“Oh good god, that was fucking hot,” Saren read in a stony voice. “I loved everything about it.”

Nihlus had been about to throw a rumpled shirt into his little pile near the projector. Instead, he paused in mid-toss, and the shirt ended up over his face. He clawed it away. “Er, yeah?”

Saren waved the datapad and sighed. “Nihlus, you are an amazing writer–or you’ve grown to be one, and I look forward to reading your reports on the occasions when you end up being the one to write them. But is this really necessary?”

“Of course. Shows that we Spectres aren’t just a bunch of nutjobs to the general public. We can be sexy nutjobs on occasion.”

“Nihlus.” My patience is as thin as the hide over your jugular.

“Come on.” He was at Saren’s side in a flash, skimming over the report. “A human showing goodwill towards turians. That’s worth something to the Council. Notes from the field.”

“Goodwill.” Nope, not budging.

“Hey, at least I left out the bit that happened afterwards. Gotta continue on a positive note, and someone ending up in hospital isn’t one.” He sneaked an arm around Saren’s collar.

“What is, then? This bit about the–” he scrolled down a few more paragraphs, “–the vorcha?”

He took a break from breathing in the smell of ‘favourite post-mission thermal’ and peeked. “Oh yeah. I remember that. It’s not my favourite part, though.”

“What is?”

“Well,” he said as he began to undo the fasteners on said thermal, “I especially loved the ending. Idiot.”

Saren poked him in the ribs.

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