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Shepard’s losing her mind.
She’s had too much wine, for starters. Damn political events. Then she’d barely gotten through the door to Ash's Council-sponsored hotel room before Ash had pounced, shoving her down on the bed, roaming hands intent on exploring every inch of her torso, teeth and tongue teasing at the hollow of her neck. Shepard writhes, aching, fire burning under every inch of her skin. She tosses her head back in ecstasy, turns it to the side to give Ash better access—
Then her eyes open, and she freezes.
The wall facing the side of the bed is a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Which is…fine, if a questionable choice in hotel room décor, except that right now Shepard could see herself in in it and she does not want to.
It's not that Shepard doesn’t like the way she looks, really, just that she wasn't particularly enthused to see her reflection now—not during sex, not when Ash is here to make her feel greater than she ever has. Every time she looks in the mirror, her scars stare back at her, angry and accusatory in their hellish glow. A reminder of the ill-fated decisions she’s made. Of the fact she’d been “woken up” too early.
Of the fact she’s not supposed to be alive at all.
Shepard shifts her body away, then turns her head, facing up to look at Ashley. Who is frowning down at her, having pulled back when Shepard tensed. Her expression is soft, concerned. "Skipper? Is everything okay?"
"Yes," says Shepard, reassuring. "You're not doing anything wrong, don't worry. The mirror just startled me."
"Startled you?" Ash arches a brow, glancing between Shepard and the mirror and back again. Something strange flits across her face, and she narrows her eyes, a hawk's gaze abruptly fixed on Shepard.
Every thought Shepard's ever had falls out of her head immediately. When Ash gets like this, it’s…
She shivers, the movement involuntary, and when Ash smirks she swallows. Hard.
Ash tilts her head. When she speaks, her voice is deceptively light. "I think the mirror could be fun."
"What?" Those dark eyes are still on her, searching her face, roving down to trace her throat to her chest. She can't think. Shepard stares uncomprehendingly.
A predatory smirk makes its way onto Ash’s lips. "I said," she drawls slowly, and brings a finger up to drag down the side of Shepard’s throat, making her shiver, "The mirror could be fun."
"I—" Good God, she should not have agreed to stay the night with Ash in a mood like this, she's going to be so distracted in the morning. "Explain?"
Ash's smirk grows. "Soon," she hums, and leans down, and captures Shepard in a kiss.
It's hot, and wet, and sloppy, and Shepard knows Ashley's doing that on purpose, letting her lipstick smear across Shepard’s face, marking Shepard as her own. And then she moves, trails her lips down Shepard's throat, and bites hard enough to leave a mark.
Shepard cries out—maybe a little louder than she should have, shit—and then Ash's hand comes up from its grip on her waist to tease open the buttons on her blouse, unclasp the bra from behind her back, all the while kissing bruises dark and delicious beneath Shepard's jaw.
"Ash, Dios, Ash," Shepard pants, grasping helplessly at Ashley's arms, her shoulders, her back. Ash teases sharp teeth against the soft skin at the crook of her neck, and Shepard shudders at the sensation.
The hand that undid her blouse has moved to the buttons of Ash's own, and Shepard whines when she pulls back to shrug off her shirt, then her bra, and toss both haphazardly to the side of the bed. "Ash," she groans, whining, pleading, begging like she knows Ash wants.
Those dark eyes meet Shepard's again, and she shivers when Ash grins, Cheshire and sly. "Sit up," she says, and Shepard does, takes a moment to catch her breath, eyes tracking her across the room as Ash sheds the last of her clothes, then pads over to her seabag and pulls something out.
It's a little red bag, one Shepard knows conceals a toy of the same shade within. She huffs a quiet laugh when Ash pulls an all-too-familiar harness and a small plastic bottle from the bag immediately after. "You brought those?"
"You know I like to be prepared," Ashley purrs in reply. (Which isn’t quite true, actually, but Shepard will let it slide for tonight.) Her tone is smug, and Ash sways in her step as she moves back toward the bed, eyeing Shepard with hunger in her gaze, a cobra in the sand preparing to strike.
She's beautiful, bare and completely unaffected by it, confident and purposeful in her step. She moves with a surety Shepard can't help but admire, lithe and lean, fully comfortable in her own skin. Shepard watches, pinned, as Ash crawls back onto the bed, glides across the sheet until she's face-to-face with Shepard.
That fucking grin is still there. "Relax."
"What?"
Shepard yelps as Ash yanks her sideways and down—fuck, that’s Shepard’s move—directly perpendicular to the side of the bed, her head hitting the mattress and bouncing with a soft thud. She can see the mirror again, from the corner of her eye, and she moves to shift away—
"No, stay," Ashley says, and a hand comes up to cup Shepard's jaw, her touch feather-light over the scars, to turn her face gently toward the mirror. She makes eye contact through their reflection. "I want—I want you to watch."
It's not phrased as one, but Shepard hears the question in her words. Is this okay?
Shepard has never exactly been one to be enamored with herself during sex, much preferring to observe her partner, but…
But if there's anyone she trusts enough to try something new with, it's Ashley Williams.
Her eyes flicker away to look at her own reflection, then back to meet Ash's, and Shepard nods. Ashley's grin softens just a bit, enough to let genuine happiness peek through, and Shepard thinks, I want to see that smile forever.
Then Ashley leans back, and her hands trail down, and suddenly Shepard doesn't have room for thoughts anymore.
"Estoy perdiendo la cabeza, Ash, Dios," Shepard babbles, nails scrabbling back against the headboard as Ashley fucks into her, slow and steady and relentless. She's been riding the edge for minutes now, Ash building her up, fire boiling in her blood. Her head tips back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut.
Fingers caress her cheek, press into her jaw. "Look, Skipper," Ash murmurs, and Shepard does, and just like it did two minutes ago, the sight in the mirror takes her breath away.
"Good girl," Ash murmurs, still moving, still watching Shepard with that same consuming focus. She hums, tweaks a nipple between her fingers, and Shepard gasps. Ashley groans. "The sounds you make…"
God, the sight of Ash over her, trapping her against the bed, the wall, and when her eyes meet Shepard’s in their reflection just as she punctuates with a particularly sharp thrust—
Shepard sees stars.
"I love you," Ash whispers behind her, soft skin pressed flush to Shepard's back. Her breath tickles the hair on the back of her neck, and she suppresses a shiver.
"I love you, too," Shepard whispers back, and pulls the covers tighter around them both.