Knowing

 Knowing

What time is it?  Damn.  Did I spend the whole evening drinking with the Doc?  Must have.  There's the bottle, and it's empty. 

I stand up, and have to grab at the chair to steady myself.  Whoa.  Wait for the room to stop moving.  They say this stuff doesn't give you a hangover.  Yeah, right.  We'll see about that in the morning. 

There's the doc, lying there.  Good doctor.  Good woman.  Good to have her on board.  Just like the good old days.  We had a nice chat.  But now, time for bed.

Wait.  There's something...  Shit.  Is she passed out?  Uh...  Check her pulse.  Yeah.  Breathing?  Yeah. 

"Doc?  Wake up."  I shake her a bit.  "Need to know you're okay."

"Ow."  She squints.  "I'm fine.  Goodnight, Shepard."

Conscious, that's a good sign.  So... what else.  Make sure her head's turned to the side.  Yeah.  What else.  Think that's it.  Shit.  You're wasted.  Get your act together, Marine.  You sober enough to get your ass upstairs?  Can you walk straight?  Yeah, more or less.  Better hope nobody sees you bouncing off the bulkheads. 

Made it to the elevator.  EDI says, "Shepard, Grunt is waiting outside your quarters.  He seems rather agitated."

Fuck.  So not the best time.  Shit.  Quick detour to the armory.  Probably unnecessary, but better safe than a bloody smear of unrecognizable body parts, right.  Okay, concentrate.  You're armed, this is no time to be stupid drunk.  Now let's go see what he wants.

I don't know shit about krogan.  Wish there was more information available.  Krogan, care and maintenance of.  Better yet: What to expect from your new tank-grown super-soldier.  He's insanely violent, goes without saying, but... not stupid.  Thinks about stuff more than your average krogan.  Maybe.  Don't know that many krogan, and none well, except Wrex, and he's not stupid, either.  Yeah, okay.  Thinks about stuff more than your average krogan stereotype, then.  Hell.  A good leader knows how to manage ambiguity, right.  Deep breath.  Check the sidearm.  Stand clear of the elevator doors.

Doors open.  Nothing insanely violent happens.  Grunt's pacing back and forth in the corridor, wearing  holes in the floor.  A lot like he was before we went to Tuchanka. 

I move my hand off my holster.  "Rite of Passage didn't take?  We could go back and do it again."

He stops.  "No.  This is a different problem."

"Of course."  I walk into my cabin.  Made it through the door the first time.  Must be sobering up. 

Grunt lumbers in after me, looking at everything.  Sniffs at the model ships.  Snorts at the fishtank.  I'd like to sit down but I don't, because I'm pretty sure none of the furniture was built to hold the weight of a krogan in full armor.  I'll just lean against the glass and try not to fall over. 

"So what's the problem?"

He's starting to pace again.

"Spit it out, Grunt."

"Shepard."  He heaves a sigh.  "I'm having... urges."

An eyebrow-raiser.  "The killing kind?"

"The fucking kind."

Christ. 

"Grunt, everyone gets those urges.  They’re normal.  Assuming you can act on them responsibly. "  I glare at him.  "Do I need to be worried about the safety of my crew?"

He bares his teeth at me.  "I'm not an animal, Shepard.  I can control myself."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'm getting breeding requests.  From the females on Tuchanka."

"And I repeat, what's the problem?"

He stares fiercely at the wall.  "I don't know why I should."

"What?  What do you mean?"

"I know how.  I have the imprints."  He's standing still, but he looks like he'd rather be pacing again.  "I don't know why.  The reasons aren't mine."

"Reasons?"

"Mating.  Breeding.  Future of the krogan race."  He snorts.  "I need my own reasons."

Shit.  Maybe you need your own reasons for killing.  But for fucking?  You share the same goddamn reasons with everyone else in the galaxy.  You don't get to be a special snowflake. 

"Grunt, I'm sure any one of those females will be happy to help you with the reasons—"

 

"No."  He spins around.  "I need to understand this before I see any females."

Ah.  Performance anxiety.  Barely out of the tank, and he's already got the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.  All those expectations to live up to.  Hey, it's gotta be difficult, knowing that with everything you do, you're representing the tank-grown in krogan society.  No, that's not funny.  Stop that.

"Um, okay.  I guess when we're next in port, we'll have to get you a whore."

"Ugh.  Asari."

That one definitely deserves an eyebrow.  "Funny how you automatically associate whore with Asari."

He sighs again.  "I'd rather it was you, Shepard."

What?  Wait.  Did he just call me a whore?  Shit.  Did I just get propositioned by a krogan?

"Uh, look, Grunt—"

"This is awkward.  There's just...  things I need to understand.  And you're the only one who can help me."

"Because I'm such an expert on krogan."

He takes a step closer to me.  "I trust you farther than I can throw you.  I can say that about exactly one person in the galaxy."

Damn. 

"I'm deeply moved by your trust," I say.  "But I don’t know enough.  I can't teach you anything.  You need a krogan for that."

He jabs a finger at my chest.  "Doesn't matter about krogan.  You've fucked.  You understand the reasons why."

I shrug.  "I understand my reasons."

"Then you can help me find mine."

My mind is completely blank.  I know nothing about krogan sexuality.  No idea about the most basic things, location of their erogenous zones,  or anything.  The only piece of knowledge I have that's even vaguely related to the subject is from an overheard mess-hall conversation where Mordin was explaining, "Secondary only works when primary is disabled.  Hormone inhibition, similar to apical dominance in plants."  Which is, sure, fascinating as hell on a good day, but no fucking use at all right now.  I don't think it will help if I disable his primary. 

"Grunt, I don't think this is such a good idea.  I've had a lot to drink, and I'm—"

He growls.  Shows all his teeth.  Lunges with terrifying speed and slams me back against the glass.  For a moment I'm afraid the fishtank will crack and flood the room.  But it doesn't.  Good, because I really don't want to have to clean that up.  Or explain how it happened.

He's laughing.  He jabs me in the chest again.  "See?  You're not that drunk.  Reflexes still work."

I look down and realize I'm holding my pistol, pointed at him.  It's only then that the pain kicks in.  He's got a four-to-one weight advantage and I'm not in armor.  Fuck.  Is my spine still in one piece?  Hell, I'm completely sober now.  Nothing clears the mind like being attacked by a homicidal krogan.  But no.  I didn't shoot him.  He didn't really want to hurt me.  I guess I do understand him, a little.  More than before, anyway.

What is that?

Smells good.  Is it him?  I sniff.  It is.  It's something... untamed.  Feral.  Sweet, spicy.  Blood and fire.  And sex.  Shit.  How long has it been?  Technically, over two years, right?  Whatever.  Way too long.  Fuck.  My judgment is seriously impaired if I'm even considering this.  Take a deep breath and just say no.  Shit.  He smells incredible—

"Grunt.  Get off me."

"Heh."  He releases me and steps back.  I re-holster my pistol.  My hand isn’t shaking, which is a fucking miracle.

He's silent, looking at me.  Like he's waiting for orders. 

Oh, hell.  Screw his reasons.  If he wants to get off, just... give him a helping hand.  You can do that. 

"Take your goddamn armor off."

I've never seen him out of his armor before.  Never seen any krogan out of armor before.  Krogan don't wear undersuits, don't need them.  I stare at his body.  Lizard-like skin.  Vitals protected by thick, hard plates.  Not fully developed, but he's got hundreds of years to grow them, assuming he doesn't get himself killed first.  Even now he looks indestructible.  I can see him striding naked through a sandstorm that would scour the flesh off a lesser being, emerging into calm air, uncovering his shotgun with a gleam in his eye.

"What's so funny?" he demands.

"Nothing.  Just admiring you.  You're a fine specimen, Grunt."

"Not fine.  Perfect.  That's how I was made."  He sits down on the floor, up against the steps to the upper level, and yanks his boots off, tossing them to the side.  "Now what?"

I sit down beside him.  "Just relax."

He gives me a look of suspicion, but stretches his legs out in front of him and settles into position, slightly hunched over.

I ask, "What do you think about when you feel these urges?"

"Females.  I have imprints.  Important figures in history."

"Close your eyes.  Imagine this," I say.  "You're on your way to the Women's Camp, when you're ambushed by ten krogan who oppose Wrex's plan to unite the clans.  You have to fight them all at once.  Unarmed."

"Heh."

"Think about the fight.  What you would do."  I watch his face.  From his expression, the twitches of his body, his intakes of air, I can almost reconstruct the action.  That's him picking someone up and hurling them to the ground.  Charging, following up with an uppercut, a blow to the neck.  Sweeping someone's legs out from under them.  Stabbing his claws into a downed opponent's face.  And that's him, looking around, nodding in satisfaction.

"What does the scene look like now?"

He growls.  "Ten bodies on the ground, ripped to shreds.  Blood everywhere.  Heh."

"Of course.  A beautiful , strong female was watching you fight.  Now she comes forward to congratulate you."

"Heh."

"Think about her.  What's she like?"

"Hmmm.  Tall.  Heavy.  Wide hips.  Deep eyes.  Muscular arms.  And... a  voice like a landslide rolling down a mountain."  He smiles and rumbles, deep in his chest. 

"You want her."

"Yes." 

He's breathing  hard.  In the shadow of his body I can see his cock extending, and it's... fuck.  It's huge.  Even considered in proportion to body size...  Fuck.  Holy fucking shit.  Damn, I've got to get a better look at that— Stop.  Control yourself.  This isn't about you.

I move a little closer to him and let my fingers run slowly up the inside of his arm, tracing the grooves between the bands of muscle.   His skin is cool, and a lot smoother than I expected.  Like glossy leather.  I follow the curve of his shoulder, up to touch the folds around his neck.  Gently.  Slowly, so he can feel the warmth of my hand. 

Another low rumble and he tilts his head back, exposing more of his throat.  Without thinking I lean down and run my tongue in between the folds of skin.  God, that scent.  I breathe it in.  Fill my lungs with it.  It's making me–  God.  My cock is rock hard and aching.  I bite down, partly because I was going to anyway but mostly to stop myself from moaning.  Fuck.  How is he doing this to me?

"Shepard," he says.  Almost like he's acknowledging an order, but then he sucks in air and blows it out again. 

With skin that thick there's no way my bite can hurt him but he's feeling something.  He shifts his body so his shoulder rests against mine.  Leans back, exposing his monstrous cock to full view.  I stare at it.  Can't look away.  Are all krogan this big?  Not that it matters, but damn.  And once you get past the sheer size, there're other interesting features.  Thin parallel ridges run along its length from about halfway up, flaring out just before the pointed tip.  Interesting.  Very interesting.

I clear my throat and say, "That's a sight worth seeing, Grunt."  I listen to my own voice, and I can hear how much I want him. 

He chuckles.  The eye facing me opens, gives me a knowing look, and closes again.

I slide my hand down his chest, over his plates.  Down to his cock.  One finger, trailing gently from tip to base.  Over his balls.  Four, count 'em.  Around the other side and back up again, slow.  Tantalizing.  He makes a sound halfway between a snort and a groan, and his hips buck.  I close my hand around him as well as I can and stroke him.  Feeling the skin of his cock against my palm, the way it slides over the flesh.  The way the shaft throbs in my grip.  The way the muscles at the base twitch as he strains towards me.  Watching the way his body  moves in response.  The rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing slowly changing till it matches the movements of my hand.

And then I see a bead of clear fluid trembling at the tip of his cock, and my resolve breaks.  God.  How can I not—?  Still holding him, I move my body over and down so I'm between his legs .  I catch that bead with my tongue.   It tastes like his scent, liquefied.  Pure.  Blood and fire and sex.  I want more.  Need more.  I lick him, feeling the ridges under my tongue.  He groans and thrusts into my hand.   There's no way he'll fit down my throat but I slide my lips over the head of his cock and continue stroking him.

He groans.  "Yes... do that.. with your tongue...  Shepard...."

His breathing is harsh and I have to use my left arm to hold him back, to keep him from thrusting into me while I suck.  I can feel his urgency growing and I pump him harder while my tongue flicks along the ridges the way he likes it and his breathing is getting faster and he's going to come any second now—

He roars, unbearably loud and it seems like his entire body bucks into me and I have to use all my strength to hold him down.  He's coming into my mouth, shooting again and again and I can't swallow fast enough so it's spilling down his cock on to his body.  Christ, where the hell has he been keeping all this?  I take advantage of a lull in the action to slide my hand down onto his balls and stroke them.  He gives a strangled groan and bucks again.  I've lost count of the number of loads he's shot down my throat when he  finally relaxes and sighs.

"Shepard, that was..."  he trails off. 

I let go of him and start licking him clean.  Taking my time, since I don’t have to worry about being choked now.  "You taste good," I tell him. 

He watches me.  "You think other humans would think that?"

"Maybe.  But I'd be careful about your approach.  There's probably not that many who wouldn't run screaming at the first sight of you."

He chuckles.

I sit up.  Shit.  Now I need to get him out of here so I can take care of my own urges.

"Are we finished here, Grunt?"

He looks at me.  Then looks down at my crotch.  "You're not."  He reaches out and strokes my cock through my pants.  Fuck.  He's not making this easy.

"Getting me off isn't going to teach you a damn thing about krogan females, Grunt."

"Did I say it would?"  He snorts, and pulls at my pants.  "Take these clothes off, Shepard.  Or I will, and I won't do it carefully."

I could just tell him to leave.  And he would.  Probably.  But I don't.  I take my clothes off.

His hand closes around my cock with a grip like a vise.  "Get closer, Shepard."  He pulls me towards him and I have to grab his head to steady myself.

"Grip a little higher... yeah."  He squeezes me and starts stroking in a slow motion.  The pressure is immense.  "Shit, that feels good."  I close my eyes. 

He opens his hand and I feel his breath on me.   Before I can register what he's doing, I feel something, wet and slick, sliding down my cock.  My eyes fly open and I see his tongue, long and pink, wrapping itself around my balls. 

"Fuck." 

He's making another run back up and oh god that feels so good and when his tongue slides across the head of my cock I have to clench my teeth to stop myself from crying out.  Again.  And again.  And I can't take much more of this.

"Grunt—"

His fist closes back around me and begins to stroke.  The pleasure is building and I feel his tongue snaking down my cock.  As I hear the moans escaping from my throat the thought that I’m going to come into his mouth hits me and  oh god yes yes that's exactly what I do.  I'm still coming when he starts dragging his tongue over the head of my cock.  The intensity is excruciating and it sends a spasm up my spine.  I dig my fingers into the plates of his head and thrust deep, emptying myself into him.

Well, more or less.  There's a spatter dripping down his cheek. 

"Hmmph.  Maybe you are drunk.  You usually shoot straight when you're sober."  He wipes it off with the back of his hand.  I laugh, gulping air, then collapse on to the floor. 

He gets up with a grunt and slowly puts his armor back on.   

"Thanks for the pep talk, Shepard."  He's walking up the steps.

I snort.  "Did you get anything out of this?  Find your reasons?"

"Sure.  Pleasure." 

I roll my eyes.  "Right."

He turns.  "Taking, and giving."

Yeah.  He's not as stupid as he looks.  "Thanks for stopping by, Grunt." 

"Shepard."  The door opens, and he steps through it, disappearing from view. 

 

--END--

 

Thanks to CelestialLight1117 on FFnet for the prompt, and to long-suffering Smehur for the beta.