[Honestly, with a scientist like Mordin, Shepard wouldn't have been too surprised if he had accidentally stuck a cup of coffee in one of his machines. Or many. She could easily overlook a few eccentricities for what he brought to the table.]
It was something similar I wanted to talk to you about. We don't know what all Cerberus has put in the systems of my ship. We also don't know what all they've put in my systems.
[She raises a hand.]
I know, I could ask Miranda. But I've gotten a lot of runaround from her on the topic already, and I'd prefer answers from someone who isn't so directly paid by the Illusive man.
[They're all in his employ. But Shepard knows none of the non-humans on the ship are here for Cerberus' sake. Miranda's definitely been earning Shepard's trust, Shepard is glad to have her on board, but this is still something she's not sure she'd get all the details on. And despite the difference of their opinions on the genophage, Shepard trusts herself in Solus' hands. So here she is.
And here she is appreciating that he's taking the effort to breathe. There may be a small-yet-growing betting pool on whether or not Mordin will ever talk so much he ever passes out. She tried to discourage it. But she can't deny the amusement the thought brings, or the likelihood of Samara being the winner.]
If it wouldn't interrupt your other projects, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind seeing if you could find anything... off.
[Because poking around a living person who had been dead is entirely normal.]
Not a problem. Understandable concern; consider possibility of devices, bugs planted without knowledge of anyone aboard ship. Keep finding them elsewhere. Miranda [ sniff. ] unaware. No reason to deceive at this point. Probable that Illusive Man took extra precautions.
[ He pauses in his various millings around to really look at Shepard, as if he were capable of scanning her with his eyes alone. ]
Happy to help. Still—should clarify, for sake of propriety: how... thorough?
[That's the question, isn't it. Except it's not that hard. What she needs is rather clear.]
Completely. If they've got anything extraneous in me, watching me, I need to know. And I need it removed if it's physically possible.
[He's beyond competent. Shepard has no doubt that if something's amiss, Mordin can find and fix it. There's also something about his hands and his eyes... and Shepard clamps down on that thought. There is a clear, legitimate reason she's speaking with him instead of Chakwas, and it's not simply because she finds Mordin appealing. He is, though. Professional, capable, handy with a pitchfork of all things, brilliant - he's everything Shepard looks for and more and it's been some time. That being thought, he's still a member of her crew and she's here as a patient. The last thing she wants to do is alienate someone she respects.]
Is now a good time?
[Because she can keep a hold of herself, and now is a rare free moment without the Illusive Man pestering her or Hackett wondering if she could check something out for him.]
Frankly, the sooner I get everything checked out, the better. I should know what's going on under my own hood.
[ Mordin does a really good job not raising a brow, since he's a doctor and not raising a brow at things is an important professional skill. There's no conflict here that he can think of, however—his gentle rejection of what he'd apparently misinterpreted as her sexual interest in him had been met with amused acceptance at the time—and Karin has her hands more than full and it's likely Shepard knows it. Never mind that he hasn't actually examined a human so intimately since his residency. But salarians don't forget.
There is a very brief moment where he contemplates asking whether she'd be more comfortable doing this in her quarters instead of the lab, but he dismisses it just as quickly. Needless suggestion. Also somewhat inappropriate. Not sure why he even thought of it. ]
Now as good a time as any. EDI, some privacy, please?
[ Certainly, Doctor Solus, the room reverberates in reply, followed by the soft electronic chirp of the locks shifting from green to red. ]
Need to prepare. Strip to undergarments, if you would.
[ She's a soldier. They're aliens to one another. There's no cause for hesitation; this is protocol.
He steps over to the smaller exam table opposite the one he seems to live behind and pulls it back from the wall so he's capable of approaching from all angles, the swift glow of a decontamination grid sweeping over its surface. Not that he thinks Shepard is at all prone to shyness, but turning his back is simply a matter of courtesy. He busies himself longer than he would normally with adjusting instruments, pulling equipment out of the way (at the foot of the table, a hint of what's ahead), mostly for her benefit. After a moment, he speaks again: ]
Truthfully, was tempted to suggest something similar. Have found numerous Cerberus devices aboard ship undetectable through scanning. Have been working on developing targeted scan, but no luck so far. Tech unfamiliar, highly advanced. Not unlike Collectors'. Implications... [ a breath. ] unsettling.
[ Finally he straightens, not looking over, but he tilts his head toward her enough that his good horn curves in her direction. ]
[She's stripped down in front of any number of soldiers and doctors, mechanical every time because the situation required changing or less clothing. It's no different now. Scans aren't picking everything up, which means they need to try a new approach just in case.
Her clothing gets pulled off and folded precisely off to the side just the way her bed gets made precisely every morning. What all Cerberus has done to her body is still an unknown, but Shepard knows herself and her habits. Though normally her habits don't have business edging this close to pleasure. Mordin is a professional. She can be just as professional. After all, he'd already turned her down. The question of how his skin would feel against hers is entirely inappropriate... and lingering despite that.]
They built the ship and consider it an investment, same with me. It follows that they'd want to keep track of as much as they can.
[She walks over and takes a seat, giving him a smile.]
So let's thwart them whenever possible.
[And she knows full well that it's a cause every non-human and several of the humans on board this ship can get behind. The Collectors need to be dealt with, but on her terms. Cerberus shouldn't profit here. She has no objections to her team profiting, though, and maybe whatever tech they've got in her could give Mordin something else to fiddle with as well. That thought widens the smile.]
If you're sure you're ready for me. A few people have said that before.
[She's fond of him, and she teases the people she's fond of.]
Well. To say he doesn't is a mild falsehood, but technically it has nothing to do with humans themselves. There is no xenophilic curiosity here, to speak of. On Mordin's end, at least. He has his suspicions about Shepard, who has always seemed a little too fascinated with the other Council races. It's true that human females differ little from asari, though more variable in shape—features small but elegant, bodies a collection of gently sloping curves, skin a little softer, a little warmer, fuzzed all over with a fine dusting of tiny hairs.
And it's true that Mordin has been... amenable to the advances of asari in the past. Humans themselves (the females, mostly, according to Mordin's subjective assessment) are aesthetically pleasing, on occasion. But that isn't it, either. Shepard lacks the limber grace of most asari, the vivid colors, the familiar smoothness. But she has something. Something that amounts to more than difference in species, even though he's fairly certain that she would be considered quite attractive by human standards.
He couldn't bring himself to respond to what he thought were her advances before. Too great a risk of interfering with mission. Shepard herself a less known quantity at the time. Too old. At this point in his life, ill-equipped for... complication.
But so, if he's honest with himself, he's not particularly interested in trying human, no. But he might be interested in trying Shepard. ]
Yes, yes. Sure you made short work of them.
[ It's a somewhat dismissive deflection of what he thinks might be flirtation on her part, but he isn't sure, so he chooses not to make assumptions. Humor often a tool to ease discomfort when feeling inordinately exposed. Also, he can feel himself settling into a comfortable frame of mind: the doctor, the scientist, eager to discover and solve.
He considers her there in her bra and underwear, fingers on chin (which are bare now, long and thin and dusky orange as the rest of him), his attention giving no more weight to her breasts or hips than it would her elbow. ]
Think it best to start with examination for subdermal implant, focus inward from there.
[ You know, like he's not talking about poking around her most intimate of areas. He steps around behind her, still studying her, visibly thinking the whole way along. ]
Lean forward? Primary concern base of skull, along vertebral column. Biotech most likely to be placed there; leech power from body's own electrical impulses.
[ It is with pleasant dispassion that he brushes the hair off her nape. With that done he can begin his work, fingers warmer than a human's settling high past her hairline and sliding down toward her C7 vertebra in a series of slow scanning stripes across the width of her neck. ]
[And there's the Mordin that she knows all too well, clearing a side-topic from the discussion to get right to the point of matters. She's smiling more now, relaxed despite the way he's looking over her. Shepard knows what he sees. A puzzle, something to solve.
It would make things easier if she could look at it so clearly. If she were to focus, she probably could. But it's been a long time since she's indulged herself in anything close to fantasy. There isn't harm in enjoying his touch. It's medically necessary. Tactically, pragmatically. She didn't come here to indulge herself but to make them safer from Cerberus.
And so, as his warm, so-long fingers move her hair and start to touch, Shepard feels a little warmer herself.]
That makes sense. It'd be harder to detect something next to other hardware.
[And the last thing most people would be surprised by was something special about her biotic implant, seeing as Cerberus liked to experiment.]
And putting something along the spinal column might make it harder to remove.
[Distancing herself from the situation helps. His fingers are gentle and she knows how much experience he has with bodies and the way they work. He would have to be a masterful lover, and now she's no longer as distanced as she'd been trying for. Maybe it would be better if he was less gentle, but that thought's dismissed fairly quickly. He wouldn't be him, then, and she wouldn't have this struggle in the first place.
Her fingers drum on her thighs as she tries not to think about 'inward' and what is coming. Even if he finds something in her neck that doesn't preclude the possibility of other devices. Realizing what she's doing, Shepard stills her hands. If at any point he seems uncomfortable, she'll call this off. He's completely capable of doing so too, but she doesn't want to push. He has no interest here. He's said as much. She won't cross that line.]
Too bad sticking me in that thing would probably fry it and me both.
[She indicates the device he'd stuck the coffee cup in. That would have made this a lot simpler for him.]
But I prefer not to fry, and any good scientist wouldn't want their equipment damaged, so that's off the table.
[ Carefully, gradually, his touch travels down the length of her spine until it's interrupted by the band of her bra. His free hand rises abortively, ready to settle on her shoulder for support as he dips under the material, laser-focused in his search for any perturbation in her skin. She has her share of scars, of course—because who among them doesn't?—but for obvious reasons Mordin knows to pay them no mind. He glances up at the gesture and then returns to his task, leaning down to assist his study of her lower back. It's the same exploratory pressure the whole way down and in truth it's not at all unpleasant. But then it wasn't meant to be.
At her last statement, he smiles a little while dragging his thumb over the knobs of her vertebrae—careful presses into the muscles surrounding strong bone. ]
Should be kinder to yourself, Shepard. Much more than equipment.
[ It comes out as every other tease of his does, caught in the uncertain space between jibe and sincerity. It's just that there's something knowing in it; a verbal twinkle in his eye. ]
[Some captains and commanders preferred a clear line between themselves and their crew. They led most effectively with a divide. That wasn't Shepard's style. She preferred her crew to feel free to joke back, to see her as a person as well as their leader. They're experts at what they do, they follow her... and they become her friends. His comment is touching, even with the joke in there.]
I'm a good shot, too. That adds to my value.
[There's good humor in her voice even as she bends further forward as if that would help him as his fingers go ever lower. What comes after her spine? Ribs, because the heart gives off electromagnetic signals too? All the way around?]
Just don't ask me to join you in a duet. Harmony isn't my thing.
[After a short pause and a self-depreciating chuckle, Shepard continues:]
That's probably the one thing the Council would agree with me on.
You tend to favor doing what's necessary. No time for platitudes; waste of energy. Enjoyed time under Kirrahe, but—appreciate your leadership style. Remove bra, please? Less concern over process, more for results. Surprisingly efficient, for human.
[ That last bit, too, is a little jab. ]
Glad to report no evidence of foreign tech linked to nervous system, as far as can tell. Next most likely site somewhere beneath epidermis near subcutaneous fatty tissue. [ A breath. ] Essentially entire body. Large amount of ground to cover, could have been implanted anywhere. Will have to bear with me for a while.
[Her voice is very, very wry. She knows what Mordin means but pulling that phrase out helps ground her as she takes her bra off. The air is a little chilly, causing her nipples to harden more.]
I'll try not to take that personally. As a human.
[Shepard lies down, trying not to breathe too deeply. He'd asked for the garment to be removed while talking about Kirrahe and leadership styles. There's not interest there.
She hesitates for a moment with her legs, leaving them bent at first after she swings them on to the table, before stretching them out. Relaxing never comes naturally to her. If she gets them on a safe topic it could be easier.]
[ The complaint earns her a wry grin as he takes her arm gently by the wrist and elbow, straightening it enough to study her hand by sight and touch, exploring her palm, between each of her many fingers. It's probably not necessary; she's no doubt perfectly aware of what is and isn't normal when it comes to her own hands, but... well, she did say she wanted no stone left unturned. Far be it for Mordin to argue. Before long he's at her forearm, tracing a broad stroke up the vein that culminates at the inside of her elbow, other hand still gently supporting her at the wrist. Her own orders: by the end of this there'll be no part of her left that he hasn't touched. ]
Exhilarating. Challenges, risks, rewards. Occasionally tumultuous. Argued constantly. [ His tone is unmistakably fond. ] Both stubborn. Didn't know how to stop. Someone always—had to be right. Often was right. Usually me.
[ Winding his way up to her shoulder maybe takes him a little longer than it would for a human doing the same things. Salarian hands are different, their palms smaller, their fingers thinner and fewer. But Mordin's are both nimble and thorough, and their slow climb to her shoulder arrives after a while, touch skating soft from her trapezius muscle to the side of her neck down to her collarbone. He can't help but admire the way her frame is at once relatively small and unmistakably powerful. Marvels that Cerberus supposedly rebuilt her exactly as she was.
He can feel her tension. Understandable, of course. He knows exactly why they're talking and that it ought to continue. ]
Young for a captain. Liked to hear himself talk. At first chafed at the notion of taking orders from upstart idealist, but then grew... grudging respect. Still a cloaca.
[ A small pause. ]
Lift arm over head, if ready.
[ And Shepard's been a human woman long enough to know what's coming next. ]
[His hands feel good. It's a thought she shouldn't be having, but he's gentle and skilled and more attentive than any lover she's had. No matter the conversation, it's impossible to ignore what he's doing. Slowly, inevitably, his fingers move along her body. By the time Mordin gives the order, Shepard's breathing has sped up a little. His palms will be warm on her, she already knows it and Shepard has to take a deliberate mental step back as she lifts her arm.]
I'll definitely give you 'likes to hear himself talk.' That was quite the speech. I liked the whole theme he had going. It's something to try if I ever go for speechmaking.
[This is not how she pictured her day going this morning. It's far more pleasant, though more stressful. No one's shot at her even once.]
But there's a time and a place. Normally we've got too many people firing at us, but next time we have a nice, quiet break in the shooting I'll give it my best shot.
[ When he was eleven and still in medical school, his concentration on xenobiology brought him numerous opportunities to practice: turian, asari, human. He's begun thinking of this as he works small, careful circles into the eminently soft tissue of her breast because he suddenly remembers how the first and last time he did this the patient unexpectedly loosed a ticklish giggle before clamping down in embarrassment, only to fight it a second time. Shepard's nipples are hard peaks atop the smooth swell of her flesh—from the temperature differential, most likely, surely—and he is conscientious about exploring every part she's made accessible but them. Too sensitive, too intimate. Unnecessary. Shepard's discomfort already understandable; important to make every effort to minimize it. ]
Everything normal. Other side now.
[ And he is all those things, that might be the worst part. Slow, diligent, and so very, very gentle. ]
Yes, good speech. Clearly Kirrahe in agreement; same slogan for five years. Luckily salarians good at multitasking. Deliver rousing speech, still avoid bullets.
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[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?
[ 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. ]
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.
[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.
[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.]
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2014-05-01 07:45 am (UTC)[Honestly, with a scientist like Mordin, Shepard wouldn't have been too surprised if he had accidentally stuck a cup of coffee in one of his machines. Or many. She could easily overlook a few eccentricities for what he brought to the table.]
It was something similar I wanted to talk to you about. We don't know what all Cerberus has put in the systems of my ship. We also don't know what all they've put in my systems.
[She raises a hand.]
I know, I could ask Miranda. But I've gotten a lot of runaround from her on the topic already, and I'd prefer answers from someone who isn't so directly paid by the Illusive man.
[They're all in his employ. But Shepard knows none of the non-humans on the ship are here for Cerberus' sake. Miranda's definitely been earning Shepard's trust, Shepard is glad to have her on board, but this is still something she's not sure she'd get all the details on. And despite the difference of their opinions on the genophage, Shepard trusts herself in Solus' hands. So here she is.
And here she is appreciating that he's taking the effort to breathe. There may be a small-yet-growing betting pool on whether or not Mordin will ever talk so much he ever passes out. She tried to discourage it. But she can't deny the amusement the thought brings, or the likelihood of Samara being the winner.]
If it wouldn't interrupt your other projects, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind seeing if you could find anything... off.
[Because poking around a living person who had been dead is entirely normal.]
Odd, more irregular than you think it should be.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-28 07:16 am (UTC)[ He pauses in his various millings around to really look at Shepard, as if he were capable of scanning her with his eyes alone. ]
Happy to help. Still—should clarify, for sake of propriety: how... thorough?
no subject
Date: 2014-05-28 09:57 am (UTC)Completely. If they've got anything extraneous in me, watching me, I need to know. And I need it removed if it's physically possible.
[He's beyond competent. Shepard has no doubt that if something's amiss, Mordin can find and fix it. There's also something about his hands and his eyes... and Shepard clamps down on that thought. There is a clear, legitimate reason she's speaking with him instead of Chakwas, and it's not simply because she finds Mordin appealing. He is, though. Professional, capable, handy with a pitchfork of all things, brilliant - he's everything Shepard looks for and more and it's been some time. That being thought, he's still a member of her crew and she's here as a patient. The last thing she wants to do is alienate someone she respects.]
Is now a good time?
[Because she can keep a hold of herself, and now is a rare free moment without the Illusive Man pestering her or Hackett wondering if she could check something out for him.]
Frankly, the sooner I get everything checked out, the better. I should know what's going on under my own hood.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-28 11:09 pm (UTC)There is a very brief moment where he contemplates asking whether she'd be more comfortable doing this in her quarters instead of the lab, but he dismisses it just as quickly. Needless suggestion. Also somewhat inappropriate. Not sure why he even thought of it. ]
Now as good a time as any. EDI, some privacy, please?
[ Certainly, Doctor Solus, the room reverberates in reply, followed by the soft electronic chirp of the locks shifting from green to red. ]
Need to prepare. Strip to undergarments, if you would.
[ She's a soldier. They're aliens to one another. There's no cause for hesitation; this is protocol.
He steps over to the smaller exam table opposite the one he seems to live behind and pulls it back from the wall so he's capable of approaching from all angles, the swift glow of a decontamination grid sweeping over its surface. Not that he thinks Shepard is at all prone to shyness, but turning his back is simply a matter of courtesy. He busies himself longer than he would normally with adjusting instruments, pulling equipment out of the way (at the foot of the table, a hint of what's ahead), mostly for her benefit. After a moment, he speaks again: ]
Truthfully, was tempted to suggest something similar. Have found numerous Cerberus devices aboard ship undetectable through scanning. Have been working on developing targeted scan, but no luck so far. Tech unfamiliar, highly advanced. Not unlike Collectors'. Implications... [ a breath. ] unsettling.
[ Finally he straightens, not looking over, but he tilts his head toward her enough that his good horn curves in her direction. ]
Ready for you. Take a seat?
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 12:12 am (UTC)Her clothing gets pulled off and folded precisely off to the side just the way her bed gets made precisely every morning. What all Cerberus has done to her body is still an unknown, but Shepard knows herself and her habits. Though normally her habits don't have business edging this close to pleasure. Mordin is a professional. She can be just as professional. After all, he'd already turned her down. The question of how his skin would feel against hers is entirely inappropriate... and lingering despite that.]
They built the ship and consider it an investment, same with me. It follows that they'd want to keep track of as much as they can.
[She walks over and takes a seat, giving him a smile.]
So let's thwart them whenever possible.
[And she knows full well that it's a cause every non-human and several of the humans on board this ship can get behind. The Collectors need to be dealt with, but on her terms. Cerberus shouldn't profit here. She has no objections to her team profiting, though, and maybe whatever tech they've got in her could give Mordin something else to fiddle with as well. That thought widens the smile.]
If you're sure you're ready for me. A few people have said that before.
[She's fond of him, and she teases the people she's fond of.]
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 04:48 am (UTC)Well. To say he doesn't is a mild falsehood, but technically it has nothing to do with humans themselves. There is no xenophilic curiosity here, to speak of. On Mordin's end, at least. He has his suspicions about Shepard, who has always seemed a little too fascinated with the other Council races. It's true that human females differ little from asari, though more variable in shape—features small but elegant, bodies a collection of gently sloping curves, skin a little softer, a little warmer, fuzzed all over with a fine dusting of tiny hairs.
And it's true that Mordin has been... amenable to the advances of asari in the past. Humans themselves (the females, mostly, according to Mordin's subjective assessment) are aesthetically pleasing, on occasion. But that isn't it, either. Shepard lacks the limber grace of most asari, the vivid colors, the familiar smoothness. But she has something. Something that amounts to more than difference in species, even though he's fairly certain that she would be considered quite attractive by human standards.
He couldn't bring himself to respond to what he thought were her advances before. Too great a risk of interfering with mission. Shepard herself a less known quantity at the time. Too old. At this point in his life, ill-equipped for... complication.
But so, if he's honest with himself, he's not particularly interested in trying human, no. But he might be interested in trying Shepard. ]
Yes, yes. Sure you made short work of them.
[ It's a somewhat dismissive deflection of what he thinks might be flirtation on her part, but he isn't sure, so he chooses not to make assumptions. Humor often a tool to ease discomfort when feeling inordinately exposed. Also, he can feel himself settling into a comfortable frame of mind: the doctor, the scientist, eager to discover and solve.
He considers her there in her bra and underwear, fingers on chin (which are bare now, long and thin and dusky orange as the rest of him), his attention giving no more weight to her breasts or hips than it would her elbow. ]
Think it best to start with examination for subdermal implant, focus inward from there.
[ You know, like he's not talking about poking around her most intimate of areas. He steps around behind her, still studying her, visibly thinking the whole way along. ]
Lean forward? Primary concern base of skull, along vertebral column. Biotech most likely to be placed there; leech power from body's own electrical impulses.
[ It is with pleasant dispassion that he brushes the hair off her nape. With that done he can begin his work, fingers warmer than a human's settling high past her hairline and sliding down toward her C7 vertebra in a series of slow scanning stripes across the width of her neck. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 05:31 am (UTC)It would make things easier if she could look at it so clearly. If she were to focus, she probably could. But it's been a long time since she's indulged herself in anything close to fantasy. There isn't harm in enjoying his touch. It's medically necessary. Tactically, pragmatically. She didn't come here to indulge herself but to make them safer from Cerberus.
And so, as his warm, so-long fingers move her hair and start to touch, Shepard feels a little warmer herself.]
That makes sense. It'd be harder to detect something next to other hardware.
[And the last thing most people would be surprised by was something special about her biotic implant, seeing as Cerberus liked to experiment.]
And putting something along the spinal column might make it harder to remove.
[Distancing herself from the situation helps. His fingers are gentle and she knows how much experience he has with bodies and the way they work. He would have to be a masterful lover, and now she's no longer as distanced as she'd been trying for. Maybe it would be better if he was less gentle, but that thought's dismissed fairly quickly. He wouldn't be him, then, and she wouldn't have this struggle in the first place.
Her fingers drum on her thighs as she tries not to think about 'inward' and what is coming. Even if he finds something in her neck that doesn't preclude the possibility of other devices. Realizing what she's doing, Shepard stills her hands. If at any point he seems uncomfortable, she'll call this off. He's completely capable of doing so too, but she doesn't want to push. He has no interest here. He's said as much. She won't cross that line.]
Too bad sticking me in that thing would probably fry it and me both.
[She indicates the device he'd stuck the coffee cup in. That would have made this a lot simpler for him.]
But I prefer not to fry, and any good scientist wouldn't want their equipment damaged, so that's off the table.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 05:57 am (UTC)At her last statement, he smiles a little while dragging his thumb over the knobs of her vertebrae—careful presses into the muscles surrounding strong bone. ]
Should be kinder to yourself, Shepard. Much more than equipment.
[ It comes out as every other tease of his does, caught in the uncertain space between jibe and sincerity. It's just that there's something knowing in it; a verbal twinkle in his eye. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 06:14 am (UTC)I'm a good shot, too. That adds to my value.
[There's good humor in her voice even as she bends further forward as if that would help him as his fingers go ever lower. What comes after her spine? Ribs, because the heart gives off electromagnetic signals too? All the way around?]
Just don't ask me to join you in a duet. Harmony isn't my thing.
[After a short pause and a self-depreciating chuckle, Shepard continues:]
That's probably the one thing the Council would agree with me on.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 06:36 am (UTC)[ That last bit, too, is a little jab. ]
Glad to report no evidence of foreign tech linked to nervous system, as far as can tell. Next most likely site somewhere beneath epidermis near subcutaneous fatty tissue. [ A breath. ] Essentially entire body. Large amount of ground to cover, could have been implanted anywhere. Will have to bear with me for a while.
[ Half a second of consideration. ]
Easiest if reclining.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 07:08 am (UTC)[Her voice is very, very wry. She knows what Mordin means but pulling that phrase out helps ground her as she takes her bra off. The air is a little chilly, causing her nipples to harden more.]
I'll try not to take that personally. As a human.
[Shepard lies down, trying not to breathe too deeply. He'd asked for the garment to be removed while talking about Kirrahe and leadership styles. There's not interest there.
She hesitates for a moment with her legs, leaving them bent at first after she swings them on to the table, before stretching them out. Relaxing never comes naturally to her. If she gets them on a safe topic it could be easier.]
So what's serving under Kirrahe like?
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 07:50 am (UTC)Exhilarating. Challenges, risks, rewards. Occasionally tumultuous. Argued constantly. [ His tone is unmistakably fond. ] Both stubborn. Didn't know how to stop. Someone always—had to be right. Often was right. Usually me.
[ Winding his way up to her shoulder maybe takes him a little longer than it would for a human doing the same things. Salarian hands are different, their palms smaller, their fingers thinner and fewer. But Mordin's are both nimble and thorough, and their slow climb to her shoulder arrives after a while, touch skating soft from her trapezius muscle to the side of her neck down to her collarbone. He can't help but admire the way her frame is at once relatively small and unmistakably powerful. Marvels that Cerberus supposedly rebuilt her exactly as she was.
He can feel her tension. Understandable, of course. He knows exactly why they're talking and that it ought to continue. ]
Young for a captain. Liked to hear himself talk. At first chafed at the notion of taking orders from upstart idealist, but then grew... grudging respect. Still a cloaca.
[ A small pause. ]
Lift arm over head, if ready.
[ And Shepard's been a human woman long enough to know what's coming next. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-05-29 10:45 am (UTC)I'll definitely give you 'likes to hear himself talk.' That was quite the speech. I liked the whole theme he had going. It's something to try if I ever go for speechmaking.
[This is not how she pictured her day going this morning. It's far more pleasant, though more stressful. No one's shot at her even once.]
But there's a time and a place. Normally we've got too many people firing at us, but next time we have a nice, quiet break in the shooting I'll give it my best shot.
no subject
Date: 2014-06-02 07:41 am (UTC)Everything normal. Other side now.
[ And he is all those things, that might be the worst part. Slow, diligent, and so very, very gentle. ]
Yes, good speech. Clearly Kirrahe in agreement; same slogan for five years. Luckily salarians good at multitasking. Deliver rousing speech, still avoid bullets.
no subject
Date: 2014-06-02 08:10 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-02 11:27 pm (UTC)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. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-12 04:59 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-12 06:39 am (UTC)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. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-12 07:26 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-14 06:32 am (UTC)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. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-14 07:21 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-14 08:57 am (UTC)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. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-06-29 03:56 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2014-07-09 06:51 am (UTC)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. ]
no subject
Date: 2014-07-18 10:28 pm (UTC)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.]
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