Saryylyss
'Neath the coldest ashes dwells the warmest embers
TW: Stalker behavior, mild language, nudity, (NO DETAILS! Just literally just the word "nude") violence towards women from a masculine figure (they are enemies on a battlefield)
Mass Effect: Obsession
The darkness settled around Saren like a familiar, weighted blanket. The turian lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as though searching for the answers to some great mystery. Sleep was not his companion, though the gentle thrum of Sovreign's inner workings lulled him into a peaceful, almost meditative state. His body, nude as he lay there, was swathed in medi-gel packs, and he winced when he moved. "Damn you," he growled to no one in particular. "Damn you to your own personal Hell."
He let an arm fall over his eyes as he struggled to catch even the smallest bit of sleep, his aching body protesting against even the smallest movement. Saren had been in fights before, had won and lost many a bout, but it had been ages since he had been knocked so thoroughly on his back. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through needle sharp teeth, feeling a drowsiness take hold. He reached for it, embraced it, settling into the fog. His mind drifted, working back to the source of his pain... That woman. That damn human woman who thought she possessed the strength the challenge the gods.
He had despised her from the first moment he had seen her in the Council room that day. Her reputation had preceded her, Saren was well aware of who she was, and he cursed inwardly that she had been the one chosen by the alliance for that mission. She had followed the breadcrumbs and the path led her straight to him. Shepard had zeroed in on him and from the set of her jaw when her image came up on his screen, he knew she would worry him to the bone. The turian knew the political language, knew what to say, how to say it, and the Council was against her. He could see it in the squaring of her shoulders, the arch of her neck as she bristled under their dismissal.
Saren had the backing of the Council, a certain victory he hadn't doubted, but afterwards he had set to work trying to scrub the last remaining traces of his involvement in this situation...just to make sure. He had been careless, sloppy, and the wrong person had gotten wind of his presence. But he was a Spectre, untouchable to her, and above reproach from anyone else. He was a male who got results. He'd been damn good at his job, and success came at acceptable costs, according to those who held his leash. They had never needed to worry about whether or not the job would he done when he was in the case, it was simply a matter of time.
Yet, he had not counted on one thing, her willingness to trust and work with those of other species. That quarian had somehow gotten a compromising voice recording of him and Shepard had taken it straight to the Council. Of course they turned on him in an instant....needing to keep their squeaky clean, by-the-books facade firmly in place. He'd been expecting that, but then decided to add salt to the wound by elevating HER to his status AND sending her after him!
The Council might have cast him from the light, but she still had to fight for every scrap of respect they would give her. He'd seen the vids. Seen the way her eyes filled with blazing fire that turned her pale gray orbs a molten silver. Those eyes... He'd never seen anything like them.... They burned him when he gazed too long...
With a growling groan, he flung himself from the bed, ignoring the protesting injuries he'd sustained. Pacing the dark room, he clenched his taloned hands, trying to keep them from shaking. Why? Why did his thoughts always come back to her?!
----
From her own private room aboard the Normandy, Shepard sat bolt upright, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. She was breathing hard but could not remember what had disturbed her. A cold shiver ran down her spine, making her teeth chatter as she pulled a shirt over her head and slipped on some sweatpants before heading out to the navigation room. The warm, yellow orange glow of the holographic galaxian map was soothing, though she still rubbed her arms, trying to make the goosebumps go away.
"Trouble sleeping, Commander?" Came the dual tone voice of Garrus, nearby. Shepard jumped, but then relaxed and offered a small smile.
"Just a little. Weird feelings...impending senses of doom."
"Just bad dreams?" He queried.
Shep shook her head. "More than that. We have a human saying that when a shiver runs down your spine, it means someone is walking over what will be your grave."
Garrus tilted his head in a quizzical manner. "That is odd and a little morbid. But what does that have to do with anything?"
Shepard glanced at him over her shoulder, her face set with faint lines of worry. "I haven't been able to stop my teeth from chattering...."
-----
Saren had eventually ceased his pacing, wandering to the desk and pressing a button on a data screen. The window behind him flickered as a life sized image in full color was rendered, Commander Shepard standing before him in all her battle glory. Taken from the optic feed on one of the geth soldiers she had fought in Virmire, it was one of the clearest images he'd gotten of her. So detailed, so perfect, even down to the faint scars on her skin. He stood before her image, towering over it, leaning forward to loom over the still-frame, resting his forearm against the glass as he let his gaze travel over her armored body, the light from the image making strange colorations on his steel-gray skin, still void of covering.
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on his arm, letting his mind drift back to that moment not long ago. His first time encountering her face to face. He was struck by how diminutive her frame had been compared to his. Shepard had seemed so much larger in the other images he'd gotten from Citadel. He had lengthened his stride, trying to escape her notice, but she had somehow snuck up on him, as swift, silent, and damnably relentless as he'd feared.
That was not to say he was disappointed. Quite the contrary. As much as he was surprised she had been smaller than he had thought, she stirred a fire in him. A fire fueled by hatred and a lust to feel her bones snap under his power, but it was more powerful an emotion than he'd felt in ages. She commanded his respect and...surprisingly...he gave it. Her words were noble, she was a paragon of their position, something others aspired to be. She forgave and offered amnesty and leniency to those he would have simply ended. And when she had spoken to him, despite all that he had done, she still extended her hand, offered him the option of peace, and even a place at her side fighting a common enemy.
The side of his fist slammed hard into the window right by her image's head. How dare she? He was superior to her in every way...so the why did it sting so much to be thought of as renegade of their ilk? Having gone too far outside the law... Why did he feel...why did she make him feel so ashamed? He adjusted the image, moving it so that he face was level with his, his own frame reflected in her eyes. Those silvery eyes that shone clear and mirror-like.
"You saw me that day..." He hissed softly, a talon reaching out to touch her cheek, the tip of the claw clinking on the window, tracing the line of the scar there. And it was true. She had seen right through him, past his armor and shields, and....gods, he had felt naked under her gaze. Vulnerable...weak.
He'd had her by the throat then, his rage flaring as he lifted her from the ground. He could hear the soft, desperate gasps as he closed his grip around her neck, feeling the vertebrae in her neck creak and shift as he squeezed. A simple motion and it could be done, he needed only to flex the muscles in his arm. But he had wanted to see it first, there, in her eyes. He wanted that gaze to shift to fear and desperation. He wanted her to beg.
And yet...
Despite his dark desire, she had defied him. Her feeble fingers clawed at his grip, slipping over his armor, trying to find purchase, and came up wanting. But her gaze held strong, refusing to back down, even in the face of eminent demise, she challenged him and he... He hesitated. Why? Had it truly been the bomb? Or had it been the fact that if he had flexed, had finished what he had started, he would never again see those eyes? He would never be held mesmerized by that molten silver gaze that so much resembled his own metallic gray orbs? That they would be closed to him forever and he would lose...what? Lose what? His reflection? The other side of his coin? His tongue flicked over the dull tip of a needle-like tooth she'd broken when her fist connected with his face. Hos jaw still ached, and if she hadn't broken her hand at the blow, he'd have been surprised.
He drew closer still to her image, his body nearly against hers. Gods how he craved his darkest fantasy... How he so deeply desired to feel those fingers against his body, desperately clawing at his thickened hide, trying to cling to life as he was determined to wrench it from her. How he wanted to touch the soft, warm skin beneath her armor, grip her body and press his claws harder until he would feel the skin part, bursting like the flesh of an overripe fruit. He would drink deep of the viscous juice that flowed from that flesh of that fruit.
"I have touched you, Shepard," he purred. "And you feel me even now." He pressed his forehead to the image, his claws gouging deep furrows in the glass over the image of her face and neck, as though trying to crush it. "I am inside you...and you burn because of it. You will come to me again, and when you do, I will consume you..."
Mass Effect: Obsession
The darkness settled around Saren like a familiar, weighted blanket. The turian lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as though searching for the answers to some great mystery. Sleep was not his companion, though the gentle thrum of Sovreign's inner workings lulled him into a peaceful, almost meditative state. His body, nude as he lay there, was swathed in medi-gel packs, and he winced when he moved. "Damn you," he growled to no one in particular. "Damn you to your own personal Hell."
He let an arm fall over his eyes as he struggled to catch even the smallest bit of sleep, his aching body protesting against even the smallest movement. Saren had been in fights before, had won and lost many a bout, but it had been ages since he had been knocked so thoroughly on his back. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through needle sharp teeth, feeling a drowsiness take hold. He reached for it, embraced it, settling into the fog. His mind drifted, working back to the source of his pain... That woman. That damn human woman who thought she possessed the strength the challenge the gods.
He had despised her from the first moment he had seen her in the Council room that day. Her reputation had preceded her, Saren was well aware of who she was, and he cursed inwardly that she had been the one chosen by the alliance for that mission. She had followed the breadcrumbs and the path led her straight to him. Shepard had zeroed in on him and from the set of her jaw when her image came up on his screen, he knew she would worry him to the bone. The turian knew the political language, knew what to say, how to say it, and the Council was against her. He could see it in the squaring of her shoulders, the arch of her neck as she bristled under their dismissal.
Saren had the backing of the Council, a certain victory he hadn't doubted, but afterwards he had set to work trying to scrub the last remaining traces of his involvement in this situation...just to make sure. He had been careless, sloppy, and the wrong person had gotten wind of his presence. But he was a Spectre, untouchable to her, and above reproach from anyone else. He was a male who got results. He'd been damn good at his job, and success came at acceptable costs, according to those who held his leash. They had never needed to worry about whether or not the job would he done when he was in the case, it was simply a matter of time.
Yet, he had not counted on one thing, her willingness to trust and work with those of other species. That quarian had somehow gotten a compromising voice recording of him and Shepard had taken it straight to the Council. Of course they turned on him in an instant....needing to keep their squeaky clean, by-the-books facade firmly in place. He'd been expecting that, but then decided to add salt to the wound by elevating HER to his status AND sending her after him!
The Council might have cast him from the light, but she still had to fight for every scrap of respect they would give her. He'd seen the vids. Seen the way her eyes filled with blazing fire that turned her pale gray orbs a molten silver. Those eyes... He'd never seen anything like them.... They burned him when he gazed too long...
With a growling groan, he flung himself from the bed, ignoring the protesting injuries he'd sustained. Pacing the dark room, he clenched his taloned hands, trying to keep them from shaking. Why? Why did his thoughts always come back to her?!
----
From her own private room aboard the Normandy, Shepard sat bolt upright, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. She was breathing hard but could not remember what had disturbed her. A cold shiver ran down her spine, making her teeth chatter as she pulled a shirt over her head and slipped on some sweatpants before heading out to the navigation room. The warm, yellow orange glow of the holographic galaxian map was soothing, though she still rubbed her arms, trying to make the goosebumps go away.
"Trouble sleeping, Commander?" Came the dual tone voice of Garrus, nearby. Shepard jumped, but then relaxed and offered a small smile.
"Just a little. Weird feelings...impending senses of doom."
"Just bad dreams?" He queried.
Shep shook her head. "More than that. We have a human saying that when a shiver runs down your spine, it means someone is walking over what will be your grave."
Garrus tilted his head in a quizzical manner. "That is odd and a little morbid. But what does that have to do with anything?"
Shepard glanced at him over her shoulder, her face set with faint lines of worry. "I haven't been able to stop my teeth from chattering...."
-----
Saren had eventually ceased his pacing, wandering to the desk and pressing a button on a data screen. The window behind him flickered as a life sized image in full color was rendered, Commander Shepard standing before him in all her battle glory. Taken from the optic feed on one of the geth soldiers she had fought in Virmire, it was one of the clearest images he'd gotten of her. So detailed, so perfect, even down to the faint scars on her skin. He stood before her image, towering over it, leaning forward to loom over the still-frame, resting his forearm against the glass as he let his gaze travel over her armored body, the light from the image making strange colorations on his steel-gray skin, still void of covering.
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on his arm, letting his mind drift back to that moment not long ago. His first time encountering her face to face. He was struck by how diminutive her frame had been compared to his. Shepard had seemed so much larger in the other images he'd gotten from Citadel. He had lengthened his stride, trying to escape her notice, but she had somehow snuck up on him, as swift, silent, and damnably relentless as he'd feared.
That was not to say he was disappointed. Quite the contrary. As much as he was surprised she had been smaller than he had thought, she stirred a fire in him. A fire fueled by hatred and a lust to feel her bones snap under his power, but it was more powerful an emotion than he'd felt in ages. She commanded his respect and...surprisingly...he gave it. Her words were noble, she was a paragon of their position, something others aspired to be. She forgave and offered amnesty and leniency to those he would have simply ended. And when she had spoken to him, despite all that he had done, she still extended her hand, offered him the option of peace, and even a place at her side fighting a common enemy.
The side of his fist slammed hard into the window right by her image's head. How dare she? He was superior to her in every way...so the why did it sting so much to be thought of as renegade of their ilk? Having gone too far outside the law... Why did he feel...why did she make him feel so ashamed? He adjusted the image, moving it so that he face was level with his, his own frame reflected in her eyes. Those silvery eyes that shone clear and mirror-like.
"You saw me that day..." He hissed softly, a talon reaching out to touch her cheek, the tip of the claw clinking on the window, tracing the line of the scar there. And it was true. She had seen right through him, past his armor and shields, and....gods, he had felt naked under her gaze. Vulnerable...weak.
He'd had her by the throat then, his rage flaring as he lifted her from the ground. He could hear the soft, desperate gasps as he closed his grip around her neck, feeling the vertebrae in her neck creak and shift as he squeezed. A simple motion and it could be done, he needed only to flex the muscles in his arm. But he had wanted to see it first, there, in her eyes. He wanted that gaze to shift to fear and desperation. He wanted her to beg.
And yet...
Despite his dark desire, she had defied him. Her feeble fingers clawed at his grip, slipping over his armor, trying to find purchase, and came up wanting. But her gaze held strong, refusing to back down, even in the face of eminent demise, she challenged him and he... He hesitated. Why? Had it truly been the bomb? Or had it been the fact that if he had flexed, had finished what he had started, he would never again see those eyes? He would never be held mesmerized by that molten silver gaze that so much resembled his own metallic gray orbs? That they would be closed to him forever and he would lose...what? Lose what? His reflection? The other side of his coin? His tongue flicked over the dull tip of a needle-like tooth she'd broken when her fist connected with his face. Hos jaw still ached, and if she hadn't broken her hand at the blow, he'd have been surprised.
He drew closer still to her image, his body nearly against hers. Gods how he craved his darkest fantasy... How he so deeply desired to feel those fingers against his body, desperately clawing at his thickened hide, trying to cling to life as he was determined to wrench it from her. How he wanted to touch the soft, warm skin beneath her armor, grip her body and press his claws harder until he would feel the skin part, bursting like the flesh of an overripe fruit. He would drink deep of the viscous juice that flowed from that flesh of that fruit.
"I have touched you, Shepard," he purred. "And you feel me even now." He pressed his forehead to the image, his claws gouging deep furrows in the glass over the image of her face and neck, as though trying to crush it. "I am inside you...and you burn because of it. You will come to me again, and when you do, I will consume you..."
