Samara

JusticarS:

I'll arrive soon.

Soon. Shepard brought up her omni-tool again, scrolling through the extranet as she walked, her diaper crinkling softly behind her.

Looking at it from any reasonable perspective, the idea of greeting a thousand-year-old Asari matriarch who was also an exceptionally talented Justicar, and not to mention her girlfriend, while wearing a diaper wasn't exactly the smartest thing she could be doing, but their relationship had always been one of chances and circumstance.

She felt the gentle caress of her hands on her cheeks, warm and soft. They were so close she could feel the faint hum of biotics, the gentle buzz tingling her skin. She was close, yet so far.

"In another time. In another life." She'd said.

She'd pushed and prodded, slowly melting the icy walls around Samara's heart bit by bit, keeping hope alive even as Earth fell and Palaven burned, holding hope against hope until she saw her again at Lesuss. Saved her from herself.

She dashed forward, gripping Samara's arms behind her back, her sidearm cluttering to the floor. She'd already lost Mordin and Legion. She wouldn't lose her.

And then, at her Silversun apartment in the Citadel, she'd finally convinced her, in a moment of peace in a galaxy torn by war. A final party before the end of the world.

She reached out, her skin warm and tingly, familiar. They embraced, and they kissed. Her lips were warm and rich, exotic yet familiar. She felt at home in a way even the Normandy couldn't match.

"Just hold me now. Let us live in this moment."

Finally, after the crucible, after the end, they meet again, her body battered and beaten.

She'd found her, embraced her hand, and smiled that brilliant smile. Her voice was coarse and hoarse, and every word hurt to speak. "It's a new time, Samara. I love you."

"I-I love you too, Shepard."

The Collectors, the Code, the Reapers, compared to all that were diapers really going to be a deal breaker?

She heard the door open. Time to find out.

Even after years of knowing each other, few things could describe what it felt like to be in her presence. The sense of raw power, age, and wisdom coiled and contained. Even if they didn't have each other for long, Shepard with her commitments, Samara with the Code, she'd always treasure the feeling.

"Shepard." Samara barely batted an eye at her as they surged forward to meet each other. The tingling feeling when Samara's biotics flared as Shepard stood on her tiptoes to reach her lips. It's sensual, slow, and gentle amid the neon light. It's sensual, slow, and gentle amid the neon light. Communicating in actions what they no longer needed words. I love you. I missed you. I'm glad you're here now.

"Samara," Shepard breathed once their lips separated. She was still in Justicar uniform, the form-fitting red and gold that reminded Shepard of an exotic strawberry when she first saw her.

She felt her hands run down her side, pausing on the padding beneath her hips. They gave an experimental squeeze, the plastic rustling and crinkling in reply. The look she gave her was quizzical and concerned. "Shepard, has something come up? I understand some of the treatments you're taking might have some side effects."

"Not... exactly," she admitted, rubbing the back of her head. "It's kind of a long story. Talk about it over tea? I have your favorite brand."

Samara smiles, warm and inviting. "I'd love to, Shepard."

They sat around the countertop with a carafe of Asari tea, a strong blend of algae-red from Thessia. The taste was strong, a mix of bitter and sweet with a trace hint of ozone from Thessia's latent element zero.

"Shepard," Samara began, looking at her inquisitively. Her eyes glanced below Shepard's waist with every rustle that emanated from her idle movement. "You may be young by Asari standards, but I understand you must've outgrown such... protective undergarments at a young age, have you not. If it is not a medical issue, then why?"

"It's, well, I guess it's a kind of a quirk, but I'm wearing them because I want to." She opts for forwardness, trying to put her motivations into words, even if it does little to help her creeping blush. "It..."