepard wonders if this is a mistake. If she should go.
She can't, though, she realizes moments later. She can't go to Chakwas about this. Mordin's her only choice, and he'll get the job done. She needs to be a good soldier and suck it up. Catching his line of conversation and clinging to it like it was a lifeline, Shepard attempts to distract herself from his perfect hands. Her voice is a little more hoarse than usual as she speaks.]
Are you implying humans aren't good at multitasking? I'll have you know I can do plenty of things at once. I just choose to focus on avoiding bullets when they're in the air. It's tactically sound. Sometimes I mix it up and even push buttons while we're being fired at.
[But not as efficiently as he's pushing her buttons without even trying. At least she's not sinking so low as to breath deeply and try to get his fingers on the one place they're clearly avoiding. He'd know. She will avoid insulting his intelligence.]
[ Mordin's been peripherally aware of the turian they call Archangel for some time now—mostly because he's usually one who ends up with various mercs bleeding and beating down his door. Unfortunately for them, Mordin's long left the business of playing nice, and at this point he's made it perfectly, dangerously clear that he will not be intimidated into compliance. Suffice it to say that Mordin's become a fan of Archangel's work. Enough of a fan, in fact, that small portions of the last months' stock of medi-gel have been known to find their way into his team's hands.
So it was probably only a matter of time before Archangel himself found his way here. Friendly territory.
As soon as one of his aides shows the bleeding turian into his exam room, he knows. Tells Daniel to attend to the next few patients—it's late in Omega's manufactured night cycle, which usually means a merciful lull—and seals the door behind him. ]
Remove armor, take seat quickly. Heard gunfire nearby; Tempest-type, five-round burst. Guessing Eclipse. Marked increase in activity lately, suspect change in leadership structure. Direct hit? [ A pause for breath. ] Did the bullet pass through?
So it was probably only a matter of time before Archangel himself found his way here. Friendly territory.
As soon as one of his aides shows the bleeding turian into his exam room, he knows. Tells Daniel to attend to the next few patients—it's late in Omega's manufactured night cycle, which usually means a merciful lull—and seals the door behind him. ]
Remove armor, take seat quickly. Heard gunfire nearby; Tempest-type, five-round burst. Guessing Eclipse. Marked increase in activity lately, suspect change in leadership structure. Direct hit? [ A pause for breath. ] Did the bullet pass through?
To their leadership structure?
[He's trying to grasp a train of thought as the salarian talks, and talks, and talks. That's a lot of words, all in a rush. And then he realizes that the direct hit question is about him and not what he's done to Eclipse, and that makes everything make more sense.
Garrus unfastens the seals of his armor, getting it off to the side with a quickly cut-off hiss of pain and taking a seat as instructed.]
Yeah. Lucky shot, direct, pretty certain it's clean through.
[After all, something wet was on his back and turians didn't sweat much at all.]
Shouldn't be too serious. It's just beyond what I can treat. And it hurts like hell.
[His gaze lingers on the sealed door for a moment before switching back to the salarian. The doctor's supposed to be good people. This should be worth the risk. There's nothing to suggest he's in danger here.]
[He's trying to grasp a train of thought as the salarian talks, and talks, and talks. That's a lot of words, all in a rush. And then he realizes that the direct hit question is about him and not what he's done to Eclipse, and that makes everything make more sense.
Garrus unfastens the seals of his armor, getting it off to the side with a quickly cut-off hiss of pain and taking a seat as instructed.]
Yeah. Lucky shot, direct, pretty certain it's clean through.
[After all, something wet was on his back and turians didn't sweat much at all.]
Shouldn't be too serious. It's just beyond what I can treat. And it hurts like hell.
[His gaze lingers on the sealed door for a moment before switching back to the salarian. The doctor's supposed to be good people. This should be worth the risk. There's nothing to suggest he's in danger here.]
[ For better or worse, however, the heel of his palm brushes perfunctorily over her nipple once or twice as he does this—light and subtle, not at all intended to elicit a reaction. Just... doctorly.
Mordin thinks he's observing a change in the color of her skin: slight darkening, reddening, but could very easily be in response to exposed situation. Self-consciousness, embarrassment. Humans often touchy about nudity. It's for that reason that he refrains from asking to confirm that her body temperature has, in fact, spiked a few degrees in the last few minutes. Trying to make this easy. ]
Oh no, perish the thought! Know you of all people, more than capable of juggling simultaneous objectives. Have observed you closely: hack terminal, push button, [ His hands hiss softly over her ribcage, between her breasts, under them, across the hard plane of her stomach, thumb licking into her navel. ] headshot. No need to protest, Shepard. Already impressed.
[ They're innocuous caresses of her sides, her waist, tracing just over the hollows of her hips as they disappear past the band of her underwear. So professional. He pauses a moment, pushing aside the largely irrelevant perception that Shepard is exhibiting signs of pleasure in response to this examination, and gives her a brief glance. ]
Will ask that you remove these shortly. Not now, but soon. Also: scoot down, if you please. Legs off table. Can use footrests.
[ Because he may have made short work of her neck, her back, her shoulders, arms, hands, but he's far from done. The skin of her left leg is buttery smooth against the pads of his fingers, by necessity massaging the strong muscles lying underneath all the way down to her ankle and the vulnerable sole of her foot. But as he starts on her right thigh, his touch stutters, alerted. He traces the irregularity, a thin stripe curving around to her inner thigh, very near the beginning of the swell of her backside. Mordin takes a peek, cocks his head. ]
Scar here. Aware of it already, I hope?
[ They're soldiers. They've both got their fair share, only Shepard's are all so new that one can never be too sure. The others he recognizes as shrapnel scars, entry wounds, varren bites. Knows injuries can occur in improbable places at times. Something about this one just struck him as arresting, apparently. No sign of foreign material beneath the skin. Just... captured his attention somehow. ]
Mordin thinks he's observing a change in the color of her skin: slight darkening, reddening, but could very easily be in response to exposed situation. Self-consciousness, embarrassment. Humans often touchy about nudity. It's for that reason that he refrains from asking to confirm that her body temperature has, in fact, spiked a few degrees in the last few minutes. Trying to make this easy. ]
Oh no, perish the thought! Know you of all people, more than capable of juggling simultaneous objectives. Have observed you closely: hack terminal, push button, [ His hands hiss softly over her ribcage, between her breasts, under them, across the hard plane of her stomach, thumb licking into her navel. ] headshot. No need to protest, Shepard. Already impressed.
[ They're innocuous caresses of her sides, her waist, tracing just over the hollows of her hips as they disappear past the band of her underwear. So professional. He pauses a moment, pushing aside the largely irrelevant perception that Shepard is exhibiting signs of pleasure in response to this examination, and gives her a brief glance. ]
Will ask that you remove these shortly. Not now, but soon. Also: scoot down, if you please. Legs off table. Can use footrests.
[ Because he may have made short work of her neck, her back, her shoulders, arms, hands, but he's far from done. The skin of her left leg is buttery smooth against the pads of his fingers, by necessity massaging the strong muscles lying underneath all the way down to her ankle and the vulnerable sole of her foot. But as he starts on her right thigh, his touch stutters, alerted. He traces the irregularity, a thin stripe curving around to her inner thigh, very near the beginning of the swell of her backside. Mordin takes a peek, cocks his head. ]
Scar here. Aware of it already, I hope?
[ They're soldiers. They've both got their fair share, only Shepard's are all so new that one can never be too sure. The others he recognizes as shrapnel scars, entry wounds, varren bites. Knows injuries can occur in improbable places at times. Something about this one just struck him as arresting, apparently. No sign of foreign material beneath the skin. Just... captured his attention somehow. ]
[Thane tilts his head slightly as Mordin launches into another round of his tendency to think out loud -- fast, practically an explosion of thoughts. Most of them centered on him. Are they truly observations, or had he and Garrus gotten the respectable doctor all flustered? ...Perhaps some of both, he reasons to himself, and doesn't draw his hand away. The natural toxins in his skin have been a burden in many ways, but they've also been... somewhat entertaining, to say the least. Particularly where Garrus is concerned.
Of course, his mind roams to wonder what effect it'd have on a salarian-- if any. But Thane can't exactly picture Mordin the type to run his tongue over those scales, or slide down even lower... much like the way Garrus' hand is doing, now. The drell's black lids flutter over his eyes, brief, hips shifting partially toward that touch and partially just... to be near them both, whatever contact is necessary. It's a sight he finds he enjoys, amused and endeared, as Garrus' mouthplates press and nuzzle against Mordin's face. He leans in to press another kiss to the turian's mandible, still drawing his hand over the unique shape of Mordin's form beneath his labcoat, how long and thin salarians tend to be. Thane knows he is the shortest in the room right now.]
Drell venom does have an effect on humans and turians alike, yes.
[His voice is a deep thrum in his throat, lower and richer with a hunger that he doesn't even bother trying to conceal. Nothing about this situation merits that, by a long shot.]
Of course, his mind roams to wonder what effect it'd have on a salarian-- if any. But Thane can't exactly picture Mordin the type to run his tongue over those scales, or slide down even lower... much like the way Garrus' hand is doing, now. The drell's black lids flutter over his eyes, brief, hips shifting partially toward that touch and partially just... to be near them both, whatever contact is necessary. It's a sight he finds he enjoys, amused and endeared, as Garrus' mouthplates press and nuzzle against Mordin's face. He leans in to press another kiss to the turian's mandible, still drawing his hand over the unique shape of Mordin's form beneath his labcoat, how long and thin salarians tend to be. Thane knows he is the shortest in the room right now.]
Drell venom does have an effect on humans and turians alike, yes.
[His voice is a deep thrum in his throat, lower and richer with a hunger that he doesn't even bother trying to conceal. Nothing about this situation merits that, by a long shot.]
[ Mordin hesitates and then steps closer into the strange triangle they've begun to form, mind visibly working even through the haze that's settled over his senses, Thane's hand indescribably and alarmingly good against the hollow of his chest and suddenly much too hot.
It's rather tornado-like, the haste with which Mordin strips, as if he has to go fast enough that his thoughts won't be able to catch up, chattering right along as he does. ]
Yes. Of course. Wouldn't actually— [ He swallows. Takes a breath. ] Skin of salarians highly permeable, potential for exposure via simple contact. No idea how neurochemicals from chip will interact.
[ And then somehow his hand has dipped down to brush clumsily over Garrus's before joining it over Thane's cock, observing its weight and slickness, the way it hungrily soaks up the heat of their combined six fingers. ]
...One way to find out.
[ His undergarments cling to him from hip to sinuous mid-thigh, dark enough to obscure the steady swelling between them and the moisture that has long since started to slick the crotch, wanting to part, drip freely, come. It's an old refrain, if infrequent, but it's never felt quite this desperate. Mordin should hate this feeling, base instinct overriding his intellect, his restraint, his pride, but the thought is crowded out by the oppressive curious desire to feel one or both of these alien appendages precisely where they aren't meant to be, stretching him open, stuffing his neglected hole. Would be a challenge, would probably involve at least moderate pain, but probably could take both, could probably—
Mordin's pupils are giant inky ovals at this point; he breathes something that doesn't translate. ]
It's rather tornado-like, the haste with which Mordin strips, as if he has to go fast enough that his thoughts won't be able to catch up, chattering right along as he does. ]
Yes. Of course. Wouldn't actually— [ He swallows. Takes a breath. ] Skin of salarians highly permeable, potential for exposure via simple contact. No idea how neurochemicals from chip will interact.
[ And then somehow his hand has dipped down to brush clumsily over Garrus's before joining it over Thane's cock, observing its weight and slickness, the way it hungrily soaks up the heat of their combined six fingers. ]
...One way to find out.
[ His undergarments cling to him from hip to sinuous mid-thigh, dark enough to obscure the steady swelling between them and the moisture that has long since started to slick the crotch, wanting to part, drip freely, come. It's an old refrain, if infrequent, but it's never felt quite this desperate. Mordin should hate this feeling, base instinct overriding his intellect, his restraint, his pride, but the thought is crowded out by the oppressive curious desire to feel one or both of these alien appendages precisely where they aren't meant to be, stretching him open, stuffing his neglected hole. Would be a challenge, would probably involve at least moderate pain, but probably could take both, could probably—
Mordin's pupils are giant inky ovals at this point; he breathes something that doesn't translate. ]
Re: whispers and it's all for me............
forgivetheinsubordination
2014-06-03 06:48 am (UTC)(link)
[He's never really seen someone take off their clothing with that much haste before. Assisted, yeah. Two people going at outfits tended to get clothes on the ground pretty fast. But that it's the Doc stripping like that has him staring for a few moments.
Then his attention is turning back to what's going on in this moment, because that's a little more important. Both of their hands are on Thane's cock, playing with it, sliding over the vivid colors, grey and now red-brown making the length seem all the brighter. It doesn't help that he'd been deep in Thane, kissing and biting the drell. Or maybe it does help, and that's why he's actually enjoying the look of things instead of getting as physical as his body craves.]
Easy way to find out, even.
[As if it's a bonus. But it's not like he's really sharing Thane. They're helping Mordin. It's semantics but he finds comfort in it anyway as he nudges Mordin's hip with his, encouraging the salarian to get more in contact with Thane. And Garrus follows suit, pressing his forehead to Thane's. They've got this. And they've got the Doc. And, wow, Solus is apparently really into this already.
Very aware of how awkward someone can feel, partly because he's been there on a very regular basis, Garrus doesn't stare, doesn't draw attention downward. Instead he runs his talons carefully up the doctor's long back. Then he's releasing Thane's cock to do the same to his lover. It takes a little reach, but he's got that. Skin and scales, both beneath his talons. It's definitely a contrast and he likes it.]
Then his attention is turning back to what's going on in this moment, because that's a little more important. Both of their hands are on Thane's cock, playing with it, sliding over the vivid colors, grey and now red-brown making the length seem all the brighter. It doesn't help that he'd been deep in Thane, kissing and biting the drell. Or maybe it does help, and that's why he's actually enjoying the look of things instead of getting as physical as his body craves.]
Easy way to find out, even.
[As if it's a bonus. But it's not like he's really sharing Thane. They're helping Mordin. It's semantics but he finds comfort in it anyway as he nudges Mordin's hip with his, encouraging the salarian to get more in contact with Thane. And Garrus follows suit, pressing his forehead to Thane's. They've got this. And they've got the Doc. And, wow, Solus is apparently really into this already.
Very aware of how awkward someone can feel, partly because he's been there on a very regular basis, Garrus doesn't stare, doesn't draw attention downward. Instead he runs his talons carefully up the doctor's long back. Then he's releasing Thane's cock to do the same to his lover. It takes a little reach, but he's got that. Skin and scales, both beneath his talons. It's definitely a contrast and he likes it.]
Edited (allllllllllllll the errors) 2014-06-03 06:51 (UTC)
[Thane is patient, respectable when Mordin pulls off his clothing, eying the curve of his body with great interest. He knows salarian anatomy in great detail, much like how he knows that of many other species -- it's different in this context. But isn't it always?
Their joined hands on him has Thane gasping for breath, perhaps a bit more sudden than he'd expected. Garrus and Mordin are both so warm and so much of it is drawn into his flesh. He glances down as well, eyes lazily-lidded, watching the interplay of fingers as they move along his length. Both palms slide over him easily, slick and nearly dripping himself with so much hunger, need that slides through him. It would seem that whatever Solus has is contagious; compounded by the lust he'd held before he and Garrus tore into each other today in the first place. A soft noise rolls from the drell's throat, something like a breathy grunt, and then he's drawing an arm up to extend the odd little triangular circle that they've all formed together.
Garrus' forehead is on his, and Thane's eyes close, albeit briefly. The removal of a hand, his hand, already leaves him yearning; Thane pushes forward a little against Mordin's fingers, seeking more of the encompassing touch that had faded. Garrus' hand feels hot against his back, though, and he likes that. Thane reaches out again, drawing his fingertips down the length of Mordin's torso, and his eyes are wandering over him a second time. More shades of pale brown, burnt-orange... scars, like himself, plain for both of them to see. Like they all carry, just as much on their insides if not out-- and if not more. Thane is curious to a degree that is almost heinous, even if he does not immediately reach out for the undergarments, or allow his gaze to travel beyond. He knows what's beneath them, and yet he doesn't in a lot of ways.]
In terms of skin, I don't believe you'll have much need to worry, Dr. Solus.
[In saying this, Thane's fingertips traverse the curved hollow of Mordin's sternum, easing down toward his waist.]
Their joined hands on him has Thane gasping for breath, perhaps a bit more sudden than he'd expected. Garrus and Mordin are both so warm and so much of it is drawn into his flesh. He glances down as well, eyes lazily-lidded, watching the interplay of fingers as they move along his length. Both palms slide over him easily, slick and nearly dripping himself with so much hunger, need that slides through him. It would seem that whatever Solus has is contagious; compounded by the lust he'd held before he and Garrus tore into each other today in the first place. A soft noise rolls from the drell's throat, something like a breathy grunt, and then he's drawing an arm up to extend the odd little triangular circle that they've all formed together.
Garrus' forehead is on his, and Thane's eyes close, albeit briefly. The removal of a hand, his hand, already leaves him yearning; Thane pushes forward a little against Mordin's fingers, seeking more of the encompassing touch that had faded. Garrus' hand feels hot against his back, though, and he likes that. Thane reaches out again, drawing his fingertips down the length of Mordin's torso, and his eyes are wandering over him a second time. More shades of pale brown, burnt-orange... scars, like himself, plain for both of them to see. Like they all carry, just as much on their insides if not out-- and if not more. Thane is curious to a degree that is almost heinous, even if he does not immediately reach out for the undergarments, or allow his gaze to travel beyond. He knows what's beneath them, and yet he doesn't in a lot of ways.]
In terms of skin, I don't believe you'll have much need to worry, Dr. Solus.
[In saying this, Thane's fingertips traverse the curved hollow of Mordin's sternum, easing down toward his waist.]
[She's rarely overly concerned with textures. Clothes, skin, whiskers, they don't matter. Now, though, Shepard is very aware of how salarian skin feels on her. He's being clear and professional. It doesn't change how he's hitting many of her spots. Her stomach has always been sensitive, nipples as well, but her thigh, back there where so few have touched because she just hasn't had time, feels aflame at his touch.
She doesn't even have time now. Mordin likely has dozens of projects he's working on, and she can guarantee Kelly's just waiting to present at least two emails to her. One will be Hackett, the other will be Timmyboy himself. Fuck him. It's TiM's fault she's in this position in the first place, spread for a salarian who isn't even interested.]
Debris from a rocket fired on Noveria. [Her voice is steady. Shepard can keep it that way through anything.]
The Mako got stuck, [don't even breathe a word, Mordin, so help you,] and we had to get out so Garrus and Wrex could get it free. A pair of rocket troopers opened fire, and part of one of the structures exploded behind us just as a prime knocked down my barrier. Never rains but it pours.
Surprised at you, Doctor. I would've thought you'd be used to seeing scars on me by now.
[It's nice that they no longer glow. She'd felt strange enough without looking like some hellfire-filled creature from beyond. It's also nice to have his fingers there, so close to where her body wants his touch. Time to get her mind back on track.]
Or is there something off about it that I haven't seen?
[Because it's not like she sees that spot often.]
She doesn't even have time now. Mordin likely has dozens of projects he's working on, and she can guarantee Kelly's just waiting to present at least two emails to her. One will be Hackett, the other will be Timmyboy himself. Fuck him. It's TiM's fault she's in this position in the first place, spread for a salarian who isn't even interested.]
Debris from a rocket fired on Noveria. [Her voice is steady. Shepard can keep it that way through anything.]
The Mako got stuck, [don't even breathe a word, Mordin, so help you,] and we had to get out so Garrus and Wrex could get it free. A pair of rocket troopers opened fire, and part of one of the structures exploded behind us just as a prime knocked down my barrier. Never rains but it pours.
Surprised at you, Doctor. I would've thought you'd be used to seeing scars on me by now.
[It's nice that they no longer glow. She'd felt strange enough without looking like some hellfire-filled creature from beyond. It's also nice to have his fingers there, so close to where her body wants his touch. Time to get her mind back on track.]
Or is there something off about it that I haven't seen?
[Because it's not like she sees that spot often.]
[ Somehow, even under the stress of being impossibly horny, Mordin's attention is distinctly curious, exploratory. He lets the gentle sting of Garrus's talons usher him closer to Thane, pressed against him pressed against the table Garrus had him bent over scant minutes ago. There is intimacy between the two of them, Mordin knows, and is happy for them. It's not in a salarian's nature to hold onto doubt where reassurance has already been provided—certainly not in Mordin's nature—so he chooses ultimately to give them both the respect of accepting that this is neither imposition nor inconvenience. Thane's body feels mercifully cool against his own, its texture less finely-scaled than an asari's but compellingly smooth all the same.
He glances back toward Garrus briefly, the heat rolling off him a heady contrast to Thane and his comparably temperate fingers playing at his waistband. His first instinct is to shuck them off, take Thane by the cock, and go for broke. But... well, maybe he would just like to believe that there's still room for a measure of subtlety here. For what it's worth, Thane's cock finds a rather lovely temporary home nestled into the hollow of his clothed hip, a delicious pressure. He's addressing them both when he speaks next, hushed, gaze flicking over the powerful muscles of Thane's stomach. ]
Don't—necessarily wish to rush things. Salarian sex quite, ah, direct by other species' standards, even outside of breeding situations. Will endeavor to [ a deep breath, said like it's the hardest thing in the world to say: ] go slowly.
He glances back toward Garrus briefly, the heat rolling off him a heady contrast to Thane and his comparably temperate fingers playing at his waistband. His first instinct is to shuck them off, take Thane by the cock, and go for broke. But... well, maybe he would just like to believe that there's still room for a measure of subtlety here. For what it's worth, Thane's cock finds a rather lovely temporary home nestled into the hollow of his clothed hip, a delicious pressure. He's addressing them both when he speaks next, hushed, gaze flicking over the powerful muscles of Thane's stomach. ]
Don't—necessarily wish to rush things. Salarian sex quite, ah, direct by other species' standards, even outside of breeding situations. Will endeavor to [ a deep breath, said like it's the hardest thing in the world to say: ] go slowly.
[ No, he doesn't breathe a word, he knows better, but he does smirk just a little. At the question, though, his eyes dart toward her face as if snapped from a reverie. ]
Ah, no; no, no issues apparent. Just—wondered.
[ Which is not a doctor's job, wondering, and he silently admonishes himself for the slip of the mask, but ultimately lets it go. Shepard is his CO, yes, but he's proud to call her a friend as well. In the end, he supposes, there's not all that much cause or need for stiff protocol the way there would be on another ship, another mission.
It may be important to him to remind himself of this. It may be important because of his mounting suspicion that Shepard is enjoying this... very much.
But not enough for him to call this off, apparently. ]
No sign as well of subdermal implants or related abnormalities. Exemplary human specimen!
[ Yes, he's really fairly certain that she's attractive by human standards and probably asari as well. Similar facial structure to asari considered especially beautiful. Possibly even attractive to drell, turians; he's seen the way their squadmates look from time to time. Maybe not krogan. Too soft. Not quite enough scars.
The black of her panties contrasts sharply with her skin. His hand slides off her thigh and he takes a small step back, half-turning as if to indicate the privacy he's about to give her. ]
Ready to proceed?
[ He hasn't moved far. Just enough that it's apparent he's configuring... something. Something Shepard's probably fairly familiar with at this point. ]
Ah, no; no, no issues apparent. Just—wondered.
[ Which is not a doctor's job, wondering, and he silently admonishes himself for the slip of the mask, but ultimately lets it go. Shepard is his CO, yes, but he's proud to call her a friend as well. In the end, he supposes, there's not all that much cause or need for stiff protocol the way there would be on another ship, another mission.
It may be important to him to remind himself of this. It may be important because of his mounting suspicion that Shepard is enjoying this... very much.
But not enough for him to call this off, apparently. ]
No sign as well of subdermal implants or related abnormalities. Exemplary human specimen!
[ Yes, he's really fairly certain that she's attractive by human standards and probably asari as well. Similar facial structure to asari considered especially beautiful. Possibly even attractive to drell, turians; he's seen the way their squadmates look from time to time. Maybe not krogan. Too soft. Not quite enough scars.
The black of her panties contrasts sharply with her skin. His hand slides off her thigh and he takes a small step back, half-turning as if to indicate the privacy he's about to give her. ]
Ready to proceed?
[ He hasn't moved far. Just enough that it's apparent he's configuring... something. Something Shepard's probably fairly familiar with at this point. ]
[He doesn't get the need to not rush. They're all turned on, he'd just been buried balls-deep in Thane's ass, Mordin came here in need, and now not only is Garrus not being touched, Mordin wants to go slowly. Garrus closes his eyes and tries to get a slight handle on himself. It's not easy. The air is filled with the scent of a certain turned-on drell.]
There's nothing wrong with, uh. Direct. If you... change your mind.
[Garrus is about as subtle as a krogan. His thumb goes up Mordin's spine, up the back of his neck and head, and then Garrus strokes the intact horn. He's getting the impression that Solus is sensitive there, and if so he has every intention of making that work for him. In the meantime, Thane gets talons dragged roughly down his ass. Mordin's ass gets a turian cock against it, for good measure.]
Nothing to worry about.
[Like bashfulness. Which is a big word when you've got some venom in your veins and you really want to fuck the two people in front of you. At the same time. Somehow.]
There's nothing wrong with, uh. Direct. If you... change your mind.
[Garrus is about as subtle as a krogan. His thumb goes up Mordin's spine, up the back of his neck and head, and then Garrus strokes the intact horn. He's getting the impression that Solus is sensitive there, and if so he has every intention of making that work for him. In the meantime, Thane gets talons dragged roughly down his ass. Mordin's ass gets a turian cock against it, for good measure.]
Nothing to worry about.
[Like bashfulness. Which is a big word when you've got some venom in your veins and you really want to fuck the two people in front of you. At the same time. Somehow.]
[She hesitates.
It's something Shepard has rarely done in her life, but right now it has its place. This is turning out to be more erotic than she'd anticipated or even prepared for. Is it fair to him? That's one thing she's always prided herself on, being fair with her crew. The answer is that she's not sure, and she's also not certain that she isn't trying to fool herself.]
Mordin... Dr. Solus.
[Because this requires something more official. The friendship she has with him, as frustrating as he is at times, is something she wants to protect.]
You probably already know, but this isn't going exactly as I'd planned.
[It is entirely her fault. And of course he knows. Her pulse and breathing are elevated. She can feel color in her face and heat lower down.]
If you'd prefer I wait for Karen to have time, I will entirely understand.
[She's not sure she'll bother Karen with it. Mordin hasn't found anything yet, and explaining why Karen only would need to check there would be too complicated to likely be worth it. That, and Shepard strongly doubts there will be time. There's never time. This was a lucky break.
As she's been talking, Shepard has sat up and moved to the edge of the table. Whichever way he answers, she'll need to be there. Either she'll be pulling on clothes, or removing the last piece. But she's being fair, and she's comfortable in that.]
It's something Shepard has rarely done in her life, but right now it has its place. This is turning out to be more erotic than she'd anticipated or even prepared for. Is it fair to him? That's one thing she's always prided herself on, being fair with her crew. The answer is that she's not sure, and she's also not certain that she isn't trying to fool herself.]
Mordin... Dr. Solus.
[Because this requires something more official. The friendship she has with him, as frustrating as he is at times, is something she wants to protect.]
You probably already know, but this isn't going exactly as I'd planned.
[It is entirely her fault. And of course he knows. Her pulse and breathing are elevated. She can feel color in her face and heat lower down.]
If you'd prefer I wait for Karen to have time, I will entirely understand.
[She's not sure she'll bother Karen with it. Mordin hasn't found anything yet, and explaining why Karen only would need to check there would be too complicated to likely be worth it. That, and Shepard strongly doubts there will be time. There's never time. This was a lucky break.
As she's been talking, Shepard has sat up and moved to the edge of the table. Whichever way he answers, she'll need to be there. Either she'll be pulling on clothes, or removing the last piece. But she's being fair, and she's comfortable in that.]
[A soft huff of breath suffices for a chuckle, from Thane. He reaches over Mordin's shoulder to trace Garrus' scarred mandible with his fingertips.]
You were here once. You can handle a bit of patience.
[It's endeared, perhaps even a touch amused; not scolding at all. Interspecies connections, he means -- whether Garrus would pick up on that is another story. But regardless, even if Mordin had experienced either of them before--memory and universes notwithstanding--these things still take time to settle. Especially when dealing with two completely different anatomies at once.]
We'll move as slow or swift as you'll have us, Dr. Solus.
[A hand settles on Mordin's hip. Even in spite of the gentle reminder, Thane cannot help but arch his back at the press of claws on his ass, muscles flexing beneath the scaled texture of his skin. His want, though passions have cooled in the transition, has not died off. And Mordin is a curiosity. He presses a bit closer into the salarian's personal space, nose brushing against a long curved throat.
With his face half-tucked there, Thane tilts his head slightly, dark eyes meeting Garrus' blue.]
And I want to watch you handle him.
You were here once. You can handle a bit of patience.
[It's endeared, perhaps even a touch amused; not scolding at all. Interspecies connections, he means -- whether Garrus would pick up on that is another story. But regardless, even if Mordin had experienced either of them before--memory and universes notwithstanding--these things still take time to settle. Especially when dealing with two completely different anatomies at once.]
We'll move as slow or swift as you'll have us, Dr. Solus.
[A hand settles on Mordin's hip. Even in spite of the gentle reminder, Thane cannot help but arch his back at the press of claws on his ass, muscles flexing beneath the scaled texture of his skin. His want, though passions have cooled in the transition, has not died off. And Mordin is a curiosity. He presses a bit closer into the salarian's personal space, nose brushing against a long curved throat.
With his face half-tucked there, Thane tilts his head slightly, dark eyes meeting Garrus' blue.]
And I want to watch you handle him.
[ Mordin feels a stab of odd guilt at her sudden hesitance. Sexual arousal is an unorthodox response to a medical examination, it's true, but he knows better than most that it's not quite so abnormal as one might expect. It crosses species, genders, careers, and consequently this is not exactly Mordin's first rodeo. But it is different somehow, more dangerous in some way he doesn't fully understand, but he doesn't want it to be because if anyone deserves the very best of everything he has to offer, it's her.
He hazards a glance back to the table. Probably sexually excited, yes, but embarrassed? Ashamed? Apparently not. Not that it's surprising to him, even if it is a little atypical of a human. Shepard is a very atypical human.
He knows, but chooses to lend her the courtesy of plausible deniability. ]
No, no objections. Here for you, Shepard. Willing to help. ...Want to help.
[ He pauses. He's not really sure what he's referring to anymore, or precisely what it is he's feeling. But there's a job to be done. Better that Shepard has found it incidentally pleasurable so far instead of unpleasant, at any rate. Right? ]
Can go no further than you allow. If ever uncomfortable at any moment, only say the word.
[ Once she's in position, there'll be a safe holographic shroud preventing any eye contact between her spread knees. Better that way. Less exposed for everyone. Entirely possible Shepard's arousal stemmed simply from touch of skin. Rest of exam could pass without incident.
Also, he realizes, might not. ]
He hazards a glance back to the table. Probably sexually excited, yes, but embarrassed? Ashamed? Apparently not. Not that it's surprising to him, even if it is a little atypical of a human. Shepard is a very atypical human.
He knows, but chooses to lend her the courtesy of plausible deniability. ]
No, no objections. Here for you, Shepard. Willing to help. ...Want to help.
[ He pauses. He's not really sure what he's referring to anymore, or precisely what it is he's feeling. But there's a job to be done. Better that Shepard has found it incidentally pleasurable so far instead of unpleasant, at any rate. Right? ]
Can go no further than you allow. If ever uncomfortable at any moment, only say the word.
[ Once she's in position, there'll be a safe holographic shroud preventing any eye contact between her spread knees. Better that way. Less exposed for everyone. Entirely possible Shepard's arousal stemmed simply from touch of skin. Rest of exam could pass without incident.
Also, he realizes, might not. ]
[And that right there is why he's so attractive. Nothing phases Mordin or throws him for a loop. He's professional and prepared and down to business. He is one of the most dangerous people she knows, as Shepard has deliberately surrounded herself with deadly people due to the mission they're on. And she trusts him utterly.
She pulls the last piece of clothing off, adding it to the pile before resuming her position, spreading her legs and core open for Mordin. This is to help, as he's said, and while she can neither hide nor push away the growing feelings of arousal, he's made his choice fully informed.
Resting her head on the table, Shepard goes through mental exercises to keep her relaxed and still. She can at least keep from fidgeting, or, worse, moving into whatever touch he provides.]
Thank you, Mordin.
[Her voice is a little more quiet than normal. Vulnerable isn't something she looks for, but that's the best way to describe her in this situation. She can no longer see him; he's in complete control. Taking a breath, in and out, she uncurls her toes and works very hard not to shiver when he resumes contact with her body.]
She pulls the last piece of clothing off, adding it to the pile before resuming her position, spreading her legs and core open for Mordin. This is to help, as he's said, and while she can neither hide nor push away the growing feelings of arousal, he's made his choice fully informed.
Resting her head on the table, Shepard goes through mental exercises to keep her relaxed and still. She can at least keep from fidgeting, or, worse, moving into whatever touch he provides.]
Thank you, Mordin.
[Her voice is a little more quiet than normal. Vulnerable isn't something she looks for, but that's the best way to describe her in this situation. She can no longer see him; he's in complete control. Taking a breath, in and out, she uncurls her toes and works very hard not to shiver when he resumes contact with her body.]
[ And somehow that's pretty much all the permission he needs. Ask anyone on the Citadel about the sexual assertiveness of a salarian and (with the probable exception of Sha'ira), chances are all you'd receive in return is a blank stare. But even though Mordin feels plagued to distraction by this frenzy, this fever, and even though it's been really quite a while (and never with a male with a dick), it's like some sort of primordial switch gets flicked in his brain and he gives Thane just a few seconds more to enjoy nuzzling at his neck before he's shoving him back onto the table with deceptive strength. And he's right there with him, too, one hand encircling the one still tenuously at his hip, the other planted square in the center of Thane's chest.
The Normandy crew values many qualities in their home furnishings and it is fortunate that stability and load-bearing capacity are two of them. ]
Hm. No.
[ Sometimes the quirky little doctor makes it a little easier to remember that he's the quirky little doctor who strung up merc corpses in the corridors of Omega as a warning. ]
Interrupted before. Looked important. Hate to deprive you.
[ Which "you" he means could be up for debate. Maybe both. Probably both. His fingers leave Thane's wrist to tug Garrus closer by the cock. There's a kind of laser focus to his intent, now that he's given himself over to it. It's kind of scary. Clearly, he's had his fill of patience. ]
Should continue; impolite otherwise. Can watch you handle me instead.
[ Thane's flushed cock now pokes rudely at the damp ache between his thighs. The underwear has to go at some point, he knows, but for the moment he'd much rather see Thane ready to go on this table. He imagines Garrus concurs. ]
Able to take that, I'm sure.
The Normandy crew values many qualities in their home furnishings and it is fortunate that stability and load-bearing capacity are two of them. ]
Hm. No.
[ Sometimes the quirky little doctor makes it a little easier to remember that he's the quirky little doctor who strung up merc corpses in the corridors of Omega as a warning. ]
Interrupted before. Looked important. Hate to deprive you.
[ Which "you" he means could be up for debate. Maybe both. Probably both. His fingers leave Thane's wrist to tug Garrus closer by the cock. There's a kind of laser focus to his intent, now that he's given himself over to it. It's kind of scary. Clearly, he's had his fill of patience. ]
Should continue; impolite otherwise. Can watch you handle me instead.
[ Thane's flushed cock now pokes rudely at the damp ache between his thighs. The underwear has to go at some point, he knows, but for the moment he'd much rather see Thane ready to go on this table. He imagines Garrus concurs. ]
Able to take that, I'm sure.
Edited (I DON'T LIKE USING WORDS TWICE) 2014-06-14 07:23 (UTC)
[Even if he'd particularly wanted to argue with Mordin the tug on his cock would have been compelling. Garrus finds himself more than a little surprised by the change in the dynamic here... but he has no objections. If he's following Solus' train of thought, he gets to fuck Thane into Mordin, and spirits, that's hot.
Garrus keeps his eyes on Thane's, wanting to see the drell's reaction as he circles back closer to Thane than Mordin, sliding his fingers back down the cleft of Thane's ass.]
I can handle anything... anything you throw at me.
[And he's even getting better at talking. For now, though, Garrus puts his hand on top of Mordin's, using both of them to guide his cock to bump back against Thane's cloaca, waiting to see if Thane's instead going to flip the tables again and turn this around. Garrus prefers to have some control in most encounters, but right now he's too turned on by the way this is going to try to change anything up.
...But he still intends to handle Mordin some. Thane's not the only one who will be doing that.]
Garrus keeps his eyes on Thane's, wanting to see the drell's reaction as he circles back closer to Thane than Mordin, sliding his fingers back down the cleft of Thane's ass.]
I can handle anything... anything you throw at me.
[And he's even getting better at talking. For now, though, Garrus puts his hand on top of Mordin's, using both of them to guide his cock to bump back against Thane's cloaca, waiting to see if Thane's instead going to flip the tables again and turn this around. Garrus prefers to have some control in most encounters, but right now he's too turned on by the way this is going to try to change anything up.
...But he still intends to handle Mordin some. Thane's not the only one who will be doing that.]
[He's definitely caught off-guard by that: suddenly finding himself against the table, half on his back, a mostly-naked salarian pressed up against him. For a second, Thane stares up at Mordin, eyes slightly widened, grip having tightened in his skin. (It's a good thing that, unlike Garrus, he has no claws.)
And Garrus is drawing near, he's entirely too vulnerable, mixed feelings churning in his gut. Excitement, curiosity -- but there's strong tension there, instinct. Still holding onto Mordin's hip, Thane shifts slightly, bringing himself upward a little more. Garrus is nearby, his cock is edging between his thighs again; for whom is this truly moving too fast, now? But Thane is also glad to be rid of patience, his own prick hard and aching between his thighs, rubbing stiffly against Mordin's dampened undergarments. If he was a little closer again, perhaps he might even catch his scent ...
He urges up against Mordin's lean form, legs parting, hips pressing against Garrus' in turn; the movement rubs that flushed blue length along the crevice and against the pinkened slit of his cloaca, eliciting a shiver. Thane's hands fall against Mordin's waist then, dipping lewdly past the border of his remaining garment and pressing in, urging him further against him, in the hopes that he'll actually straddle him. Tempting though it might be, Thane keeps from drawing his hands in too far, half-hoping the respected doctor will whip the rest of it away with the same gusto he had the other things. There's a predatory hardness in his eyes as he grinds his hips against the fabric, letting his cock nudge up against the hole of Mordin's cloaca, further soaking the cloth with his own fluids as well.]
As you will it.
And Garrus is drawing near, he's entirely too vulnerable, mixed feelings churning in his gut. Excitement, curiosity -- but there's strong tension there, instinct. Still holding onto Mordin's hip, Thane shifts slightly, bringing himself upward a little more. Garrus is nearby, his cock is edging between his thighs again; for whom is this truly moving too fast, now? But Thane is also glad to be rid of patience, his own prick hard and aching between his thighs, rubbing stiffly against Mordin's dampened undergarments. If he was a little closer again, perhaps he might even catch his scent ...
He urges up against Mordin's lean form, legs parting, hips pressing against Garrus' in turn; the movement rubs that flushed blue length along the crevice and against the pinkened slit of his cloaca, eliciting a shiver. Thane's hands fall against Mordin's waist then, dipping lewdly past the border of his remaining garment and pressing in, urging him further against him, in the hopes that he'll actually straddle him. Tempting though it might be, Thane keeps from drawing his hands in too far, half-hoping the respected doctor will whip the rest of it away with the same gusto he had the other things. There's a predatory hardness in his eyes as he grinds his hips against the fabric, letting his cock nudge up against the hole of Mordin's cloaca, further soaking the cloth with his own fluids as well.]
As you will it.
[ Various beeps and clatters of medical paraphernalia echoing on their tray, he takes a seat where she can't see him save for the lone horn protruding from beyond the barrier over her lap. As if to postpone the inevitable, his hands wander the curves of her buttocks first; the only surface part of her left that he hasn't touched. Or... almost, but not quite. She'll be able to hear the unmistakable snap of surgical gloves, reminiscent of countless routine and military physicals over the course of her life.
He is delicate, professional in the way he examines her: careful over her innermost thighs, the weaker connective tissues where leg meets body, the soft tidy little expanses where her hair is trimmed for reasons he's peripherally aware of but doesn't understand, and it's the sight of how wet she is that bashes him against his insistent mental refrain that this is technical. Words that go with parts (parts of Shepard), terms for particular structures (mons pubis,
labia majora, labia minora,
clitoral hood),
and because he is so professional it is over so soon and somehow nothing catastrophic has occurred. But this was just the beginning, wasn't it.
He almost, almost asks her if she has a preference about where to start before deciding it's better just to get on with it, choosing to take care of the likely more unpleasant portion first. That it is also likely the less erotically-charged portion for her is not coincidental. All in all, he finds himself fretting about the best way to go about it more than usual—could've had her turn on her side, bend over the table, but... preoccupied with her comfort. Maybe above and beyond the call of duty.
Maybe prefers her to feel good.
The thought is terrifying.
Fortunately for occasions such as these, Mordin is really, really good at compartmentalization.
His tone is softer now, as though apologetic. ]
Will... probably be cold. Hopefully not for long.
[ Maybe it's not a bad thing that Mordin's fingers are a little slimmer than a human's would be. But no matter how slim or how gentle or how assisted, there's only so much you can do to detract from the awareness of one sliding into your butt. Sorry, Shepard. ]
He is delicate, professional in the way he examines her: careful over her innermost thighs, the weaker connective tissues where leg meets body, the soft tidy little expanses where her hair is trimmed for reasons he's peripherally aware of but doesn't understand, and it's the sight of how wet she is that bashes him against his insistent mental refrain that this is technical. Words that go with parts (parts of Shepard), terms for particular structures (mons pubis,
labia majora, labia minora,
clitoral hood),
and because he is so professional it is over so soon and somehow nothing catastrophic has occurred. But this was just the beginning, wasn't it.
He almost, almost asks her if she has a preference about where to start before deciding it's better just to get on with it, choosing to take care of the likely more unpleasant portion first. That it is also likely the less erotically-charged portion for her is not coincidental. All in all, he finds himself fretting about the best way to go about it more than usual—could've had her turn on her side, bend over the table, but... preoccupied with her comfort. Maybe above and beyond the call of duty.
Maybe prefers her to feel good.
The thought is terrifying.
Fortunately for occasions such as these, Mordin is really, really good at compartmentalization.
His tone is softer now, as though apologetic. ]
Will... probably be cold. Hopefully not for long.
[ Maybe it's not a bad thing that Mordin's fingers are a little slimmer than a human's would be. But no matter how slim or how gentle or how assisted, there's only so much you can do to detract from the awareness of one sliding into your butt. Sorry, Shepard. ]
[ Mordin looses a soft, rough grunt, almost pained. But it isn't pained, oh no, and it's like water the way he rolls his hips forward and tighter against Thane, at the perfect angle to work him inside if not for the fabric stretched slickly between them, and Mordin's had enough patience, enough... he's had enough. His hands skid over Thane's strangely numerous digits hooked into his waistband and he shoves them off and kicks them away somewhere in a fell swoop. Wish granted, apparently.
He's tall enough, his whole body long and lean enough that to take Thane standing just like this would be a fairly simple task. It's instinct, maybe, that calls for him to clamber atop the solid form before him, splay his knees to either side, grind slow and fast and hard—but then instinct logically shouldn't account for the desire to take on two alien men at all, so maybe it's not worth rationalizing just now.
It's speculated among some salarian evolutionary biologists that the male orgasm itself is vestigial and somewhat redundant. Particularly in light of modern mating practices, the amount of seminal fluid produced during arousal alone should technically be more than sufficient for the purpose of fertilization. Over the course of his career, Mordin has been inclined to tentatively agree with this theory, though there's still less evidence to it than he'd like. But not anymore. Not now, when the first slide of textured drell cock nudges past the outside of his vent and it lights up his nerves like the perma-day Omega skyline, hand stuttering on Garrus's molten-hot prick behind Thane's shapely ass. The closer it comes to his hole the more fervently he realizes that it is so necessary to come, and without coming soon he's sure he's going to find a way to crawl out of his own skin.
Transfixed by the sight of violet-red nestling into orange-green, Mordin stares and swallows and then chokes on his own voice as a bump of Garrus's body against Thane sees him breached just slightly. Even this is tight, stinging sweetly, but if Mordin has any logical objections they get drowned out with the shaky, needy sound he makes as he tries his best to push him all the way inside. The anemone-like flare at the tip of Thane's cock sinks into him, moving, fits so strangely inside of him. Although it's already too much too fast he finds himself gasping out a little laugh tinged with hysteria, suddenly, helplessly frustrated that he's not riding Thane until he's stripped the bark off him. ]
He's tall enough, his whole body long and lean enough that to take Thane standing just like this would be a fairly simple task. It's instinct, maybe, that calls for him to clamber atop the solid form before him, splay his knees to either side, grind slow and fast and hard—but then instinct logically shouldn't account for the desire to take on two alien men at all, so maybe it's not worth rationalizing just now.
It's speculated among some salarian evolutionary biologists that the male orgasm itself is vestigial and somewhat redundant. Particularly in light of modern mating practices, the amount of seminal fluid produced during arousal alone should technically be more than sufficient for the purpose of fertilization. Over the course of his career, Mordin has been inclined to tentatively agree with this theory, though there's still less evidence to it than he'd like. But not anymore. Not now, when the first slide of textured drell cock nudges past the outside of his vent and it lights up his nerves like the perma-day Omega skyline, hand stuttering on Garrus's molten-hot prick behind Thane's shapely ass. The closer it comes to his hole the more fervently he realizes that it is so necessary to come, and without coming soon he's sure he's going to find a way to crawl out of his own skin.
Transfixed by the sight of violet-red nestling into orange-green, Mordin stares and swallows and then chokes on his own voice as a bump of Garrus's body against Thane sees him breached just slightly. Even this is tight, stinging sweetly, but if Mordin has any logical objections they get drowned out with the shaky, needy sound he makes as he tries his best to push him all the way inside. The anemone-like flare at the tip of Thane's cock sinks into him, moving, fits so strangely inside of him. Although it's already too much too fast he finds himself gasping out a little laugh tinged with hysteria, suddenly, helplessly frustrated that he's not riding Thane until he's stripped the bark off him. ]
[There is a small part of him that, no matter how many times Garrus forces it down, rises hot and jealous and possessive any time Thane and sex with someone else comes up. This time, though, it's surprisingly easy to push aside. Maybe it's because it's Mordin and he knows Solus isn't interested in Thane in any emotional way. Or maybe it's because he's the one taking Thane and Mordin can't.
Whatever it is, Garrus is satisfied and yet still wanting. Leaning forward, Garrus bites Thane's shoulder, hard, as he watches Thane's cock being lined up with Mordin's cloaca and then start to slide in, ever so slightly. He growls, losing some of his self-consciousness as he starts to push back into Thane. Thane's still warm from their previous activities, from Garrus' cock. His hand leaves his cock to go to Thane's hip and dig in tightly, talons breaking the scales ever so slightly. He can smell Thane's blood in the air, taste it on his tongue, all of it blending with the heightened scent of arousal filling the room, and it's got his blood heating up all over again.
And, since he has two partners here and two hands, he resumes toying with Mordin's horn, using a bit more talon than finger now, watching the way the colors shift on the salarian's body, especially as Garrus keeps pushing into Thane, and thus into Mordin.]
Whatever it is, Garrus is satisfied and yet still wanting. Leaning forward, Garrus bites Thane's shoulder, hard, as he watches Thane's cock being lined up with Mordin's cloaca and then start to slide in, ever so slightly. He growls, losing some of his self-consciousness as he starts to push back into Thane. Thane's still warm from their previous activities, from Garrus' cock. His hand leaves his cock to go to Thane's hip and dig in tightly, talons breaking the scales ever so slightly. He can smell Thane's blood in the air, taste it on his tongue, all of it blending with the heightened scent of arousal filling the room, and it's got his blood heating up all over again.
And, since he has two partners here and two hands, he resumes toying with Mordin's horn, using a bit more talon than finger now, watching the way the colors shift on the salarian's body, especially as Garrus keeps pushing into Thane, and thus into Mordin.]
[The shroud helps in more ways than keeping her from seeing him. It keeps him from seeing her as well. He can't see the way her eyes close despite her best efforts as his fingers explore her clit and folds. The touch is thorough and precise (and gloved, and when did that become arousing?) and the only reason Shepard doesn't make any embarrassing noises is because she's bit her lip. It's not her smartest move and she's aware of this. Her teeth will leave marks, and so she releases the lip and takes a slow, careful breath.
Shepard has just finished taking that breath in when Mordin speaks again. She releases it slowly under the theory that relaxing and letting it go would make the finger go in more easily. It might have. Unfortunately the actual penetrating slide of the finger makes her exhale faster, and this time she's not able to hold back the grunt.
Maybe she should attempt to cover for it.]
It's not too cold. Don't worry.
[Her voice is strained even to her own ears, but who wouldn't sound strained when someone was searching their ass for bugs?]
Hell, I've been to Noveria and Alchera. I can take this.
[She seizes onto the thought of it being about what she could take... and immediately regrets it. There's a lot more she could take, and that includes more fingers in other places, and her mind is no stranger to traveling down those roads. Shepard is no stranger to thinking of him like that either. And now she knows what it feels like to have a salarian finger inside her. This is not helping how wet she is, or keeping her toes from flexing in the stirrups.]
Shepard has just finished taking that breath in when Mordin speaks again. She releases it slowly under the theory that relaxing and letting it go would make the finger go in more easily. It might have. Unfortunately the actual penetrating slide of the finger makes her exhale faster, and this time she's not able to hold back the grunt.
Maybe she should attempt to cover for it.]
It's not too cold. Don't worry.
[Her voice is strained even to her own ears, but who wouldn't sound strained when someone was searching their ass for bugs?]
Hell, I've been to Noveria and Alchera. I can take this.
[She seizes onto the thought of it being about what she could take... and immediately regrets it. There's a lot more she could take, and that includes more fingers in other places, and her mind is no stranger to traveling down those roads. Shepard is no stranger to thinking of him like that either. And now she knows what it feels like to have a salarian finger inside her. This is not helping how wet she is, or keeping her toes from flexing in the stirrups.]
[ But at least Mordin is no stranger to intrusive examinations, though this one has been chafing at the edge of his thoughts since he started—try as he might, he can't not notice how warm her body is, how it's all the warmer for her sexual arousal. He wants to ignore it. Wishes he could, but the perfect salarian memory promises that not only will he fail to ignore it, he will think of this again.
Her toes curl. Discomfort, he insists, as he stretches her. Feels along her inner walls, necessarily invasive. This is technical.
This is technical.
(Skin darkening, flushed with blood; labia parted, moisture glistening in the light. Pelvic muscles tight, tense. Gripping. Accommodating him.)
Mordin doesn't think he needs to confirm that he hasn't found anything at this point. He just withdraws, turns, discards and replaces his gloves with a series of elastic noises, and tries valiantly to collect himself. Something is wrong with him. Something so preposterous that he is loath to name it for what it is.
Shepard's voice is low and rough. Something is wrong with him but apparently not wrong enough. Time to move on. ]
Went to Noveria once. Younger years. Pre-STG. Scouted as undergraduate by Noveria Development Corporation, but little interest in working for Binary Helix. Heard they were contracted by krogan to develop genophage cure. [ Sniff. Not quite disdainful, but close. ] Failure not received well.
[ This conversation is a really good distraction from the way Shepard does receive both of his fingers very well—hot and slick, spongy tissues engorged, probably sensitive. He's very... thorough. After a moment he places his free hand over her belly and presses lightly, fingers momentarily probing perhaps a little too deep. Everything feels normal.
Of course it does. ]
Her toes curl. Discomfort, he insists, as he stretches her. Feels along her inner walls, necessarily invasive. This is technical.
This is technical.
(Skin darkening, flushed with blood; labia parted, moisture glistening in the light. Pelvic muscles tight, tense. Gripping. Accommodating him.)
Mordin doesn't think he needs to confirm that he hasn't found anything at this point. He just withdraws, turns, discards and replaces his gloves with a series of elastic noises, and tries valiantly to collect himself. Something is wrong with him. Something so preposterous that he is loath to name it for what it is.
Shepard's voice is low and rough. Something is wrong with him but apparently not wrong enough. Time to move on. ]
Went to Noveria once. Younger years. Pre-STG. Scouted as undergraduate by Noveria Development Corporation, but little interest in working for Binary Helix. Heard they were contracted by krogan to develop genophage cure. [ Sniff. Not quite disdainful, but close. ] Failure not received well.
[ This conversation is a really good distraction from the way Shepard does receive both of his fingers very well—hot and slick, spongy tissues engorged, probably sensitive. He's very... thorough. After a moment he places his free hand over her belly and presses lightly, fingers momentarily probing perhaps a little too deep. Everything feels normal.
Of course it does. ]
[ And he won't be, provided he behaves himself. That's always been the doctor's position. He flits around and behind the turian, keenly analyzing the blue-splotched holes in his carapace, front to back—first with eyes, then with the hum of what is clearly a highly tricked-out omni-tool. Like, this thing is modded to hell even by Omega standards, and not all of those mods are exactly... legal, in the strictest sense of the word. ]
Almost asked if you get shot often; remembered where we are. Everyone gets shot often. Still, surprised to see you here. Reputation precedes you.
[ It's said lightly. Almost casual. A second passes before the familiar cool spread of medi-gel melts over the exit wound. It's a higher grade for deeper wounds and it burns like nothing else while it does its work, but the pain should subside before long. Mordin assumes Archangel is used to a little pain. ]
Good news! No significant organ trauma. Missed kidney by less than a centimeter. Lucky shot indeed, but still discourage future firefights wherever possible. For a while.
[ He moves away after a moment, rifling through a cabinet of meds against the far wall before returning to Garrus with a couple innocuous lavender pills and a coffee mug filled halfway with water. He foists them on him without explanation, since it should be self-explanatory. Bullet wounds are usually uncomfortable, to say the least. ]
At least killed the merc, I hope.
Almost asked if you get shot often; remembered where we are. Everyone gets shot often. Still, surprised to see you here. Reputation precedes you.
[ It's said lightly. Almost casual. A second passes before the familiar cool spread of medi-gel melts over the exit wound. It's a higher grade for deeper wounds and it burns like nothing else while it does its work, but the pain should subside before long. Mordin assumes Archangel is used to a little pain. ]
Good news! No significant organ trauma. Missed kidney by less than a centimeter. Lucky shot indeed, but still discourage future firefights wherever possible. For a while.
[ He moves away after a moment, rifling through a cabinet of meds against the far wall before returning to Garrus with a couple innocuous lavender pills and a coffee mug filled halfway with water. He foists them on him without explanation, since it should be self-explanatory. Bullet wounds are usually uncomfortable, to say the least. ]
At least killed the merc, I hope.
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