They didn’t lay gently down in bed so much as they fell into it, a tussle of limbs and eager, grasping hands.
Just an hour before, they had been drinking on the Nexus, sitting back on the cool grass from a freshly sprouting park. Things were finally growing; there was space enough now that the Initiative didn’t have to rely on fragile patches of soil just to grow the vegetables needed to survive. They were far from being in the clear just yet, but there were saplings now, tender shoots that might one day be flowers. Grass, actual grass! Wren Ryder had plucked a single blade, placing it between two fingers and blowing on it so that it produced a high, squeaking whistle, making Kandros blink with bemusement, mandibles opening in surprise. “Something I learned back on Earth, when we lived there,” she said, before crushing the grass between two fingers, inhaling the smell it gave off, like summer days long past.
There was even a bottle of wine for Ryder, the turian equivalent for Kandros. Six hundred years of aging did a bottle good, though she admittedly didn’t have much of a taste for it. It was supposedly floral and fruity at once, but white wine tasted like white wine, and it all tasted the same when you were drinking directly from the bottle, artificial sunlight beaming down on you with enough strength to cause a sunburn, if you stayed out for long enough.
Half a bottle later, and Ryder felt good. It was clear that Kandros felt the same way, from how he looked at her, up and down, just appreciating. “My place or yours?” he finally asked, breaking the comforting silence, the hum of voices as everyone enjoyed this spot of tranquility in all this mess.
Flustered, as she was every time Kandros propositioned her, Ryder managed to spout out a quick “yours” without sounding too much like she was choking. She could have outlined her reasons, if Kandros had asked for them, though he hadn’t. 1. His place was much closer. 2. She hadn’t bothered to make her bed, not expecting any visitors to the Tempest. There may or may not have been a pile of yesterday’s clothes located somewhere adjacent to, but not quite in, the laundry shoot.
Kandros helped her up, hand lingering on the small of Ryder’s back for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary. They didn’t link arms; neither was one for PDA, but they walked closely together, enough so that their arms brushed every now and then, bringing goosebumps to Ryder’s skin and… Shit. Did turians get goosebumps? Probably not.
Mercifully, no one stopped them this time. Ryder looked at Kandros from the corner of her eye every now and then, trying to look flirtatious, instead looking mildly paranoid. Her reaction made him check that everything was okay- fringe straight? Everything in order? Then why did she keep staring at him like that?
Standing before his door, there was a moment of awkwardness where both reached up to open it; after all, Ryder had Kandros’ door code. Laughing, he let her do the honors, waiting for the door to be safely close behind them before picking her up casually, putting her over his shoulder and carrying her over to the bed. From her dangling position, Ryder could see that his room was still almost eerily neat, not a single item out of place. How did he even live like this? But she had other things to consider at that moment- things beside the frigid air he kept his room at, and how even his sheets were even.
He dumped her into the bed with something less than gentleness, and she pulled him down on top of her, unwilling to wait and play games. It was probably the wine talking, but it was a damn good night, wasn’t it? Or day. Probably still day, actually. “You going to figure out the bra today?” she teased him, feeling his hands ride up underneath her shirt, pulling it off her head. His mouth traced from hers on downward, resting in the hollow of her throat a moment; hard, insistent turian kisses. She would have it no other way.
Instead of continuing downward, he rested on her shoulder, his head laying there for a moment. “Tired already?”
“You wish,” he responded, and then his teeth clamped down gently on her skin, a nibble that brought pain and pleasure both. Turians had sharp teeth, far sharper than a human, and she thought the skin may have broken slightly, but it didn’t feel bad, exactly. It brought all the blood rushing to the surface on every region of her body, counteracting the cold and-
“Pathfinder, I recommend seeking medical treatment immediately.” SAM’s voice was not a welcome distraction. Whatever wriggling Ryder had been doing stopped, and she held a hand up to Kandros. He sat back, puzzled, and waited, recognizing the look in her eyes she got when SAM was relaying a message.
“SAM, another time.” She rolled her eyes at Kandros, as if to say ‘AI, right?’
SAM wasn’t done though, apparently. “Turian saliva contains several agents that can be prohibitive to human health and well being if it directly enters the bloodstream.”
Ah, shit. “How much? Because it’s just one little bite.” It must have been strange for Kandros to hear only one side of the conversation, but he had gone from alarmed to actually laughing at her, trying to hide it behind his hand and failing.
“Less than a liter, Ryder.” A liter? That would take dozens of bites.
“SAM, kindly shut the fuck up.” The AI stopped immediately, and Ryder turned back to kandros. “One liter, so try not to inject me or something. But the least you could do is make the other shoulder match.” She pulled him down on top of her again.