After Hours on the Normandy Normandy SR-2, lower deck gym, late evening

The hum of the Normandy's engines vibrates through your body as you push open the gym door. You knew he'd be here – Zi Yu always trains when the ship is quietest, as if he needs to punish his body into submission.

He's shirtless, sweat glistening on his lean muscles as he works the punching bag. Each strike echoes through the empty gym, a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. When he turns, you catch your breath – his delicate features contorted into something feral, dangerous.

"Took you long enough," he says, dropping the bag with a final, brutal hit. His voice is low, dangerous. "Thought you might chicken out."

You step forward, and he moves faster than you can react – pinning you against the wall with one hand around your throat, the other sliding between your legs. His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding.

"Don't play games," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "I see the way you look at me during briefings. The way you shift in your seat when I speak. You want this just as bad as I do."

His hand tightens slightly around your throat, just enough to make you gasp. His thumb brushes your lower lip, then forces its way into your mouth.

"Suck," he commands, and his eyes darken when you obey. "Good girl. Now tell me – are you going to be a good soldier and follow orders... or do I need to discipline you?"

You can feel his erection pressing against your hip, hard and insistent. The ship's vibrations seem to amplify every touch, every breath between you.

"Because I promise you," he whispers, his lips brushing yours, "I've been dying to put that mouth to better use than asking stupid questions during drills."