encephalon | gross xeno fuckathon post

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gross xeno fuckathon post

♥ hey how u doin lil mama

lemme whisper in ur ear ♥

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[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.]

[ 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. ]

[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.]

[ 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. ]

[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.]

[ 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. ]

[There's the quietest of noises as his fingers leave her, cut off as quickly as she can manage. Even with the gloves on he's so warm, and Shepard can't stop herself from wondering what all he can do with his clever hands. His whole clever self.

Gods, she wants him, and her cheeks are a brilliant red as she acknowledges that. But acknowledging it is the way to move on. Isn't that what her instructors had always said? For a moment when his fingers leave her and he's talking again Shepard thinks she can get a handle on this. It's even a topic she can discuss.]

I--

[And then Shepard, who had never broken off and fumbled for words before, felt her mind go blank at the slide of his fingers back in. Mordin is searching, as he should, and Shepard's heels dig into the stirrups as she tries to hold herself still, to not make any more noises or make this harder on him.

It's a battle she can't win.

The woman who doesn't surrender and doesn't lose finds herself rocking against that deeper finger and shivering at the press to her belly, momentarily lost in Mordin and the way he can touch. Those fingers are long and slender, stretching her just a little, rubbing and searching. Shepard's nearly certain she could come from just a little more of him, but as soon as that thought hits her, so does reality. This is Doctor Solus, who has already turned her down as politely as possible, and while her intent had been honest and above-board, this is beyond wrong to do to him.]

Shit. You even told me that you weren't into... I'm sorry.

[She's just basically used him, and what's worse is how badly she wishes she could continue, how much she wants him to thrust those fingers inside of her again. Her eyes are closed and her face is burning with shame as well as arousal now.]

I'll go. And I'm so sorry.

[And yet she doesn't make a move to go. She can't. His fingers are inside her, and the last thing she should be doing is jostling them.]

[ For a second, thanks to the barrier between them, the only thing Mordin gives Shepard is his silence. Which must be uncomfortable, at best. It's a measured couple beats, though, and even as she's apologizing he's withdrawing his fingers in a manner more practiced than eager. Her response... entirely inappropriate, he knows, probably technical breach of protocol, abuse of authority as commanding officer, but yet—

Idea in itself breach of propriety. Occurs to him, though, that Cerberus command's standards of propriety somewhat looser than Alliance, Union, Council. Shepard's own standards as well (only thing loose about her, too). Had let her down gently before. If wanted to try human, would try you. But maybe shift in parameters. Maybe want to try human. Maybe already is.

His mouth seems to have gone a little dry. He hadn't considered that something as simple as this could be enough for her. It almost strikes him as... doable. Moral gray area, perhaps, but not at all grayer than the things he's done in his life already. Very well. First things first. Elephant in room. He shifts up to look her in the eye, very aware of the holographic wire frame of a speculum currently rendering on his omni-tool's fabricator and making certain she's aware of it as well. ]

Apology unnecessary, Shepard. Arousal during medical procedures... more common than imagined. Don't need to take it as expression of interest if—would prefer I didn't.

Good news, though! No evidence of invasive Cerberus tech. Wise to suggest physical examination, though; can fool scans, spoof readout. No substitute for sight, touch. [ A little smile touches his face, as though charmed by the banality of it. It's like she wasn't just clenching pleasurably around him mere moments ago. ] Traditional approach... sometimes best.

[ But the mini-fabricator's work is finished, and Mordin's gaze flicks swiftly from the speculum's glow to Shepard's face, pulling from all his knowledge of human facial tics to determine whether the suggestion of it has elicited a reaction. ]

Further procedures unnecessary. Exam concluded.

[ A deep inhale. Probably not misreading situation. Still, about to show cards. Risky. ]

No longer your doctor.

[ Which, in context, might actually be the filthiest thing he's ever said to anybody. He continues to reassure himself that this is not the worst breach of medical ethics he's ever committed by far. Also, he's suddenly recognized that he's been feeling... unusual over the past several minutes—unusual in ways that take him back to long-lapsed negotiations with a magnetic young dalatrass, to the sinuous asari dancers Aria T'Loak surrounded herself with in Omega—in response to what he can only posit must be the pheromone-laden scent of her. ]

Still, could [ lifted brow. ] afford some redundancies. [ Minute, sheepish sniff. ] If desired.

[ And there it is. ]

Edited (oh my, my brackets////////) 2014-09-08 08:34 (UTC)

[He lets her off the hook so easily as if nothing's happened, rush of words saying that everything seems all right. She pulls her feet out of the stirrups, bringing her legs together as if it would fix the line's she's crossed.

This search and his hands on her had been unneeded. Unneeded, and enjoyed at his expense. If not for how calm he is about it Shepard would feel like shit right about now. Calm... and confusing. He'd turned her down. He can't be offering what she thinks he is, except the speculum is still forming and he's just said he's no longer her doctor.

He's offering.

If desired.

Hell yes it's desired, and Shepard's tongue flicks out to moisten suddenly dry lips. She's never slept with a member of her crew before, but they're Cerberus now. Alliance regs don't apply. All that matters is the brilliant, dexterous scientist in front of her. Shepard takes a breath and meets his eyes.]

I hear redundancies are all the rage in scientific circles.

[There's the shortest beat. He's an adult and knows what he wants to do just as much as she does, but she has to check.]

Are you sure about this? Your answer several days back wasn't anything along these lines. Not that I'm complaining about the change of mind.

[She wants to know he's not feeling pressured or like his CO is expecting this of him. Her body wants her to shut up. Shepard makes a habit of ignoring signs from her body, weariness, minor pain, aches, but this time she doesn't. Her feet go back into the stirrups in blatant and shameless invitation in case he's certain.]

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