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Shepard's already out of bed when Kelly wakes up. She always is. The Normandy is a civilian ship but her captain never will be, marking shifts in strict thirds despite EDI's ever watchful eye. It's always like this before the morning shift.
Kelly rolls over, closer to the side of the bed, and watches.
The morning routine never varies. Shepard's finished the pushups (a shame, Kelly really enjoys those) and is busy with the crunches. As usual, she hasn't bothered with clothes. Just a mat on the floor, protecting her from the cold grating.
"Good morning, Shepard." She runs her hand over the other side of the bed, now abandoned. How she manages to make it out of bed most mornings without waking her remains a mystery.
"Kelly." The woman doesn't even pause. Doesn't look her way, despite her artfully rumpled arrangement. Just tenses and releases her abs, body rising from the floor in a sheen of sweat. The fish tank lends her a soft glow, gentle against the patches of angry scars still yet to fade.
There had been pictures in Shepard's file. Nothing from too early in the Lazarus process - Kelly can guess what those might have looked like, but she was more than willing to let vague statements from project scientists spare her the gory details. Still, part of serving Shepard's crew was understanding the woman that led it, and Kelly had spent hours pouring over her profile until the reconstructed bulk of her shoulders and curve of her breasts was as familiar as her marksmanship scores.
Seeing it up close was an entirely different matter. No image or dry intelligence report could have captured the sheer physical aura of the woman. Shepard had walked into the CIC for the first time and flustered Kelly so badly she'd nearly forgotten her carefully rehearsed introduction.
They might both be clear on the full scope of Kelly's duties aboard the ship, but she hopes it's equally clear that those duties aren't what lands her between rumpled sheets on mornings like this one, watching the show. No, that's all Shepard. Intense, driven, and Kelly had been thrilled to discover that those qualities weren't shed when her clothes came off.
There's just something about Shepard that makes Kelly want to be contrary. The challenge of distraction, defeating the great Commander Shepard. She rolls onto her back with a soft huff, throwing an arm over the side to dangle dramatically. Tilts her shoulders just so, angling them as to put her breasts in what she knows are their best light.
The crunches continue. The woman must be a statue.
Kelly's hand snakes down, between her legs. Her fingers drag over the sensitive skin within but don't yet part it. She's looking instead at Shepard, upside down now, and makes sure she meets the commander's eyes at the top of her rep.
"Oh, yes," she moans. From the quirk of Shepard's mouth, she may be overdoing it, but right now she doesn't care. Kelly closes her eyes and arches her back, fingers exploring deeper. She doesn't have to look to know she's putting on quite a show.
Kelly has always known how to take care of herself. She's never expected what she's given - all of it, from the Normandy to her captain, has been a gift. Squaring her shoulders, she circles a finger around her clit and moans again.
Shepard isn't there, upside down or otherwise, when she opens her eyes. Instead, the bed dips next to her and Kelly realizes she's forgotten to observe. Lost the objective. Rookie mistake. A hand draws its way up her calf. Strokes a thumb gently behind her knee. Moves agonizingly across the inside of her thigh, towards her center-
And then stops.
"Keep going."
Kelly opens her eyes to find Shepard staring down at her from between her parted legs, hand almost-but-not-quite where she wants it. Not moving either, just resting. Squeezing the muscle of her thigh, once, hard; she understands. Her fingers return to their work, stroking.
It's not hard to summon up the enthusiasm to continue. The image of Shepard, glistening with sweat as she grunted from her place on the floor, is still very fresh. There's a delicious rhythm there, the way her abs flexed, and Kelly matches it with the thrust of her hips against her hand.
Shepard pushes her thighs apart and Kelly sighs, ready for so much more. But it's not Shepard's hand or her mouth on her clit, just her eyes. She's staring in a way that makes Kelly feel somehow more naked. The thought brings a spike of heat, making her cunt throb and clench.
Rough thumbs spread her lips apart, exposing her, and she understands the unspoken instruction.
She doesn't stop.
It rises within her with every firm slick motion and before long she's panting, eyes screwed shut as she chases the feeling.
"Open your eyes," says Shepard. Kelly complies absently, blinking through a haze of pleasure. "I want to see you."
So that's how Shepard drives her through it. A steady gaze as she twists beneath her; watches her slow and slacken.
Victory, of a sort. She smiles lazily down between her knees.
Shepard smiles back. Then adds a single finger, sliding easily inside.
"Now that you're warmed up..."