Mass Effect: The Hunt for Saren

John awoke in a medical bay. At first, its bland uniformity seemed unremarkable to Shepard. After a moment, however, he recognized it as the Normandy’s medical bay. He stretched, got his bearings, and was soon greeted by a tired looking Dr. Chakwas. She was being led by a very attractive and very excited Gunnery Sergeant whom John did not recognize.



The Gunnery Sergeant was attractive, with an athletic build that allowed her to be strong and curvy, and she filled out her standard-issue blues very well. Her skin was a few shades darker than his--a subtle olive tone--and her lips were full and pouty. Dark eyes seemed to well up with emotion as they stared at him with gentle fascination. Her dark hair, though pulled back in an unremarkable bun, cropped her face quite attractively. Shepard reminded himself that this woman was a fellow marine, and tried to keep his feelings in check.



“I told you, Dr. Chakwas,” the marine said animatedly. “He’s finally up.”



“Excellent, Sergeant Williams,” Chakwas said without enthusiasm. “Now let me check up on my patient...”



“Sergeant Williams?” John asked, surprised that the tough marine survivor he’d met on Eden Prime had turned out to be such a looker. Marine women were terribly stereotyped, despite the corps’ every attempt to make them completely integrated in the Alliance Military. “What are you doing on the Normandy?”



“Please, sir, call me Ashley, or Ash,” Williams said, blushing. “And I’m aboard the Normandy because Captain Anderson offered me a position under you--I mean, under your command. The rest of my unit is KIA, so the transfer cleared right away.”



“How long have I been out?”



“A day and a half,” Williams replied, or blush becoming even more noticeable. “It’s been a day and a half since you saved me from that device on Eden Prime. Since you saved me from my own careless stupidity...”



“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Williams--”



“Ashley,” She corrected.



“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Ashley,” John continued. “There’s no way we could’ve known what would happen, and we don’t know what triggered the device.”



“True...” Williams agreed, nodding slowly.



“Wait a minute,” John interrupted. “If I’ve been out for a day and a half, where are we now?”



* * * * *



“Approaching the Citadel,” Ashley muttered as she stood beside John, gazing out one of the Normandy’s viewports. “Ever been here before?”



“A few times,” John said, trying to sound nonchalant even though the sight of the largest most advanced space station in the galaxy always left him in awe. “We first embarked the Normandy from here, you know.”



“Oh, so...” Ashley stalled. “Since you’re a local, would you mind showing me around then, sir?”



“What? As in? Oh show you around, well, I’d love to,” John stumbled over his response. “Problem is, I’ve got a debriefing with the Council. Big charges to bring against a Spectre and all that...”



“That’s right,” Ashley said, changing the subject quickly. “You’re a big-shot defender-of-humanity type, aren’t you?” She playfully punched John’s shoulder.



“No such thing, Williams,” John said grimly as watched the Normandy slide into its docking bay in the center of the station.



He needed to have the council disband a Spectre. He needed a miracle.



* * * * *



Instead, they got stone-walled. With only hearsay for evidence, the three Council members sided with Saren. Once Saren had ended his communique, however, the Asari delegate did give them some glimmer of hope:



“Bring us something to go on, Shepard, and we will not only consider revoking Saren’s Spectre status,” the beautiful Asari Matriarch almost whispered into the microphone, “but we will also reconsider your own position...”



Matriarch Fari’ah, as the highest ranking Matriarch of the Asari people, was totally inscrutuble to Shepard. He’d only ever conversed with Asari a few times in the past, but he was certain she was hinting at his candidacy for becoming the first Human Spectre. Then again...



* * * * *



Shepard left the summit in a rage. Saren had killed thousands of humans in his raid on Eden Prime, and he was getting away with it. No one knew much of anything about the Spectres, let alone have any information that could incriminate one of their number.



“Hell,” Shepard thought. “If anyone was going to keep information like that secret, they’d have to be incredibly well-connected with every legitimate and illegitimate powers on the Citadel.”



It was then that Shepard realized that only one person on the Citadel, one out of forty million, stood a chance of giving him any leads on Saren. An Asari so well connected, it was rumored that even Councillor Fari’ah sought her advice.



Consort Sha’ira.



* * * * *



The Consort’s chambers were exquisite but simple. Furnishied in pale but warm colors, it was an inviting and yet sterile environment. Not at all a brothel. And Sha’ira would be the first to refute that title.



When he’d first arrived, Shepard posed as a potential client. As a relatively prestigous officer of the Alliance, he felt he had a good chance of getting an appointment. Instead, he was quoted a six-month waiting period. He bauked at that, and was given a speech that the consort was not a mere prostitute: she was a diplomat, advisor, confidant, oracle, friend, lover, et cetera, et cetera, blah blah blah...



John then flashed his credentials, explained he was participating in a Council investigation of one of the Spectres. The receptionist Asari began to politely refuse him access again, but stopped in mid-sentence, as she was apparently ordered over an earpiece to let him in.



Which led him to stand here, in Consort Sha’ira’s personal quarters.



“You are not a subtle man, John Shepard,” the Asari began. She was reclining in an oval sofa opposite the front door. John stood opposite her, awkwardly. “First, you bring a weapon to a place of union...”



“Oh, apologies, Consort,” John said, dropping his pistol from its concealed hip holster onto a table beside the door. “Habits of an old war-dog.”



“Secondly, you come here broadcasting your intentions,” Sha’ira continued. “If the wrong clientele had been in my lounge, you would not have lasted more than a few moments. A human persecuting a Turian Spectre...the idea could rekindle the First Contact War for many on both sides.”



John began to turn to exit. He could tell when he was about to get a pointless lecture.



“Thirdly, you have no idea what you’re getting into.”



John stopped, turned to face the Asari. She was breath-taking, even in the generally unattractive pose of reclining. Aged well over seven hundred years, Sha’ira could have picked any number of prestigous positions among her people. She picked one where she used EVERY weapon in her arsenal to maintain her status as the bejeweled stud on the hub of the galaxy: she knew everyone who was worth knowing who ever visited the Citadel. Beautiful by the standards of just about any humanoid species, her gown flowed around her sensual areas, with circular holes adorning her ample cleavage and her smooth stomach. Her light blue skin, her piercing purple eyes--even the short tendrils that Asari bore instead of hair or ears-- were all exotically attractive to John. The thought flashed across his consciousness that he might even be drugged or under the influence of some kind of pheremone at least. The thought soon faded from his mind, however.



“Saren has hated humans for decades, ever since first contact,” Sha’ira continued after a dramatic silence. “And yet he has never done anything like this before. Why?”



“Maybe he hasn’t had any opportunities,” John guessed though he knew he was wrong.



“A possibility, certainly,” Sha’ira said, displaying her skills of conversational manipulation. “But consider this: perhaps a new element, other than hate, is driving him. An element that makes the Geth obey him out of convenience, not subservience.”



“Screwing Saren revealed all this to you?” John asked somehwat sarcastically.



“Actually, I’ve never met Saren,” Sha’ira said proudly. “But I know him without having met him, just as I knew you before you came into my chambers. Saren, however, would never think to come to see me.”



“Because you know too much already?” John guessed, legitimately curious.



“Because he is already sated,” She responded. “Another Asari Matriarch has been ‘screwing’ Saren for some time now. I know this because his movements have become more stealthy and graceful than they were ten years ago. Only a Matriarch could have such an effect on a man like Saren.”



“You Asari do all that for a guy, huh?” John mumbled, his thoughts returning to the carnal as his eyes roamed along Sha’ira’s curves.



“A Matriarch can, yes,” Sha’ira corrected, smoothly rising from her position on the sofa. Without a perceptible step or stride, she glided across the room to him. “And I ask only a small favor in exchange for this most profitable meeting.”



“That is?” John asked, his mouth dry and voice starting to crack as the Consort deftly stroked her finger across the back of his neck.



“I want you to speak with a former client of mine,” Sha’ira said as she stroked her fingertips along John’s scarred lips while her other hand played with the back of his ear. John’s entire body seemed to lock up with arousal. “Convice him to silence his angry and bitter words towards me. Appeal to his sense of honor.”



“Um...okay,” John mumbled, his eye fluttering as Sha’ira continued her tease. Her hands stroked his chest, defined and solid even through his light armor and clothes. “Not that this isn’t...ah...not that this isn’t very nice, but shouldn’t you pay me after I do you the favor?”



“John,” Sha’ira whispered into his ear, her hot breath and soft lips tickling his ear lobe. “I know you. You are a xenophile, and after a taste, no matter how substantial...you will come back for more.”



Sha’ira then kissed John.



It was gentle, soft, and oh so brief, but John felt like he was about to go mad. The sight of her deep purple eyes, half-hooded by her pale blue eyelids receding from his face, the delicate chin touched with faint white tattoos quivering almost imperceptibly. Either Sha’ira was a tender, involved, emotional, and prudish lover or she was a great actress--or both. John, finally bidden by his hardening cock to act, grabbed the alien tease by the shoulders and pulled her in for a more involved kiss. She tasted somehow different from human women he had kissed before--sweet in an indescribable way. His lips soon parted as his tongue delved into the sweet cavern of her mouth, sliding along the side of her own tongue, which calmly and carefully stroked its way into his own mouth. Driven mad by her deliberate pace, John lapped furiously at the inside of her mouth while his hands slid to her front and massaged her breasts through the soft fabric of her gown.



“John,” Sha’ira said, momentarily breaking free from his passionate embrace. “You are not a subtle man...”



John was about to apologize when Sha’ira’s hand slid down to the fullness of the crotch of his pants as she finished:



“And I occasionally love that in a man!”



John, seizing upon the moment to reassert himself, thrust himself forward. He half-embraced, half-tackled Sha’ira, who used all of her exceptional grace to keep from falling back onto her ass. She tottered on her heels as John held the back of her head and slowly kissed her, his tongue gently tasting her lips this time, teasing her own tongue to respond likewise. Her thoroughly skillful tongue aroused John even more, and his hand reflexively stroked the spongy folds of flesh at the back of her head--where locks of hair would be tangled around his fingers with a Human woman.



John felt tremors pulse through Sha’ira’s body as he caressed her head. Her hands clawed at his back in a sudden surge of sensation as she amorously tore the clothes off his back. Quickly stripped to his boxers, his manhood throbbing towards the blue woman in front of him, John relentlessly fondled the alien flaps of skin that were apparently so sensual while he sucked her neck, his tongue flicking in small circles along her sweet flesh, feeling her skin prickle as goosebumps formed.



“John,” Sha’ira sighed throatily over his shoulder as he continued to nibble on her. “What are you doing to me?”



“You like this?” John said, slurping slightly as he stopped sucking on Sha’ira’s neck. His hand, however, continued to sensuously tickle her tendrils.



“Goddess, yes,” Sha’ira replied, her purple eyes begging John to begin.



“Then you’ll love this...”



Sitting beside her on the couch at the back of her quarters, John scooted behind her and wrapped his hands around her front to caress her breasts, accessing them directly thanks to the distribution of her gown. He then carefuly held out his tongue just slightly as he leaned forward and began to suck on one of Sha’ira’s tendrils. It tasted even sweeter than her mouth, as if whatever pheremones the Asari possessed were produced there directly. The softness of the tendril seemed to be a sensual nerve center for Sha’ira, as well, as John could feel her enter body tense with acute pleasure as her breath caught in a sudden gasp.



In a moment, as far as John could tell, Sha’ira was having an Asari orgasm. She practically screamed in pleasure as she gently moved her head forward, taking her tendril out of John’s mouth, and she turned around to look John in the eyes. Her deep purple eyes were moist as she said something with soft, hoarse urgency.



“What was that?” John asked.



By way of reply, Sha’ira stood and stripped her gown even quicker than she had stripped John. His penis fully erect and peaking through the fly of his boxers, John had only a few moments to appreciate the vision of Sha’ira’s naked body before she came down on his rod, her mouth gorging itself on his member. Her tongue wrestled around his cock, suckly gently in synchronization with his throbbing flow of fluids as his penis grew to fill her mouth.



Suddenly, a buzzer rang.



Sha’ira deftly stood up in one smooth motion, slurping up the last bit of pre-cum as she did so. She calmly strode, her naked ass a perfect invitation for a ride, to her desk and hit a button.



“We’re done here, acolyte,” She said over the intercom.



“What?!” John said, starting to ejaculate at the mere vision of Sha’ira’s supple flesh.



“We’re done here, John,” Sha’ira said evenly. “The man I want you to speak to is a Turian general. He’ll be in Chora’s Den. He’ll also have more leads on Saren. When you’ve placated him, see me and we’ll finish up.”



“You’ll finish now, you--” John began angry and raging for a lay.





“--Don’t say anything hasty, John,” Sha’ira interrupted. “I really want to finish this. Really I do. But I’m a businesswoman, and I need to be sure you’ll do this for me.”



“I can’t believe you--”



“--my acolyte will be here any moment, John,” Sha’ira interrupted yet again. “You may want to get dressed.”