A/N: I wrote this short one-shot for a prompt by jediserenity82 at tumblr, and I thought I'd share it here, too. The prompt was, "Can I kiss you?"
I hope you'll like it. :)
Big thanks to Suilven for beta reading.
Being shoved and jostled in a crowded bar has never been high on Thane's list of favorite pastimes, but for Shepard's sake, he will endure it.
He doesn't like it, though. Places like this, dark and smoky and full of writhing bodies, are perfect for an assassin or any common criminal to strike out quickly, without being noticed, then disappear without a trace. He should know it—he's used that technique a few times himself.
He's warned Shepard about this, of course, but she waved off his concern, citing the need to allow the crew let off some steam before they took their potentially one-way trip through the Omega-4 relay, and he had to admit that she had a point. Despite Shepard's impressive skills as a leader, it was extremely likely that this was going to be the last time they could all let loose and enjoy themselves. Nobody has returned from a journey through that relay, after all.
So, here he is now, watching his commander as she weaves through the crowd, chatting with a crew member here, patting another one on the back over there, until she catches his gaze, gives him a small smile, and strolls over to where he is leaning against the bar.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asks, making a gesture to the bartender for a drink. The turian fills a glass with a purple liquid and pushes it over to her, and she empties the contents in one quick gulp.
"I am… taking in the surroundings," he says. His eyes scan the crowd, looking for any possible threat, and only when he finds none does he turn his attention back to the commander by his side.
She shakes her head with a smile and slips her warm hand into his, and starts dragging him towards the dance floor. "Come on, try to have some fun." She looks back at him over her shoulder, letting the loose locks of her hair fly in the air in mesmerizing patterns, and adds, her expression a bit less cheery now, "It might be the last time we can do this."
He can't argue with that, so he follows her, holding her strange little hand tight, and lets her pull him close to her body when they arrive at the blinking floor tiles and she turns around. His arms wrap around her back as she buries her face in his neck, sending jolts of heat down his skin with her hot breath, and he finally starts to relax and forget about assassins, criminals, Collectors, and all the assorted enemies this galaxy never seems tired of throwing at them.
There's only her and the feel of her warm body against his now, pressing against his chest, his hips, his thighs as they move to the beat, and before he knows it, his fingers are weaving through her hair, cupping the back of her head.
She pulls back a little, just enough to look at him. Her eyes shine mysteriously in the dim light as they stare at each other, neither of them knowing what to say but unwilling to break away, until he finally slides his other hand up from her waist, along her spine and around her neck, and brushes his thumb across her jaw line in a gentle caress.
His gaze shifts down to her lips as they part and release a small sigh, and he has to moisten his own lips before he can whisper, "Can I kiss you?"
She doesn't reply, but he thinks he can feel her knees buckle for a moment and he pulls her closer in a protective embrace. She holds onto him, lifting her chin a bit and tilting her head, and suddenly her mouth is pressed against his, and she's kissing him—oh, gods, she's kissing him.
His tongue darts out to taste her, and she lets him in, and it's sweet, so sweet, as her own tongue brushes and slides against his, and he can't stop himself from humming as they meld together, forgetting about the crowds, the crew, and everybody else who might be around.
Finally, they pull apart, heaving out heavy huffs of air, still holding each other tight, and he wonders if she can feel how much he wants her. She probably can; she's not wearing her armor, and there are only a couple of thin layers of fabric between them. He's not very familiar with human biology, just enough to know how to efficiently end one's life, but right now he thinks her scent has changed. He dares to hope it's a sign of her wanting him, too.
When she unfolds herself from him, his heart breaks a little, but it mends itself immediately with a loud thrum as she takes his hand in hers and starts to drag him after her again—this time, however, off the dance floor and towards the door.
He has an idea where they are going, but he wants to hear her say it, so he asks, "Something come up?"
"Yes," she throws over her shoulder, "something very urgent. Something… needs attention in my quarters."
The corners of his lips quirk up into a smile, and he follows her as they weave through the mass of people, ignoring the shocked—or, in some cases, cheerfully knowing—looks of their crew and friends.
And, as they exit the bar and head to the Normandy, he has to admit that, as usual, Shepard was right.
Coming here was definitely an excellent, magnificent, wonderful idea.