Mass Effect - Proxy Love

She could drum up any number of reasons why and why not to. Hell, she'd drummed up most of them by the time their date actually rolled around. Ask her which one won with a gun to her head, she'd probably go with the reasons for. After all, her reply had been short, curt almost.

"My place is as good as anywhere."

Then a few messages of back and forth, dates and specifics, then the gulf of silence. No further words, no awkward "looking forward to our date" messages like a pair of blushing virgins about it. Transaction processed, awaiting results.

God, she could be cold about it sometimes. Maybe that's why Roger's approach appealed to her. Simple, honest lechery. No justifications to let herself have fun.

***

It was a simple thing to lie, especially to a stranger. Any lie, no matter how good the liar or believable the fiction, could be made to fold under enough scrutiny. But the brain simply cannot justify putting every fact placed in front of it on a daily basis under that scrutiny. The first pieces of information to be sacrificed are the presumed true, then the wholly mundane. The easiest lies to make always existed as a transaction between two strangers. Both being presumed true, as the listener has no reason to believe the individual speaking is going to lie to them, and being wholly mundane in a relative sense. Scrutiny toward strangers always existed in retrospect, when reality came into conflict with the fiction. For those you knew, scrutiny focused when fiction was introduced against reality.

Ergo, the transaction was that you created evidence before you lied to somebody you knew, and after you lied to a stranger.

Of course, this was only true until it wasn't.

Rules are easy, exceptions are hard, worship of rules and ignorance of exceptions kills. You get away with drinking on the job a hundred times and lose the carefulness, you get busted on a hundred and one. You have a hundred clean days running a criminal enterprise and don't carry your personal sidearm one of them, that's the day the Spectre kicks down your door. Tell a hundred lies, get called on the one you don't have evidence for. After a while, you learn to always court the exceptions.

She'd taken six cases, he'd prepared twenty seven. In all, he was losing a lot of money on this. But he'd also stacked the board in his favor.

For his own curiosity, he'd taken into account how much each case would pay out. Leaving out civil forfeiture, he couldn't reasonably predict her cut on that. Out of every combination of six cases she could have taken, she'd have wound up in the top ninety-fifth percentile assuming average salary for her rank. Of course, it was imprecise, but if it was even half-correct he was impressed with her eye for a paying casefile. If any of his talk about business was true, he would have been smart to hire her.

When he arrived at her place, his suit was impressive and the name attached to it was worth a lot. That was as much as he knew. One of the more important things you could do with your money was learn to put it in the hands of people who actually knew what they were doing with it. Most people had a pedestrian knowledge of most things. He wasn't a suit guy, he wasn't a watch guy. He had no interest in being one. But he knew people who were and he could ask them what to wear. On the off chance that she was a suit or a watch person, it would make an impression. If not, he would still be wearing a nice-looking suit and watch.

Her name mixed with her continued work had gotten her a nice place on one of the arms of the CItadel, far enough out from the wards and into the ecological zones that the human-dominated neighborhoods could get away with lawns and picket fences. If you could put up with staring out into a glossy pink nebula instead of the sun, it was like a perverse sort of Earth cosplay. The air was an acidic brand of clean. Like an atmosphere made of air from natural, green trees and flowers made of cheap air freshener. It wasn't about being an Earth substitute, it was about evoking the idea of Earth. Most of the people here spent as much time back there as they did on the Citadel, most of them probably owned their own homes in both places as well. Summer or Winter as you liked on the overcrowded blue rock, the rest of the time in the mild, forever dry spring of artificial environments.

He knocked and heard a sudden shuffling and muttering inside. After a moment, she called out to him with mild frustration instead of opening the door.

"It's open!"

He let himself into a small transitional area. Most of the homes were based on a prefab design, even nicer ones like these. They all had a Japanese-style entryway for people to remove their shoes, which ended in a strange pueblo revival sheet rock overhang above dark wooden floors. As a building, it was trying to call to mind five or six different styles at the same time. In theory, using the best of every style to make a perfect fusion of ideas. The newer shapes were mostly open and glass, futuristic as conceptualized by people already living in the future. This was retro on purpose, probably appealing to the same people who maintained picket fences. There were no shoes in the entryway, so he didn't remove his own.

Ashley was in the kitchen, caught in a moment halfway between trying to look busy and setting a hand on her hip and looking at him as he came in. Her dark hair was back, but loose from her usual ponytail. It ran to meet the spaghetti straps of a black dress which hugged almost skintight to her olive skin. It might not have even been hers, the muscles of her shoulders and back seemed a little squeezed, and when she stepped forward to shake his hand it ended about mid-thigh. Sexy according to somebody who didn't put a lot of thought into what sexy was. A neighborhood of costumes. Her smile at least was genuine, downright warm. For a bright moment, they were both breaking a newly formed sheet of ice. Both of them incredibly overdressed, both of them with an idea of what they were here for but not willing to say it outright.

"Hey."

He blinked, it was almost an anticlimax.

"Hey," He responded.

She was wearing slight heels. Minor spikes meant to give her a bit of height and tighten up her leg and backside without being a horrible pain. She hadn't even bothered back at the social event, so this was the more special occasion.

"I've got dinner in the oven, or rather just out of it." She turned and started back toward the kitchen. "It'll make good leftovers if we leave any."

Her tone was somewhere between formal and casual.

"Let's start with a drink," He shrugged out of his suit coat, she kept her home pretty warm, "We can eat in a bit if we're both hungry."

"Sounds good to me," She shrugged back. Nothing statements, back and forth, easing into it.

"Nice place you have," He sat down on her couch. The room had been hastily and incompletely cleaned. Not that she was a slob, she just probably didn't spend much time here doing anything but sleeping. Judging by the small island cleared for some of the furniture, it was new.

"Is it?" She responded somewhat jokingly, "The temperature control only goes up to the seventies, so it gets a little cold. I don't spend all that much time here when I can avoid it."

"I had you figured for a warm-climate girl."

"American southwest," She grabbed two handfuls of ice and set them in a pair of glasses. "At least for the most part, military family and all. I dodged the nomad kid syndrome by picking a state to call home and sticking with it even when we moved. And I dodged the accent out of contempt for Texans."

"Family there now?"

"Yeah, Albuquerque. I try to visit when I can, but more and more it's just my mom these days. You ever been?"

"Once, it was... not to my tastes."

She had finished filling both glasses halfway with amber-colored liquor and brought them out. She handed him one and kept the other, sitting close enough on the couch to be less than formal.

"You can call it a shithole, most of us do. My mom loves it, but she also thinks she'll still have a pound of dust in her lungs when they bury her. Good side was that it mostly dodged any Reaper damage."

She was decently loose, a light color under her eyes. Good chance this wasn't her first drink tonight.

"You've got a nice couch," He changed the subject, "Osborne, isn't it?"

"Oh? Are you a couch guy or something?" She teased, her arm thrown back around his shoulders.

"Not really, just seen it around before." He shrugged, "Was thinking of getting one myself."

"Well," She gestured broadly and sipped her drink, "As of a few days ago, my paychecks started getting a little harder to spend. Ever since I started making sure to take all of your cases, I've been replacing a few things."

"Good problem to have."

"Right," She took her arm from around his shoulders and set it on his thigh, "Sure seems from where I'm sitting like that's less a run of crazy luck and more like you've got me eating out of the palm of your hand."

He took a quick drink, "You're still the one doing the heavy lifting, only fair you make the profit from it."

Her hand crept up his thigh toward his crotch, "No reason it can't benefit us both."

He took a breath, "I'm starting to think you didn't invite me here to hear about my new case."

She finally got up enough to settle into his lap, setting her hands to either side of his head and running them up through her hair. For a silent moment, both of them sat staring each other down with quick, nervous breaths.

"I'm starting to think you didn't come here to tell me about it." She huffed back.

She leaned in and kissed him. He set his hands on her hips but let her stay in control. Her legs dug into the couch on either side of him, her longer frame seeming to wrap around him and press him into the cushions. Her breath was hot and wet against his lips and in his mouth, a slight tinge of alcohol and cinnamon. The palms of her hands were soft even if her grip was almost roughly firm. For a single moment, a cold chill shot through him. He was intensely aware of the fact that he was letting a woman far stronger and more dangerous than him have her way.

A moment later, she ground her hips down against his own. He could feel the wetness between her legs even through her dress. She caught an uneven breath and stifled a noise from deep in her chest, biting his lip to try to hide it. On some level, beneath the wanting things her way and the posturing of control, she was still a human being. Still a woman. After the initial heat and the wave of planned actions, things boiled down. Even Ashley Williams wore dresses, wanted a guy to be a little rough sometimes.

Not how things were going for a while at first, he'd prepared for that, expected it a good amount. Her dress stayed on as she unbuttoned his shirt, got under the collar and half-pulled his face up against hers. Her grip on either side of his undershirt. She pushed him back into the couch with some force and finished opening his shirt. His suit pants were going to be a problem, he didn't exactly want to wash cum or pre-cum out of them. His cock strained in his boxers and threatened to slide out through his fly and press against the inside of his zipper. She was grinding on him softly as if encouraging it. It wasn't much, but paired with the sheer overwhelming presence of her, unable to escape her smell or her touch, it was almost like being preyed on. It made him think of Shepard, that made the straining worse.

Her hands gave up trying to find a way to get his undershirt off without both of them standing up, there were going to be a couple of articles of clothing that needed them to break with the intensity of the moment. To get to the cold fucking as fucking was pictured. That was a less valuable moment even if it was a pleasing one. They both seemed to like the slightly uncomfortable, rough and tumble throwing themselves at each other. It was almost a challenge to see who blinked first. Who was the first person to throw up the flag and say that they needed to get something off or take their birth control or something. Instead of that, she pushed it forward, reaching down and finding much more luck simply undoing his zipper and sliding his cock out between them. And then, to his surprise, she got off of him without really breaking away, dropping down between his knees onto a cushion that she'd happened to misplace down there earlier. She looked up at him as she wrapped one of her hands almost too-firmly around his cock and pressed her lips against it, flicking her tongue against the bottom of his head.

"I... wasn't expecting you to be the first one to go down," He grumbled at her.

She tapped his head against her lips a few times before resting it against her chin as if it were her fingers and she was striking some thoughtful pose.

"Call it a sixty-eight, chief. I expect you to pay me back when we're not on a nice new couch."

He didn't get a response out before she pushed her hair back and pressed his head into her mouth and against the straining back limits of her gag reflex. He reached down and grabbed the handful of hair she'd made and she let go of it to put her free hand between her own legs instead. She didn't ease into it, holding her mouth open wide and pushing at her throat with his cock as if to wake herself up. When she started to get more serious resistance, she closed her lips around him and started to slide her head up and down. She wasn't an expert, she didn't need to be. She had enthusiasm and the right situation. As her tongue fluttered against him, he felt himself starting to get close faster than he might have liked. He warned her, and she surprised him again when she sped up.

His hand pushed her down on his cock, as much as she let him at least. She gave him some illusion of control without really letting him hurt her. Her lips were almost pinching-tight and she was sucking on his cock like she was trying to pull on a straw, coaxing him over the edge he was teetering on. None of this was how he'd pictured it, he embraced changing his plans.

Climax was a sudden flash and a long downward ride, a whole set of circumstances conspired to make him burst as quickly and as clumsily as possible. It was no grand thing built to over multiple positions and multiple buildups and backdowns like it had been with Liara. Maybe the first mistake was expecting it to be similar. His cock suddenly started flexing and pumping into her mouth, Ashley doing her best to sputter and choke her way into swallowing it. His hips waving up at her, almost arching his back. He could feel his balls being slightly restricted in his wadding boxers and tight pants and still squeezing and clenching with sudden relief. He hadn't realized how much he'd been anticipating this moment, even without the buildup it felt like a massive relief.

Ashley waited until he was done and then slid him out of her mouth. She reached over to the table where she had set her drink and swirled it around her mouth before swallowing. Nobody actually liked the taste of cum. Lots of people faked it, but nobody actually did. He didn't take it personally.

"I really wasn't expecting that," He finally grumbled, finishing his own drink.

"Sorry chief, I realized I was out of birth control too late to do shit about it. Hope you like a whole lot of foreplay."

"You wouldn't just get rid of it if somebody knocked you up? You don't seem like the settling down type."

"Williams family isn't the getting rid of it type more than we're not the settling down type."

He paused for a minute, uncertain how believable the lie was going to be. No way to know until you tried it out.

"Not an issue anyway, I've been tied where it counts since before anybody knew what a reaper was."

She leaned forward suddenly. She looked skeptical, but she was also flushed. If she wanted to believe it, she would believe it, but there was also a cynical self-protecting side she needed to hear out first.

"And I'm just supposed to take you on your word about that? Kinda seems like a situation where you have every reason to lie and wouldn't have to face the consequences."

"Suppose it's a question of how much you want to believe me. I can give you the emotional argument or the logical one."

She got up and sat on the table across from him, legs just open enough to give him a slight peak of her pussy.

"One then the other, your choice on order."

"Well, if you're going to keep a hypothetical pregnancy, seems like I would by risking the only Alliance operative doing my case files, which means I'm not making money on them the same as you aren't."

"That must be the emotional one," She joked, "You sure know how to weave romance into your words."

"The other argument would be that you've trusted me enough to follow my intel into danger a few times-"

Her legs drew a little more closed.

"Your nut wasn't on the line then, chief."

"But if you say no, I'm not going to pressure you. I'm just happy to be here, Williams."

She frowned, that was clearly a lot more earnest than she had expected.

"First of all, it's Ashley." She started, her face twisting, "Second of all... aw fuck it."

She got up, he started to rise but she pushed him back to the couch and went back to straddling him. The fertility drugs he had doubled up on before arriving had kept him mostly hard even as they talked. As he felt her dress lift enough to rub the stubbled skin of her pussy against him, he felt himself harden again. His balls were churning, insistent there was more in there that he needed to get out. He was starting to push up against the point where he'd really start to feel it. Probably a good thing that he'd talked her down before he started outright begging her to fuck him.

She lifted her hips and settled down on his head before she'd even taken her dress off. As she rocked her hips and the wet heat of her pussy spread around him and clung to the tip of his cock she grabbed the hem of the too-tight dress and lifted it up over her head gracelessly. She was taut, lean, and well-muscled. All that and still distinctly womanly. Her hips were still wider than her shoulders, her breasts still were more than his hands could fully close around, she still did all she could to get rid of the hair that she didn't think would be good to see. Her broad, toned thighs flexed as she raised and lowered herself, popping her ass out each time and arching her stomach down toward him as she eased him inside of her. He grabbed her breasts, her hips, her ass, he couldn't decide. Suddenly he felt spoiled for choice. He wanted to thrust up into her or roll her underneath him and pound her, just start chasing the next high like a pair of drugged-up first-timers. He remained composed, she remained on top. And once she felt comfortable with him, she started to raise and lower faster, alternating it with grinding her hips toward him and away from him.

She looked down at him with a surprising intensity, pressing her lips against his again. As his hands rose to cup her face she locked fingers with him and pushed them back, almost behind him, holding his shoulders locked to either side. The intense tightness of her around him was starting to muddle with an intense wetness. With each roll or pump of her hips a wet grinding sound rang out like her sex was trying to pull him in. With each movement it felt more and more like he was trying to push up against more resistance but everything just grew sloppier and more slick in response. The building intensity was not helping his composure. Ashley kept trying to suck shuddering breaths around his lips and kept failing. Eventually she broke off contact and pressed her forehead against his, slick with sweat. She settled into place, him buried to the hilt still inside of her and twitching as he felt his dangerously close edge abating.