Sins of the Father, Sins of the Flesh

They made their way to Miranda’s cabin, neither of them speaking. The Normandy’s lights were dimmed to their “night” level; Jacob saw their shadows waver on the wall as they walked. They saw no one else.

Miranda’s quarters were dark, but she made no move to turn the lights on. Instead, she took Jacob’s hand and pulled him toward the bed. His hip hit the edge of the desk, and he cursed; even though he couldn’t see her, he’d swear blind that she was smiling.

When they were standing by the bed, she reached for him. He felt her hands on his face, tracing the planes and angles with her fingertips as she pulled him in for a kiss. Her lips were cold at first, just like he remembered; he’d thought once that kissing a sleeping princess in a fairy tale would feel just like that.

He pulled her closer, hands running over curves that felt both strange and familiar. He remembered how she’d pulled him up from the ground earlier, and marveled at the carbon-steel strength under her soft skin, her lush body.

Her hands moved slowly on him, from his face down to his neck, from his neck down to his shoulders. She found the zipper on his jacket and pulled it down; he helped her push it off. Then her hands were on his chest, cold at first, just like her lips, but growing warm so quickly. She wrapped her arms around him, holding the back of his neck with one hand and trailing the nails of the other down his spine; he groaned and bucked his hips into her.

She laughed and stepped back; his hands shot out to grab her, but in the darkness she evaded him easily. He cursed again. She said, obviously amused, “Did you know, Jacob, that I can see in the dark?”

His reply would have done a drill sergeant proud.

She laughed, the sound easy and light. “It’s not like it’s in full color or anything. But I can see you, and you can’t see me.”

“Now you’re wrong,” he said. “I can see you just fine.”

“How’s that?” she said.

“I see you in my dreams, Miranda. You think the dark is any different?”

“And what do you see in your dreams, Jacob?” she said, voice thoughtful.

He took a step toward where he thought she was. “I see your hair, hanging loose over your shoulders and brushing my face while you ride me.”

“What else?” she said.

Another step, reaching out for her. “I see your breasts and your legs, running my hands over them, spreading your thighs apart so I can touch you, taste you there. I see the way your pupils dilate, the way your eyes turn almost black when you’re aroused, the way they flutter closed for just a second when I thrust into you.”

She took his hand and he stood still while she moved her hand down his chest to his groin to find him fully erect; she stroked him through his trousers, and he moaned again. When her hand moved to the zipper, he pushed it away, and reached around the back of her neck to find the catch that undid her catsuit. She smiled again—he didn’t know how he knew, but he did—and waited, still stroking him, while he fumbled and cursed.

“All that time, and you never did learn how to get this outfit off,” she murmured into his neck, kissing the soft spot under his jaw and nipping at his earlobe. She stepped away and he heard the sound of hooks and zippers moving, of a belt hitting the floor, of high-heeled boots being kicked away.

“I want to see you,” he said, voice hoarse with desire.

“Then see me like you see me in your dreams,” she said, pressing her body against his.

He ran his hands over her breasts, tweaking the nipples gently, bending his head to tongue them. She drew a sharp breath and moved her hands to the zipper on his trousers. He didn’t stop her this time. Together, they pushed them down and off, along with his boots. Her hands closed around his ankles; again, he could feel how strong she was. As if she knew what he was thinking, she said “I could break your ankles right now, if I wanted to.” Her tone was teasing, but he replied seriously: “You could always break me, Miranda. In a million different ways.”

She didn’t say anything, just moved her hands up his legs, over his calves, his knees, his thighs, his hips, coming oh-so-close to touching his cock. He put his hands under her arms and yanked her up, pressing their bodies close together, grinding himself into her, kissing her like he owned her, like he never would.

She responded in kind, using her teeth, biting his lip and pulling away, then pushing back and teasing with her tongue. They tumbled onto the bed together, Miranda on her back. He knelt between her legs, pushing them apart, kissing her breasts and moving down. He slipped one finger inside her, and found heat at last; she was dripping wet, waiting for him.

Her scent, honey-sweet, maddened him. He needed to taste her, and he spread her legs further apart and brought his mouth down to her cunt, licking and sucking. He used his tongue to part her nether lips and push inside her. Her hips moved slowly back and forth as he took his fingers and spread her wide open, licking her sensitive inner lips, wishing to God he could see what she looked like right now, flushed pink from excitement.

He remembered how she liked it, how she liked to be licked from top to bottom, until she was moaning for him to suck on her clit; he wrapped his lips around it, sucking gently, tonguing it back and forth, making slow circles while his fingers found her way inside her. She moved her hips down so his fingers went deeper and his mouth kept moving on her clit. She whipped her head back and forth on the pillow; he imagined her hair tossing over her face and back. When she began to arch off the bed, head and hips resting on the mattress, he knew exactly what to do: he stopped using his tongue and began to worry at her clit with his teeth, so gently, moving his lips, sliding his fingers in and out, until she came. No screamer she: her body tensed to what felt like the breaking point, her inner muscles clamped down around his fingers, and then she let go all at once, falling to the mattress, every bit of her relaxing as she let out a nearly soundless cry that came out as a whisper, a heavy sigh in the dark.

He kissed her clit again, gently, then her thigh, her stomach, her breasts, moving up her body until his weight was on her and their mouths almost met. She pulled him down for a kiss, tasting herself on him. She loved that, he remembered, the way they tasted together.

The tip of his erection touched the sensitive flesh between her legs. He moved it closer, finding her opening; she surprised him, though, by flipping him onto his back. When he felt her hair on his stomach, he almost yelped in surprise; then her mouth closed around his cock, and he couldn’t stop himself. She’d so rarely done that for him. Her mouth was so good, the heat inside a contrast to her still-cool lips. Her tongue swept up the flat of his cock, then flicked the sensitive spot where the head met the shaft; he bucked, trying to make her take more of him inside. She pulled back instead, then plunged back down, wringing a groan from him. She wrapped her lips around the head, and started to stroke the shaft with her hand, gripping him tightly but not too much so, the wetness from her mouth helping her hand move easier. When he was on the verge of orgasm, she let him go and sat back up, his dick slipping from her lips with an obscene “pop” that made him twitch and swell, harder than ever.

Then he felt the flat of her hand on his chest, moving slowly, finding his heart and feeling it beat beneath her touch. She held it there for a moment, then laid back slowly, her hair spread on the pillow, her legs parted for him. He moved on top of her with something like reverence. Again, the tip of his cock found her opening; this time, she urged him on, whispering in his ear. He moaned and buried himself inside her. He almost screamed with pleasure; as he began to thrust, she began a rapid patter, telling him how much she loved it, how good it felt, how much she wanted him inside her, her growing wetness testifying to the truth. Her words turned into whispers, then nonsense sounds, then small sweet noises of pleasure. As he came closer to his orgasm, she found her words again, begging him to come inside her, to fill her up. His eyes shut of their own accord, the cords in his neck stood out, and he threw his head back as he came, feeling the warmth of her core, the slick wetness from their fluids mixed.

She’d locked her hands behind his neck while he worked inside her; now she pulled him down so their foreheads rested one on another. They stayed like that for a time; he couldn’t tell how long or short, there in the darkness.

He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled out. She made a soft mew of disappointment; he kissed her again, and pushed his weight off her, so they lay side by side.

And Miranda, afraid, who hated cowardice, stretched out her hand and linked fingers with Jacob.

“Jacob,” she said, “if you’re about to give some speech about how this doesn’t need to mean anything, or to try and analyze what just happened, or even work it out in your head, I will take your lower lip and pull it up over your face as far as it will go.”

He was startled into laughter. “Thanks for the warning.”

“I don’t quite know what happened. I don’t know what will happen, which, as you know, is not a usual state of affairs for me.” She paused, and her voice turned soft. “But for once, I’m fine with the uncertainty. I’m content to let it be, if you are.”

“I am,” he said, and found that he meant it.

“Then stay, if you like.”

“Would you like me to?” he said.

She sighed in exasperation. “See, this is what I’m talking about. Of course I want you to. Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Message received,” he said.

They lay down together on their sides, her back pressed to his front. His arm rested on her chest, his hand on her stomach. She stroked the top of one of his feet with her toes.

“The storm is coming, Jacob,” she said. “I can smell it in the air, feel it in my bones. Shepard’s not the storm, but she’s the cause, the catalyst, the place the masses mix to make it. And it’s coming down soon.”

“You won’t be out in it alone,” he said.

Her only reply was to move her hand to his and squeeze it tightly.

Deep in the dark, they closed their eyes and slept.