Day 10 - Transmasc/Wrestling/Minor Blood - Mass Effect

Author's Note: I play fast and loose with the pronouns in this one as I feel it is in character for Jack and am also a coward. All three pronouns are used and none are claimed. - - - - - -

Shepard turned her shoulders, dropping a hip as she followed through on a punch and cracking her other leg like a whip against her target.

The bag responded with the same meaty, petulant slap it had for all her other strikes. She had to imagine the wrinkle as some kind of bruise or wound. Considering her ankle would probably be turning the same shade of red that the bag was, maybe it was a sort of transitive thing.

She didn’t stop, bringing her foot back down as sharply as she could, shoulder-width apart with her non-smarting ankle forward. Shepard ducked and bobbed her head forward either like she was going to headbutt the bag or like she was checking her foot’s handiwork, then wrenched her arm in a particularly sharp jab. The next hook, she tried to land as close to where she’d hit her kick as she could manage.

There was enough sweat soaking through her tank top to make the loose hem slap wetly as it moved. Her shorts weren’t much better. She knew the second she stopped, her body was going to be a great hodgepodge of discomfort and fatigue and even some pain. That’s why she needed to keep going. The longer she could put that off, riding the almost thoughtless flow-state she was in, the less time she’d have to spend in whatever came afterward.

For a moment, though, the flow state snapped and the momentary indignities of the body won out. Shepard bent to reach for her water bottle, and when she stood up with it she got lightheaded enough to nearly collapse. Leaning against the bag for support for a moment, she took a quick drink and then tossed the bottle back down. As she lowered into her stance again, Shepard exhaled, trying not to think about why what had just happened had happened, and definitely trying not to think about what was going to come after she stopped.

“I think he’s already dead, but you can always just shoot him if it’s that important.”

Shepard stiffened and then straightened up, putting her hands on her hips. She was panting, but not hard enough not to respond.

“Yeah, thanks.” Shepard breathed. She was at once aware enough to wish she’d said something snappier, but not alert enough to actually come up with it fast enough.

Jack was standing in her favorite spot in the Normandy’s gym - the one where she got to watch other people work out and judge them. Leaning against the wall, head lolling lazily to one side. Shepard had never seen her work up a sweat out of emergency situations, but she somehow stayed lean as a starved dog, perhaps out of literal starvation.

“We have one of those ones that lets you simulate opponents, don’t we?” Jack pushed herself off of the wall and stepped closer. “You’d probably have to set it to something other than ‘Krogan’, but I coulda swore we-”

“We do,” Shepard commented impatiently, then looked for a towel to wipe her eyes. She wasn’t sure where she’d put it. “Wasn’t looking for that. Just wanted to work out.”

“I mean, the kata or whatever is impressive.” Jack teasingly twirled Shepard’s towel without offering it. “Never got the fighting use.”

“It’s not about the literal thing, it’s about good habits.” Shepard extended her hand. “I’d like that back, please.”

“Pff, please.” Jack rolled her eyes as she tossed Shepard’s towel back to her. “You just thrashed a guy within an inch of his life, you don’t have to be polite.”

“No,” Shepard wiped her face quickly. “I just beat the hell out of a bag.”

“Well, at least you’re realistic.” Jack smirked. “So what did they do?”

“The bag?” Shepard dabbed at her eyes. The sweat was still coming.

“Whoever pissed you off,” Jack gave a showy stretch and ambled her way to the other side of the punching bag.

“It’s not anybody’s fault.” Shepard responded after a moment. “I just feel shitty.”

“Commander Shepard has bad days too?” Jack asked unsympathetically. As if functioning morality came mutually exclusive to bad moods.

“Worse ones.” Shepard shrugged.

“What is it, cramps?” Jack gave the bag a weak, limp-wristed punch.

“If it was, you’d know.” Shepard buried her face in the towel for a moment again. “Everybody on the ship who isn’t on birth control seems to sync up.”

Jack gave an evasive shrug and shuffled her shoulders like she was mimicking Shepard’s movements.

“You know I’ve seen you fight before,” Shepard sighed. “I know you actually can.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to practice how I fight without a partner.” Jack scoffed. “All the technique and stuff is cool - don’t get me wrong - but improvisation is a much better skill.”

“No plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Shepard agreed, leaning toward the bag. “But you want to build skills you can rely on when you have to change plans.”

“Right, you build them by fighting.” Jack gave an almost tauntingly soft kick to the bag. “You get the shit kicked out of you a whole bunch and each time you get the shit kicked out of you a little less.”

“I seem to recall you still losing pretty often.” Shepard pushed back.

Jack looked up angrily, though Shepard was pretty sure this is exactly what she’d wanted when she came in. This was the kind of thing Jack did when she was either horny or looking for a fight - though that Venn Diagram was hard to make sense of. Both usually ended in somebody bleeding.

“Yeah, and if you fought more against people that punched back-” Jack started.

Shepard reached out and casually pushed Jack, grinning. Jack looked down at where Shepard’s hand had made contact with a scowl of indignation. There was a visibly wet spot on the mosaic of tattoos that covered the whole of Jack’s torso that a meager leather strap bra didn’t. Jack moved to shove Shepard back, but Shepard ducked back. Jack kept coming.

“Fuck you, don’t fucking push me.” Jack hissed.

“Do you want to fight or do you want to wrestle until one of us starts moaning?” Shepard **** herself to laugh out loud, and was pleased by it seeming to make Jack even madder. “Because if you just want to get manhandled-”

“Manhandled? Fuck you!” Jack dove at Shepard’s hips.

It wasn’t a remotely fair matchup, and Shepard wondered how much Jack actually cared about that. Shepard was a good head taller and probably something like seventy pounds heavier. Shepard’s shoulders alone were wide enough that it should have talked Jack out of picking a fight unless she really had a very good plan of attack. Improvisation was a good skill, and Jack was an especially good improviser, but when somebody could bench press two of you and knew for a fact that they could fight…

Shepard took Jack’s shoulder to the stomach and let the momentum carry them to the ground, where Shepard pushed her legs up into Jack and rolled along on her back, sending her smaller opponent skittering and flopping up past Shepard’s head. Shepard rolled back up while Jack was still gathering herself.

“Using the same opening strategy over and over doesn’t speak to your improv skills.” Shepard barked.

“Owwww,” Jack whined, clutching at her ribs. “Shepard…”

“You’ve used that move too.” Shepard rolled her eyes. “Three times now.”

Jack’s pained expression slipped off and she glared at Shepard, pushing herself to the ground with a cornered look that suggested she was waiting for Shepard to come kicking while she was down. When Shepard didn’t, and Jack was back up again, she clearly found the pressure to reengage a bit too much to deal with, diving at Shepard’s legs this time.

It was a move that Shepard had seen her use - of course - and should have been able to deal with easily. But the **** caught her off guard. Jack didn’t dive for her feet and try to wrap a knee or an ankle, she hit Shepard’s calves with enough velocity that she could have seriously injured either of them. Underneath the pain of it, as well as the pain of falling on her ass not in control of the fight, Shepard felt at least some flicker of both admiration and fury.

As Jack popped up, Shepard could see a hint of blood at her nostrils. But Jack didn’t seem to care. She had ripped the leather strap bra from her chest and yanked it around Shepard’s ankles haphazardly - but effectively. Shepard couldn’t seem to get her feet untangled as Jack climbed up and mounted Shepard’s stomach. She reached down and put her hands gently but firmly on Shepard’s throat. Of course, she didn’t have much in the way of breasts, but her barbell-pierced nipples were a little hard to ignore.

“Aaaand there goes the shit talk.” Jack let out through gritted teeth, tightening her hands on Shepard’s throat. She still wasn’t ****, so that probably meant this was all play.

“I think you’re bl-” Shepard started, before Jack really started **** her.

Shepard frantically tried to kick and turn her ankles to unbind herself, but whatever Jack had worked under pressure was pretty good. She considered a few different angles of attack. Of course, she could have always reached up and choked Jack back, but that would have started a squeezing arms race that - while stronger - Shepard was already behind on. There was a serious consideration toward reaching up and pulling or twisting Jack’s nipples, but given what Shepard had seen in regards to her pain tolerance, that didn’t seem like it would do much. All manner of punches and strikes and eye gouges were on the table if it got bad, but this still seemed like the… foreplay… section of things. Considering Jack wasn’t trying to explode her heart with biotics, they were pretty far from a real, serious fight.

Instead, Shepard grabbed Jack’s wrists and squeezed. She was really only going to have one shot at this gambit.

“Really?” You’re going to test of strength me?” Jack sniffled, seeming to realize her nose was bleeding. “See, even if you’re way out of my weight class, I just watched you literally kick sand for five minutes.”

Jack was right about the latter. Shepard was already starting to feel an aching, burning tiredness. Though, at that moment, it took second fiddle to the pounding in her head. Instead of trying to pry Jack’s hands off her throat, Shepard squeezed Jack’s wrists hard enough to strain herself, then suddenly tried to **** her entire body to her left. Rocking her hip, writhing like a snake, and shoving Jack with both hands. It didn’t work, not really, but it shuffled enough leverage for Shepard to roll over onto her stomach, Jack having to make do with riding her like a bull. Shepard got maybe half a breath in before Jack pressed down and put her in a chokehold, wrapping her elbow around Shepard’s neck and squeezing harder with her hands.

“Bad improv, Shepard.” Jack hissed.

Shepard slipped her hands against Jack’s forearm and pulled, managing to get her chin enough into Jack’s grip to pull in a breath. As Shepard squirmed her body out from under Jack’s, Jack completely ignored it. Grabbing Shepard’s head and trying with every shred of her being to keep the headlock closed and **** her out. Instead, Shepard pulled her knees up under her stomach and started to push her legs up, gradually forcing Jack off of her.

“You gave up your leverage,” Shepard gasped, trying to yank the bra off of her ankles in the moment she would have before Jack lunged back in again. “That’s bad technique.”

“It works on everybody who isn’t a total bitch,” Jack spat, wiping her nose and then wiping her bloodied hand on her baggy pants.

“Yeah, well,” Shepard finally managed to get one of her ankles out, but Jack had gotten the other one wrapped well enough that it was borderline cutting off her circulation. “You maybe want to take five? You’re leaking.”

“Nothing’s broken,” Jack looked like she would rather die than back off.

“If you say so,” Shepard got cocky enough to lift her leg and start trying to untangle her ankle.

Jack went right back in, feinting like she was doing a full dive at the hips but veering out and bouncing off to the side, trying to catch Shepard sidestepping and overbalance her. Shepard’s plan was nearly perfect, turning as she sidestepped, but then she stepped on the bra. But as she tripped, Jack didn’t immediately go back in.

Shepard didn’t bother trying to get up, reaching to try to yank the bra off of her ankle while kicking warningly at Jack with the other foot. She had it most of the way off when Jack moved Shepard’s free leg aside, almost like she was trying to mount her. Shepard was late snapping her legs shut, and as Jack squirmed back into a mount, she grabbed one of the straps of Shepard’s sports bra and **** it up behind her head. As Shepard tried to buck, Jack rode it out, forcing her knees up until Shepard’s shoulders were raised up around her ears. At that moment, she probably could have gone for any number of arm bars or chokes, but Jack rode that spot for a moment, catching her breath as Shepard caught hers. Sitting back, keeping her knees in Shepard’s armpits, Jack reached behind her and found the waistline of Shepard’s shorts.

“Chump shit, they always ask you to take five right before you tap them.” Jack slapped Shepard’s crotch tauntingly, then reached under her waistband and dug her fingers in.

Jack’s fingers were perhaps more gentle than Shepard had expected, but judging by the way Jack was panting, she might have actually been far more gassed than she was letting on. Shepard bet on it.

She slipped her free ankle back through the bra strap, realizing this was another move she’d only get one attempt at. Then Shepard kicked both her legs up as quickly as she could, trying to bend her knees enough that she wouldn’t miss. She didn’t exactly hit her target, but the strap of Jack’s own bra struck her square in the forehead and Jack yelped as the momentum of Shepard’s kick back down yanked her backwards.

There was no time to waste. The second Jack’s back was on the ground, Shepard did her best to roll over and sit back, pulling Jack’s legs up toward her. But the bra was still hampering most of her movements. She couldn’t get her ankles more than a few inches apart. Enough for her last move, not enough to get proper position on top of Jack, who was quickly squirming out from under her. Shepard grabbed Jack’s belt, but it wasn’t enough. As Jack writhed free, Shepard contented herself with properly removing the bra from around her ankles.

“Ow, actually." Jack spat, rubbing her neck when she got space. “I think you just gave me whiplash.”

“But nothing’s broken.” Shepard bunched Jack’s leather strap bra up in her hand. She was pretty sure she couldn’t actually hide it, but she could hope Jack would lose track of it.

“I’m going to have so much fun humbling you.” Jack growled.

“Whenever you’re ready to do that…” Shepard nodded.

This time, when Jack feinted, Shepard extended her leg and brought the two of them down together. Quickly mounting Jack, Shepard made a motion toward **** her. Jack did exactly what she expected. Jerking and twisting to the side like Shepard had done earlier. Then Shepard let the leather strap slip from her hand and brought it around Jack’s neck like a garotte. In the gym mirror, she got to see Jack’s eyes go wide, right before her face turned bright red.

Shepard loosened the strap little by little until Jack took a heaving breath, then tightened it again. Jack scrabbled and clawed at the strap, but there was no way to tuck her chin under it, no purchase to be found with her fingers. As Jack kept weakly pawing at her neck, Shepard slipped her free hand under the two of them and rolled, settling onto her back with Jack on top of her, forcing Jack’s legs open with her own. She was able to lean into Jack’s ear as she reached around and gave one pierced nipple a little squeeze.

“I’m going to have so much fun humbling you,” She echoed back in Jack’s ear.

Jack sputtered, all but foaming at the mouth. Shepard reached down and undid her belt, then reached into her pants.

She was confused for a moment. Jack’s clit was throbbing, which she’d expected, but it was far larger and more excited-seeming than Shepard would have guessed. Shepard took a moment to feel it out with her fingers. It was probably over an inch long, maybe longer, and at this point pulsing tangibly like a heartbeat. Jack kept making all the pleasant little frustrated noises Shepard was hoping for.

“Did you start… doing something… without telling me?” Shepard had no idea how to ask diplomatically, especially not at that exact moment. She eased the strap up just enough to let Jack gasp for breath.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.’ Jack coughed out.

“Seriously, are there some pronouns or something-” Shepard tried to be courteous.

“If you ruin this with shop talk, I will never forgive you.” Jack hissed.

Shepard shrugged and retightened the strap. As Jack’s face turned deep red, Shepard continued stroking the swollen, excited protrusion. Jack kept squirming and twisting, but very importantly not really trying to break free. Either the leather chokehold was doing a good enough job convincing them they were going to be humbled, or he’d simply had enough foreplay.

Logistically, the name, size, and evolution of what was down there didn’t really change what you did with it. Shepard wrapped her first two fingers to either side of Jack’s clit and stroked up and down, squeezing just enough to really feel it throb under her fingers. Then she gently slapped it before wrapping her palm around it like she would any other cock. Jack gave a particularly throaty, **** whine as Shepard squeezed and released her hand, moving her wrist just enough to suggest a pumping motion. Mostly, Shepard just stroked, rubbed, and played with it as much as she could considering she had to keep grappling Jack while she did.

It seemed sensitive. In large part because it didn’t take very long playing with it to get what Shepard wanted. Jack’s darkening red face suddenly became a mass of extra strain and panic, going from clawing at the strap to reaching downward and pressing their hands over their crotch. One weak grasp trying to pull Shepard’s hand away. Jack’s eyes rolled back and his mouth opened, letting out a choked, rasping croak as they planted their feet under them and raised their hips, knees wobbling. Shepard could feel the crotch of his pants dampening, feel Jack’s clit throb and swell between her fingers. The croak turned into a whine which turned into a gurgle. Jack’s face contorted in both bliss and agony at the same time. His nose trailing blood down one side of his face.

Then Jack went limp, only the whites of his eyes visible. Shepard waited a second longer than she probably had to and then released the strap, giving Jack’s clit one final firm squeeze and light slap as Jack quicked and squirmed out. Shepard let Jack roll off and stood.

Jack rolled and settled onto their elbows and knees, sucking in breath between hacking coughs and shaking all over. Every now and then, their back and hips would give an extra little bob like they were going through the aftershocks of their orgasm. Shepard watched with wry glee. As much as she would have loved a climax of her own like that, it was always more about winning with Jack. The memory would do well for her later.

Shepard toweled her face off one final time before tossing the towel over to Jack, who had stopped coughing and was now only mildly hyperventilating between groans.

“You good?” Shepard asked.

Jack extended a shaky middle finger. Shepard left.

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