This story includes explicit depictions of sex between two male characters. It is intended for adult audiences only.
Garrus was getting restless. Frustrated, even. He had gone through another long, completely useless transcript from a staff meeting of Saren’s Virmire science team. They had salvaged only scraps of the vast amounts of data stored in the building-sized servers in the base: as much as they could take on their omni-tools and what Tali managed to upload directly to the Normandy. Mostly it was rubbish, but someone had to go through it and make sure there weren’t any gems of usable intel among the piles of files regarding various mundane details of running such a massive operation.
Nihlus breathes through wide open mouth to hide the huffing and puffing. He’s gone short of breath half way up but he won’t be the first to ask for a break, no sir. The slope is steep and the angular stones that used to mark the path have either fallen away or got buried by the patient labor of the elements. Sandy dirt and pebbles roll and skid under his feet and he must pull himself up, tugging on bare branches and roots. He can see the top from here, but he’ll need to scale a particularly nasty climb, where part of the path has slid down the cliff completely. He stops, waging his options. And catching his breath.
This is the third post in the series where I critique the beginnings of my own stories, written long ago, and try to make them better. Here are the first and second posts. Today I’ll look at one of my favorite flawed creations, The Candidate.