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Description
he’s forever hated the fact that he could never get a drop on her. not here, not then— not ever. it’ll be the death of him, one of these days, like it’s been for a lot of people, but they haven’t talked about it. not once. then again, they weren’t (and aren’t) the types for talk. he’s only even touching her because she’s letting him, but she’ll let him enjoy the illusion for a while.
"still playing nice for the alliance, shepard?"
the hand at her chin twists, and the tip of one yellow claw pricks at her skin. she feels warm blood well beneath the point and scowls. her hair slips between his fingers. the gesture registers more than the pain. pain stopped hurting a while ago.
"still pretending you’re everything but predictable, leng?”
he smirks in the manner that makes her want to punch him— another thing that hasn’t changed— but the warm pressure of his hand stays steady. they watch each other for a moment, the silence of years stretching between them. something that used to be some sort of tourist store is burning behind them, and the color of what’s left of it, orange, red, flickering yellow, dance around their feet, glinting off of the shine of his armor.
she wonders how far he’s let the illusive man augment him.
"nice glasses," she hisses between her teeth, and the brows above his visor furrow. "they look permanent."
"no more permanent than your corneal replacements," he says, his voice sharpening with an edge of barely-there laughter. he leans in, closer, the ghost of his breath skittering along her cheek. "they’re incredibly realistic. the doctors did an excellent job."
"the biotics are realistic, too," she tells him, slapping his hand away with a flick of her wrist. "would you like to see?"
he regards her with faint interest, the shadows cast by the dying flames moving across his face. “that’ll have to wait.”
silence again. unease curls in her gut.
"better get going," she says coolly, betraying no disturbance. "or bailey might get a convenient anonymous tip about the wanted cerberus assassin’s whereabouts."
this time he does laugh, all white teeth and self-satisfaction. he turns and vaults over the balcony rail, holding on with one hand. “if you wanted me gone he’d know already.”
and then he lets go and he’s vanished, smoke and mirrors, every bit as flashy as he was in the academy. she breathes, in and out, because suddenly the armor’s clasp around her neck is too tight and confining. she needs distance. so she swivels on her heel, neatly, the way she does everything, and walks right out of the burning, ruined ward.
bastard’s always needed to have the last word.

I accidentally started shipping Amirah and the king of douchebags.
I looked at the Mass Effect timeline and saw that they enlisted in the Alliance the same year and it kind of took off from there.
They're both so awfully despicable, it was bound to happen.

Amirah Shepard belongs to me
Kai Leng belongs to Bioware
Title from "Sick Sick Sick" by Queens of the Stone Age
Fic written by one of my best friends

Except more of these monsters

Description
he’s forever hated the fact that he could never get a drop on her. not here, not then— not ever. it’ll be the death of him, one of these days, like it’s been for a lot of people, but they haven’t talked about it. not once. then again, they weren’t (and aren’t) the types for talk. he’s only even touching her because she’s letting him, but she’ll let him enjoy the illusion for a while.
"still playing nice for the alliance, shepard?"
the hand at her chin twists, and the tip of one yellow claw pricks at her skin. she feels warm blood well beneath the point and scowls. her hair slips between his fingers. the gesture registers more than the pain. pain stopped hurting a while ago.
"still pretending you’re everything but predictable, leng?”
he smirks in the manner that makes her want to punch him— another thing that hasn’t changed— but the warm pressure of his hand stays steady. they watch each other for a moment, the silence of years stretching between them. something that used to be some sort of tourist store is burning behind them, and the color of what’s left of it, orange, red, flickering yellow, dance around their feet, glinting off of the shine of his armor.
she wonders how far he’s let the illusive man augment him.
"nice glasses," she hisses between her teeth, and the brows above his visor furrow. "they look permanent."
"no more permanent than your corneal replacements," he says, his voice sharpening with an edge of barely-there laughter. he leans in, closer, the ghost of his breath skittering along her cheek. "they’re incredibly realistic. the doctors did an excellent job."
"the biotics are realistic, too," she tells him, slapping his hand away with a flick of her wrist. "would you like to see?"
he regards her with faint interest, the shadows cast by the dying flames moving across his face. “that’ll have to wait.”
silence again. unease curls in her gut.
"better get going," she says coolly, betraying no disturbance. "or bailey might get a convenient anonymous tip about the wanted cerberus assassin’s whereabouts."
this time he does laugh, all white teeth and self-satisfaction. he turns and vaults over the balcony rail, holding on with one hand. “if you wanted me gone he’d know already.”
and then he lets go and he’s vanished, smoke and mirrors, every bit as flashy as he was in the academy. she breathes, in and out, because suddenly the armor’s clasp around her neck is too tight and confining. she needs distance. so she swivels on her heel, neatly, the way she does everything, and walks right out of the burning, ruined ward.
bastard’s always needed to have the last word.

I accidentally started shipping Amirah and the king of douchebags.
I looked at the Mass Effect timeline and saw that they enlisted in the Alliance the same year and it kind of took off from there.
They're both so awfully despicable, it was bound to happen.

Amirah Shepard belongs to me
Kai Leng belongs to Bioware
Title from "Sick Sick Sick" by Queens of the Stone Age
Fic written by one of my best friends

Except more of these monsters