The Translation in Blood

He took his time getting to know her body again, insisting that she let him touch her and stroke her in all the places he missed and many he'd never had the chance to before.

He joined her in her nudity and stretched her out on the bed, laid her on her belly and clasped her wrists in his hands. Her cheek pressed to her arms, she looked at him with warm eyes as he took in her skin, her shape, her changes.

But of the latter, there really weren't that many. Kept in good shape by dilligence and training and the passive inaction of good genetics, it was hard to go to seed when your body was still well maintained and cared for. She may have had a white hair or two she hadn't before, but it was hard to see amidst the thick, boundless mass of her hair. Sparatus remarked on her laugh lines and showed her his own, fondled her bottom and told her he like that it was 'softer than last I handled it', which both made her splutter, laugh, and flush with feminine pride.

He wasn't satisfied with petting and simple caressing for too long, though Hannah was near drunk with pleasure and love by the time he changed the game. He guided her wrists to the headboard of the bed, and a groove carved just at mattress level.

"Your hands stay here, or I stop. Understood?" His voice was rough, commanding, laced with a growl of hunger that made her shiver and her eyes go wide.

When she nodded, he slid down the length of her, pausing to kiss the dimples of her lower back, and then rub his cheek against the curve of a buttock. She squirmed on her belly but kept her grip, craning her head to watch his descent.

She felt his hands spread her thighs, and then a pillow edged under her hips, effectively propping her legs open before-

...before-

Hannah was dimly aware of her face contorting in shock and pleasure as his long, prehensile tongue slide easy and smooth along the seam of her sex. Thighs twitched open in invitation and she arched her spine, hips tilting. The breath she was holding exploded from her in a long, shameless cry, feeling his tongue snake up and down, and then in-

Her body jerked and her legs spread shamefully wide, her sex seeping on to the bed, no doubt, with the lovely attentions he was giving her. Still, some part of her brain kept her fingers clutching at the headboard even as her hips thrust back, the poor woman groaning his name into the mattress as he added fingers.

She was lost to the sensation of it all; his warm breath, his searing tongue, those thrusting, curling fingers. In and out, in an out, he stroked her within, curving his fingers just so and pausing to scrape teeth along the shape of her swollen clitoris. He kept her right on the edge too, not going to far, easing up a little before picking up the work again. He did this to her for what felt like hours, until she was drenched with sweat and shaking so hard her teeth rattled in her skull.

When she was right at the edge of tumbling over, when she was sobbing pleas of release and her knuckles were white from her grip, he withdrew from her completely. Her indignant cry of loss became a gasp of shock, when he pressed himself into her back and drew his teeth along the back of her neck. She could feel him, hard and hot, pressed into the cleft of her ass. Hot, suede smooth skin pressed all along her spine, making her shiver with more bliss as he ground teasingly against her.

His breathing was ragged, his muscles tense. His teeth stroked across the edge of her ear.

"You've marked yourself as mine," he murmured. "Are you saying you are, Hannah Shepard? Completely, honorably, always mine?"

Hannah shuddered beneath him, tilting her head into the warmth of his breath, the aggressive possession in his words, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"Yes," she breathed.

He went still, and then shifted, and pushed, and the aching, hard length of him eased into her an inch. Hannah cried out and spread her thighs wider, but he didn't advance a breath further. She squirmed in vain.

"Shhh," he whispered to her, mandible flicking against her shoulder as the tip of his tongue edged her other ear. "I can keep you by my side..."

She moaned.

"...take you everywhere I go..."

"Yes..."

"Love you always ..."

"Yes yes..."

"...as my wife..."

She grew tight and whimpered as he completely pressed himself into her at that, the impressive length of him swelling deep and hard, her flesh stretching to accomodate him; there had been no other, and it had been so damn long. With him sank the words, and she lay there beneath him panting, dazed with sensation and understanding.

"Sparatus-"

"Say it, Hannah. Tell me." He refused to move. She moaned his name again, pleading. He pulled back half an inch and thrust forward again. She almost broke apart.

Clawing at the blankets, she whimpered desperately and lifted her hips, begging.

"Say it, Hannah," he said again, arms braced on either side of her, held above her and curled over her. He rocked between her thighs, listening to her tender sobs, feeling her body shake and clench.

"Yours, Sparatus," she gasped. "Always yours, forever yours... please please..."

It was answer enough for him, and his growl of victory was followed by insistent, powerful thrusting. She cried out with every one, louder and louder, before going tight and straining, legs splayed wide, hips shuddering, mouth frozen in a silent scream. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she was dimly aware of her Turian roaring, emptying himself inside of her, a rush of wet heat that broke her silence with a desperate little whimper.

She went limp before he did, trembling against the mattress while he sagged above her panting. He dropped his head to brush lip plates across her shoulders, his mandibles fluttering, his breath feathering across her skin. She moaned his name and turned her head to him, and he oblidged her with a soft kiss.

"Wife?" he whispered to her, nuzzling her cheek.

"Husband," she sighed in agreement.

And everything felt right with the universe. At least right then.

But that was about to change.