Chapter Text
They danced around each other. Without acknowledging the changed dynamic, they could both be found in the main living room more often than not, Kai Leng no longer hiding in his room, and Shepard not leaving the apartment as much as he used to. When the commander did go out, his absence was keenly felt, but blessedly short. Leng figured the man took his meals outside, despite having a fully stocked fridge. He had never seen the blond eat in his presence. What other business Shepard conducted when not present, he couldn’t even begin to guess. Evidently nothing enjoyable, as he seemed morose on the daily. Or maybe Leng just had such an effect on the other man, even when not doing anything conscious to cause it.
With the commander spending considerable parts of his day around, instead of the previously brief, rare moments, a new form of entertainment enriched Leng’s dreadfully boring life. Shepard seemed to be a fan of television, and when he wasn’t clinging to the damn datapad, the man would watch all sorts of programs, the sound of movies and series filling the silence between them.
It wasn’t awful. Honestly, Leng was genuinely astonished he was allowed to partake, all things considered. He fully expected Shepard to send him away to his room, while the commander lounged around in the apartment.
The mutual staring was also quickly becoming the norm. Kai Leng stared, because he seemingly could not help himself. There was no one else, and he was not going to start counting the fish as proper companions. And well, as he was beginning to admit to himself, Shepard WAS easy on the eyes. By far the most fascinating subject to look at within the confines of the house.
Shepard would alternate between ignoring him unsuccessfully, if the tightening of his jaw was anything to go by, and staring right back, brow furrowed. Likely trying to figure out what Leng's game was. If only Leng himself knew.
While the Specter (or former Specter? He did not know Shepard’s current official status) sat in his usual spot on the sofa, Leng was perched up on one of the armchairs, head on top of his knees. He tried to think of something to say, but since his usual flavor of conversation would very likely result in another period of solitude, he was drawing a blank. What did normal people talk about?
“The food was … good today. It’s always good, I mean. And I like the fish. Not for eating. For watching,” Leng said at last, stiffly.
Shepard went rigid in his seat, before turning his entire upper body in Leng’s direction, looking utterly baffled. Then his face twisted into a grimace. “You think I care about your opinion on the food, or anything really? This is not a hotel. I was not waiting for your review of the facilities. The hell.”
Right. Well, that was stupid. He simply nodded, not meeting Shepard’s eyes.
The blond however did not seem to be done with him, now that they were apparently speaking to each other again. “You are unreal, you know that? Did you ever feel even an ounce of regret? Do you even comprehend how much bullshit and suffering your little group of madmen were responsible for? Countless lives could have been saved, so much suffering prevented if you had cooperated with the rest of us and did not pull that abhorrent stunt on Thessia. The Crucible would have been finished faster, Thessia possibly wouldn’t have fallen at all.” The man grew increasingly louder and more agitated as he spoke, standing up from the sofa.
Asari, Leng couldn’t help but scoff. Unfairly given the advantage of naturally powerful biotics, a ridiculously long lifespan, and special attention from the Protheans themselves, and what did they truly accomplish with all those gifts? Humanity joined the galactic community at a disadvantage, and yet Cerberus became a terror everyone feared, a force to be reckoned with. All because of the Illusive Man’s genius, and the dedicated work and sacrifice of so many of Cerberus’ best operatives. All humans.
“Thessia this, Thessia that. Maybe if those space strippers had spent more time training and less time dancing, they would have fought better. For fuck’s sake, it was them who hid the Prothean beacon. The aliens cared only for themselves, just like we always said they would!” Leng couldn’t help but fire back, instinctively defensive.
In a few simple strides, Shepard crossed the space between them, effectively towering over Leng, who scrambled to rise as well.
“Asari are people, just like anyone else. They can be selfish, and selfless, brave, and cowardly, and anything between, any spectrum of personality traits you can think of. Liara was one of the most instrumental players in orchestrating the Reaper’s defeat. She did everything in her power to find my body and kickstart the process that brought me back. The Salarian government also acted like a bunch of jackasses, but would I write off an entire species because of that? When I met brave men like Kirrahe or Mordin?”
Ah. T’Soni. Of course she would get brought up. Shepard’s greatest cheerleader. The way that blue bitch obsessed over the commander was downright pathetic. “Did you fuck her too? Is that why you defend them so much? I mean, she was effectively throwing herself at you at every opportunity, so I have wondered,” he hissed, completely ignoring the part spoken about the salarians.
Shepard slapped him so hard he swore he could almost see stars. Stinging pain followed, and yeah, that was definitely going to leave a bruise. And then all he could focus on was the other man’s proximity, as the blond was now all in Leng’s space, nostrils flared.
He was quite certain the commander went on another spiel about something, but it was difficult to understand the words through the absolutely deafening sound of his own beating heart, and the ringing in his ears. Leng could feel the other man’s hot breath, so enticingly close, and his sneering lips were awfully distracting. The room was becoming uncomfortably warm. The now increasingly familiar signs of his own arousal made him panic. The situation had to be deescalated, before Shepard noticed. He couldn’t think clearly with the commander right in his face.
Leng closed his eyes, carefully exhaling through his nose. “You are right. I …” and he almost choked on the next words, fighting to say them out loud, “I apologize.” He had trouble searching for what to say next. At least Shepard stopped talking, and moved a fraction of a step away, the heat of his body no longer as overwhelming.
Cautiously, Leng’s eyes fluttered open, and his attention was quickly stolen by Shepard’s face. Seriously, how could a wall of muscle look this pretty? The man’s eyelashes were too long for a man, his dark blue eyes endless pools. Leng hadn’t really considered kissing an activity he would find himself interested in, but now of all times, he wondered what it would feel like, pressing his lips against the commander’s. “I overstepped. May I leave? To my room I mean,” he said at last, throat dry.
Shepard gave him a single nod, after a brief moment of deliberation. When the brunette managed to walk a few steps from the commander, the other man addressed his retreating form, tone thoughtful: “You are stranger than I expected, I must say.”
Not deigning to reply, Leng hurried up his pace, and fled to his bedroom.
The door had barely closed behind him, before he leaned against the hard, wooden surface. It felt smooth under his forearm. Leng pushed his head against the crease of his own elbow, face hiding in despair, ashamed of what he was about to do.
Haltingly, at war with himself, he pressed his right hand against the now obvious bulge between his legs. A sharp hiss escaped his mouth. Eyes tightly shut, he grasped his cock more firmly, thumb moving along its length. He repeated the motion, once, twice. Leng then slid the entirety of his palm across the sensitive, clothed flesh.
Pressing his cheek more firmly against his own arm, the pain from the slap flared up again. Panting, the brunette clumsily shoved his pants and underwear down with one hand and finally grabbed his leaking cock directly. Not having much experience with teasing himself, he simply began pumping his hand up and down in rapid strokes. As his hand was too dry, he at least smeared some of the precum leaking from the tip down his shaft, easing the process.
Lost in the feeling, he imagined a different, more muscular hand touching him, in place of his own. Shepard was huge now, all that strength, all those muscles on display; he would easily be able to crush Leng against the door, not leaving any space between the two of them. The former assassin wondered what it would feel like, to be surrounded by all that power, by the bigger man’s smell and warmth.
Soft, cut-off moans began to escape him, the sound of his rhythmically sliding hand filling the room. Shepard seemed much more aggressive and forceful than during the Reaper War; did that also show in the bedroom? Would the commander fuck him roughly? Leng did not have any experience being with a man, let alone with bottoming, but his body did seem to enjoy the vague images and half-formed ideas his mind supplied him with.
Maybe Shepard would prefer him quiet, one of those large hands covering his panting mouth. A concerning thought flashed through his mind – could Shepard see him right now? Did he know what he was up to, how he was touching himself? Was he watching? Leng whined, then bit the meat of his arm to keep quiet. Under normal circumstances he would probably be horrified, but at the moment it only felt good, better than anything.
The commander did drag him here only to fight him, to defeat him over and over. Would he enjoy seeing Leng on his knees, dominated in a different way? Of course, the brunette wouldn’t make it easy for Shepard, he would bite and scratch right back, but he knew the other man could take it. He envisioned himself between the man’s thick thighs. Oh, how he wanted to touch them, squeeze them, lick them. Could he possibly get the blond excited as well? With how perfect Shepard was, his dick was probably a work of art too.
He focused more on the fantasy, imagining getting his mouth on the man’s shaft. The taste and smell. Doubtlessly divine. Leng squeezed the head of his own cock harder, thumb sliding over the slit, and with a muffled groan, he came. Thick streams of semen flowed down his right hand, while some of it spilled on the door. Rasping, he tried catching his breath. A short, hysterical burst of laughter escaped him. On wobbly legs, the brunette then went to the bathroom, in search of something to wipe himself and the door with.