A Mass Effect Lemon Fic

by Mister Buch

Now, I apologise for this one in advance. After I learned today what the term 'lemon fic' means, I decided to try to write one of my own, about Commander Shepard. I think I understand this 'lemon' concept, but I may have gotten it slightly wrong.


Shepard's small fingernails clawed into the wall as a timid groan escaped her moist lips. Alone in her quarters, she finished yawning and softly flitted open her eyelashes. A tiny drop of sweat fell from them and landed in a damp pool on the cool, black leather strap that lined her regulation blue cargo pants.

It was late, and she was exhausted. She longed to rip off her clothes and jump into bed, but that would be unprofessional. Also she didn't actually want to rip her clothes. These were her only casual clothes.

On that bed was the object of her affection, her desire. That patient beauty waited for her attentively, ready to give up her secrets, her richness and her flesh. Her taste. But before that, Shepard knew she had to finish her paperwork.

Not even allowing herself to look back, she resumed typing, gritting her teeth and giving undue concentration to the spelling and placing of each word. At the time, her mission on Noveria had seemed thrilling. There had been giant scorpions and everything, so she expected her report to the Council would be at least interesting to write. But now, here, as silence blew like a ghost threw the empty spaces of the SSV Normandy, she could think of nothing but her bunk's beautiful occupant. That divine, succulent creation, silently begging her to consummate their unspoken longing, that simple, pure, honest, physical love they had held since they had met.

That pale, delicious temptress, her naked, smooth skin so delicately painted in that gorgeous primary colour.

And then we killed Benezia, she typed quickly between heavy, lustful breaths, and let the monster go. It went out through the ceiling or something and we went back to the ship. The End.

"There," Shepard sighed, feeling her burden lifted just as her perfectly-curved, tired thighs lifted from her chair. "It's done. Now I've got you all to myself, my sweet."

For a moment, Shepard considered what she had said, out loud, to the shiny yellow lemon resting on her pillow. Surely 'sweet' was entirely the wrong word when describing a lemon, but she didn't want to sound like an idiot by saying 'my sour'.

Shaking her head and letting strands of her hair cling messily, alluringly to her cheek, she giggled as she dismissed the thought. It hardly mattered. Since the Normandy's original supply of fresh fruit had been used, she had been forced to survive on tinned peaches and canned pudding. That was until this morning, when she had remembered a single lemon, alone at the back of her fridge.

The lemon was round and fat, with no lumps. She found it impossible not to fantasise about what lay beneath its covering, and how she might savour it. This moment had been playing on her mind all day, toying with her senses, and now at last, she could make it real.

Ready to be completely refreshed, she leant over to the mattress and crawled along it, unwilling to stop the sides of her mouth twitching into a mischievous grin. Gently she touched her finger to the thick, waxy hide of the lemon, feeling its grooves and pits, taking pleasure from, and giving equal attention to, every one. Then she cupped the bulk of the weighty piece of fruit in her other palm while her fingers played with the top, teasing its boundaries.

The seductive dance continued until Shepard could no longer contain her hunger, and she stood, picking up the lemon and carrying it over to her table. Before she set it down she lifted it softly to her face and admired its natural beauty once more before it was opened. Tilting her head and brushing aside her hair, she held it to her mouth for less than a moment, just brushing it against her sensitive lips and softly groaning with the frustration.

Then she set it down again and held it lovingly in place as she reached for a combat knife. Tonight life had given her lemons, but she knew exactly what she was going to do about that situation.

Holding each half of her prize in one hand, she waited a moment before bringing them to her mouth and forever losing herself in the harsh ecstasy of the citrus.

Later Liara knocked on the door, but there was no answer and no sound of movement from the exhausted, refreshed Commander.