— PD: by the way!! If you’ve stopped in here to read this stuff feel free to tell me if you’d rather see toxic Jack/Miranda yuri art or thane stuff c: I will always have time to plop out mass effect art but I need guidance!!!!!
I just started replaying ME2 for the millionth time and I'm in the process of recruiting Archangel. I can't help but wonder what Garrus must've felt when he saw Shepard with the mercenaries on the other side of that bridge. At this point he had been holding off mercs for at least a full day. He likely hadn't had much, if any, sleep, was probably close to passing out from exhaustion and stress, and then he sees a woman across the bridge who looks eerily similar to his old commander. I think he has to hit her with the concussive round just to make sure he's not dreaming. It's been two years since he left and she died and he carries guilt for that with him. I think that's part of the reason why his own team being wiped out bothers him so much. He keeps losing the people he cares about, is there something wrong with him? I think Garrus wanted to believe it was Shepard, but he knows she died. He knows it's not Shepard. But because a part of him needs her to be alive, he doesn't shoot at her with anything strong enough to actually hurt. Even if Shepard doesn't start shooting until she's in the building, Garrus still lets her cross the bridge. I think if the Shep look-alike wasn't Shepard, he would've given up. Too many ghosts, yknow? And now it looks like Shep is actually haunting him. The bodies covered in tarps at the bottom floor of his hideout are likely his team. I think having a woman who looks like Shepard appearing and not being her would've been too much. He wouldn't have made it out of that building if it wasn't for her. I don't think he truly believed it was her until she opened the door herself and walked in. He plays it off like he knew the whole time but I really think he thought he was hallucinating. I also think this is why he's so eager to join you and why he defends you to the Virmire survivor on Horizon.
There's no Shepard without Vakarian, but I think the first half of the Archangel recruitment mission is supposed to show there's no Vakarian without Shepard, either.
AN: So, I wrote a Garrus Vakarian piece a while back and one of my friends pointed out that I had committed the cardinal sin, which is making two characters have healthy communication about an issue. She said "where is the ANGST. Where is the CODEPENDENCY" and, you know what? She's a real one for that. So, here is me going back to my teen years, rewriting a similar situation with 10x the miscommunication and jealousy, plus my ham fisted attempt at smut, which I usually avoid. I hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Mature, sexual content and themes
Spoilers: None
As he watched Shepard stumble off to the bathroom, her naked skin catching the light in a way that made him ache, Garrus had to admit, he’d really screwed himself this time. It had seemed so harmless at first, just two friends helping one another unwind, a much needed release of tension after hard fights with the added bonus of getting to try something new sexually with someone he could trust. Casual, meaningless sex. He’d done it before, he’d even enjoyed doing it before but, damnit, it had gotten complicated quickly. Not for Shepard. No, as far as Garrus could tell she was thoroughly enjoying their arrangement but, then again, Shepard hadn’t been violently suppressing her feelings for him for the better part of three years. Shepard wasn’t a closeted hopeless romantic whose heart famously lived in her dick. Shepard didn’t live in a ship - hell, a universe - filled to the brim with people who wanted to fuck Garrus. Oh no, that particular punishment was reserved solely for him.
It was a strange kind of torment to watch the woman you’ve been falling for for years, your best friend in the galaxy, and the universe’s only hope, get flirted with by every Turian, Asari, Drell and Human they came across mere hours after she was screaming your name and coming all over your cock as she begged you to pull her hair harder, but here Garrus was. At first it hadn’t bothered him much. Shepard was powerful, she was beautiful, she was charismatic and charming, she was dependable and dutiful and creative. She was irresistible to him, so how could he begrudge her for being irresistible to everyone else as well? And, most importantly, she came home to him. Let the security guy at C-Sec daydream about the famous Commander Shepard, he would think to himself, it was Garrus who got to make that dream a reality. But then time started to pass, the sex got infinitely better and Garrus’ feelings for Shepard got infinitely more complicated.
Garrus’s long held assertion that his feelings for Shepard were just a temporary infatuation stemming from how much she had changed his life on board the Normandy SR1 mixed with the heady, intoxicating relief of finding out she wasn’t dead had started to ring hollow. Too much time had passed and his feelings were too tender and specific. He couldn’t blame his desire for her on mere curiosity anymore either, or on the normal urges that pop up between crew mates on high stakes missions. He couldn’t even consider what they were doing just fucking anymore. In his mind he had started using other phrases; sleeping together, going to bed, being intimate, all things that had not been part of their initial agreement and were not considered casual, no strings attached sex. It was getting in his head and, unfortunately, Shepard had started to notice. She hadn’t said anything to him outright about his weird behaviour, but he could see that she wanted to. She was giving Garrus a chance to bring it up himself which, for obvious reasons, he couldn’t do.
In short, his stupid, achy, sentimental heart was dangerously close to ruining a good thing for him. Because, to be clear, this arrangement was a very good thing for Garrus. His battlefield chemistry with Shepard, which Garrus considered to be unmatched, so perfectly aligned that it sometimes made him want to believe in god just to have an explanation, paled in comparison to what they could do to one another in bed. It had taken them a while to get there, of course. Their first time had been so overshadowed by nerves and adrenaline and the sheer newness of it all that they had both been somewhat bumbling but, even then, it had been one of the best nights of his life. He had never been able to laugh with someone in bed, to clang his head against theirs wrong and not spoil the moment. It had been so exciting to have to learn someone’s body again, to be taught what she liked, to show her what he liked. They had been so eager, so well meaning and comfortable around each other that any awkwardness seemed endearing, and they were both quick studies.
He heard the shower start up. It was late, probably coming up on 2am, but Shepard hated going to bed sweaty and he’d put her through her paces that night, hoping to drown the memories of the young Asari who had playfully pulled Shepard’s hair at Afterlife and offered to take her home in memories of him, of the pleasure he could bring her. He was starting to worry that he’d been too rough. Shepard hadn’t said anything to make him feel that way, if anything she had seemed very receptive to the way his talons had dug into her hips and ass, but still. Garrus had been angry for a moment there and he never wanted to take that out on Shepard. If nothing else, she was his best friend. She had been there for him through everything, she didn’t deserve to become his punching bag just because his feelings got hurt.
Feeling guilty, Garrus followed the sound of the shower into the bathroom, crossing his arms over his carapace and merely watching for a moment. Shepard was so human. She was humming to herself, a tuneless melody that spoke to how satisfied she was. He could see the beginning of bruises on her hips and the slight outline of his teeth where he had bitten her shoulder and his guilt intensified. She just looked so…so vulnerable without her clothes or armor on. Her body curved and bent in places he couldn’t understand. Every inch of her was soft and unprotected, even her neck, chest and thighs which, he felt, should really have some sort of plating, if only to protect her main arteries. The smell of her shampoo, mixed with their lingering sex was heady and, as he watched her run her hands over her neck he could feel the first stirrings of arousal, but he pushed it down. She caught his eye and gave him that special knowing smile she reserved just for nights like his and beckoned him in. Garrus knew he shouldn’t, but he hated denying her anything, especially when it was something he also wanted desperately.
The warm rain felt wonderful against his plates, but it was nothing compared to Shepard’s water-slick skin beneath his palms. He licked a stripe down the back of her neck, letting his rough tongue scrape over the sensitive skin at the base of her ear and where her neck and shoulder met. She hummed her appreciation as he massaged her lower back, pulling her against his carapace and slowly moving his attention to her thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely into her ear as he traced the blossoming bruises, “I-uh-I got a little carried away.”
She chuckled, “Yeah, you were really in it there, huh? Don’t apologize though, it was hot.”
He flushed, the skin of his torso and neck darkening slightly at the praise, “Still, I know I need to be more careful with-” he gestured with his talons.
Shepard rolled her eyes dramatically, turning to face him, “I’m not made of glass, Vakarian,” she reminded him leaning back against the shower wall and tugging him forward as she pressed her thigh in between his legs, “I’m not going to shatter if you squeeze me wrong.”
He groaned as her thigh pressed up against his groin plate, which was already loose and getting looser by the second.
“No, you won’t shatter,” he conceded, leaning his head down so his forehead was almost touching hers, his hands finding purchase on her lower back as he rolled his hips against her thigh, “but you might pop. You humans do have very thin skin.”
She chuckled, moving her hand up to absentmindedly scrape the back of his neck, “I trust you,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically tender.
Her eyes met his, wide and soft with affection and the complete acceptance she had always offered him so freely. He remembered that exact same look in her eye when she had first met him on the Citadel, when he’d told her about Dr Saleon, when he’d gone back to the Citadel. There had been something else in her eyes when she found him on Omega, a kind of frantic relief that still made him thrum with pleasure to remember, but the acceptance had never wavered. Whether he deserved it…well, he tried to. Spirits, he was always trying to. It was too easy to imagine things being different when she looked at him like that. If he wasn’t careful he would lose himself to the fantasy of them, so he pushed it away.
“Still,” he replied lamely, just to say something.
There was a moment of silence, Shepard’s gaze turning knowing as she waited, again, for an explanation of his behavior that wasn’t forthcoming.
“So,” Shepard eventually continued, “what got you so worked up, Vakarian? Could it have been that pretty little Human that was all over you at Afterlife?”
Garrus recoiled, genuinely stunned, “Excuse me?”
“Sarah,” she laughed, “you remember, she bought you those drinks to say thank you for helping me solve Nef’s murder?”
Garrus frowned, “The blonde?”
“Yes, the blonde!”
Garrus vaguely remembered her, but blonde was really the best he could do. At the time he had been preoccupied by the Asari and the hair pulling and all the giggling that was happening while he tried not to shatter the glass he was holding.
“No, she wasn’t-” Garrus started, “you think she was hitting on me?”
For a moment Shepard’s smile almost looked strained, but it vanished before he could be sure as she sighed dramatically and pushed off the wall. For a second she was flush against Garrus, making his breath catch in his throat and sending a bolt of desire straight to his cock, but then she just brushed by him, hopping out of the shower and wrapping herself in a towel.
“She was definitely hitting on you,” she continued, as though nothing had happened, “she even gave me her number to give to you.”
Garrus let out a breath of frustration, but secretly relished the teasing as he followed her out of the shower and back into the main bedroom.
“No she didn’t,” he insisted, “you’re making this up.”
“Swear to god,” Shepard insisted, rifling through her nightstand and pulling out an Afterlife napkin.
She passed it over to him, her wet fingers eating away at the corners of the paper but not yet blurring the little string of numbers written in loopy, black ink next to the name ‘Sarah’. There was another number too, and another name; ‘Ameera’, and Garrus felt that roiling, heavy jealousy sink into the pit of his stomach again.
“You didn’t give this to me,” he pointed out.
She snorted, having settled on the bed and now roughly towel drying her hair, “I was going to, but you were fairly, shall we say, preoccupied when you arrived here. Either way, I’m giving it to you now.”
Shepard was right, when he’d shown up at her cabin he’d barely given her time to say ‘come in’ before he was slipping his tongue into her mouth and dragging his talons down her sides, but he wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable and fair.
“Seems like I’m not the only one with an admirer,” he pointed out, “you-uh-you gonna call this Ameera person?”
Shepard shrugged, an inscrutable look on her face, “I hadn’t given it much thought, really,” she said, “seems like a big risk with everything going on. Plus,” she smiled at him, “I’m not sure I’m really looking for anything else right now.”
Garrus barely heard her.
His own jealousy was pounding in his head and, before he could think it through, he heard himself say, “You should. It would be nice to finally get a break from being the person in charge of keeping you satisfied. Maybe we should do a double date.”
She didn’t respond for a long time, just holding his gaze as something he couldn’t identify flickered across her face. Hurt maybe? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, it made Garrus feel like an ass, but he was still riding too high on pride and jealousy to admit he may have crossed a line.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Garrus replied immediately, the lie coming easier than he had expected, “the blonde-” he checked her name on the tissue, “Sarah, was cute. Plus, we could use a night out, right?”
Shepard didn’t meet his eye, moving to her wardrobe and pulling on clothes, “Sure. You set it up with Sarah and I’ll call Ameera,” she said simply.
Garrus knew he’d messed up somewhere. The way Shepard was moving was mechanical, militaristic, the way she stripped down and armored up before missions rather than the lazy, teasing way she tended to get dressed when they were together. She didn’t try to look at or talk to him. She didn’t suggest that he get dressed, or tell him to leave, but he felt like he should anyway.
“Yeah, I-uh-” Garrus cleared his throat, slowly starting to pull his own clothes on, “I’ll do that. Is there anywhere on Omega you particularly want to go, or anything you want to do?”
Shepard shrugged with one shoulder, still not really looking at him as she buttoned up her pajama top, “Whatever you want, Garrus. You know Omega better than I do. Maybe ask Sarah.”
Ouch. Yeah, okay, he was definitely being dismissed. He wanted to take all this back, slip back into their little bubble of post-coital bliss, but he didn’t know how to. He wasn’t even sure what exactly had happened, but it was clear that he had shattered something delicate.
He stood, moving behind her and gently wrapping his arms around her waist. If she had been Turian, this would have been an explicitly sexual move, but he knew it wasn’t the same for humans. Still, he kept his touch gentle, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head. Shepard froze, letting out a small breath, but otherwise did not react at all. Reluctantly, Garrus let go.
“Goodnight, Shepard.” he said, hoping she could hear the apology in his voice.
She gave him a weak, half-hearted smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Night, Garrus.”
And as the door slid shut between them, leaving Garrus to make his way slowly to the crew quarters on his own, he couldn’t help but marvel that, this time, it was his mouth, not his heart, that was ruining a good thing.
—
As it turned out, Sarah was very sweet, very talkative and very boring. She seemed thrilled to be out with a Turian and especially one so handsome and rugged looking she kept reminding him. She had been so enthusiastic about the date when he called that it had actually made Garrus think that maybe it hadn’t been a terrible, impulsive mistake brought on by his own immaturity but, 20 minutes in and Garrus was already wondering if he could fake a Normandy emergency and bail. He was nervous and hyper alert, not out of a desire to have the date go well, but because he knew that Shepard and Ameera would be arriving any minute. Shepard, gentlewomen that she was, had insisted on picking Ameera up from her apartment and walking her to the place Garrus had selected, suggesting to Garrus that this would give them both time to get to know their dates one-on-one before all joining up for drinks.
Garrus had selected a hole-in-the-wall place where they played live music, but people could still have a conversation. They served good drinks for cheap and, with how dull Sarah was, Garrus was taking full advantage. Consequently, by the time Sarah squealed out a greeting and jumped up to hug the incoming guests, Garrus had already developed a bit of a buzz.
Which was a mistake.
He took one look at Shepard, saw her arm strung carelessly around Ameera’s waist, met her eyes and-spirits alive, what the fuck was he thinking? This whole thing was a fucking terrible idea. She looked good. More than good, she looked ravishing. She had wrapped her soft, curvy frame in a black dress that left very little to the imagination. Her shoulders were bare, the dress’ long sleeves falling down her upper arms in a way that screamed casual elegance. Her hair was styled so that it all fell over her left shoulder in soft waves. Her eyes were lined with black, her lips painted a deep blood red that he longed to smudge against her skin with his thumb. Worst of all, her waist was wrapped in something - a corset, the functional part of his brain supplied - which had been tightened to accentuate her already mesmerizing figure. He hadn’t even known she owned a corset. He also noticed, with a rush of possessiveness, that she had covered his bite mark with makeup. That wouldn’t do, a feral part of him whispered, that wouldn’t do at all.
When their eyes met the world went quiet for a moment. Nothing else existed. No one else mattered, just Garrus and Shepard. His Shepard. He wanted to pull her close and bury his head in her hair. He wanted to kiss that red lipstick right off her, he wanted to see it smeared across his chest plates as she trailed her lips along his torso and-
She looked away, smiling as Sarah - his actual date - jumped up and pulled her into a hug and the moment ended. Sound and movement returned to the world and Garrus found himself awkwardly greeting Ameera and doing the classic ‘haha, aren’t humans so strange with their random acts of public affection’ shtick as their dates talked and he tried to convince his body to calm down.
Ameera seemed nice, if a bit cool with him, her eyes flicking to Shepard with an air of possessiveness that he understood better than most. He almost wanted to laugh at the way the Asari kept a hand on her at all times, angling her body so that she was between Shepard and Sarah, as though Sarah was the threat rather than Garrus, whose genital plates were embarrassingly loose just from looking at Shepard.
“Sorry we’re late,” Shepard sighed, “the walk took a little longer than I had anticipated.”
“We got lost,” Ameera gushed, squeezing Shepard’s arm, “just too busy talking I suppose.”
Yeah right, Garrus thought to himself. How do you live on Omega and get lost on a walk? Still, he gritted his teeth and smiled.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Sarah assured, “Garrus and I were having a lovely chat.”
Shepard’s eyes flicked to him, as though looking for his confirmation, and he forced himself to agree, “Yeah, glad you took your time.”
He ushered the new couple into the booth he had picked out and was immediately confronted by another unwitting mistake. He had picked a small circular booth that was far enough away from the stage to facilitate talking and private enough that no one was likely to notice the famous Commander Shepard. This meant that, when they all took their seats, and with Ameera insisting on being between her date and Sarah, Garrus found himself next to Shepard rather than across from her. He had been preparing to be across from her. As it was, her bare thigh was pressed against his leg, their torsos mere inches apart as they settled in. His breath caught in his throat and he was immensely grateful that no one at the table could register sub harmonics. There was a moment of tense silence.
“So, what’s everyone drinking?” Shepard asked, breaking the awkwardness with her casual, easy charm.
Conversation restarted, flowing more easily than he had feared, even as every nerve in his body seemed focussed on the tantalising pressure of Shepard’s leg against his own. This was going to be a long, long night.
—
By the time they slipped out of the bar Garrus had picked out, Shepard was wrecked. The constant scrape of his leg against hers, his voice so close to her ear, rumbling through her like a rockslide, the tension between them and the steady stream of drinks had left her feeling strung out and jittery. Ameera had, luckily, interpreted it as nerves. She had agreed to let Shepard walk her home which both made Shepard very happy and Garrus seemingly very unhappy. He had flared his mandibles in a way that, to her, read as aggression, but that Ameera seemed unphased by when she’d suggested it. Whatever it had meant, the sight had reminded Shepard of what it felt like to run her tongue along that mandible, how he moaned and sighed her name when she followed her tongue with her teeth and bit down on the soft skin of his jaw. The corset had been a dig. Honestly, her whole outfit had been a dig, and she was mortified to discover that she was the one suffering, not him.
The whole night had been a disaster. From the second she had arrived and seen that little blonde all over Garrus, she had known that there was no way this would work. No amount of friendship and desire to be the best companion to Garrus she could be could override her natural inclination to lose her shit when someone came for her man.
Not that Garrus was actually her man, she reminded herself. They weren’t anything, really. Just friends helping one another scratch an itch. They were like sparring partners, just naked sparring partners. That had been the agreement, casual, no attachments or obligations, just pure sex. She had thought she could handle doing things the Turian way but seeing Garrus with Sarah had felt like an omniblade to the gut. She was a soldier, she knew she could push her feelings down and put on a brave face but it was clear that their arrangement had to end, and sooner rather than later. How to tell Garrus that without revealing that she tripped and fallen into having a seismic, friendship ruining crush on him would be something she worked out later. Right now she just had to get through the night and make it back to her cabin so she could sob her eyes out in peace.
Right at that moment Ameera snapped her out of her sulking by squeezing her waist, and Shepard felt a pang of guilt. She really was lovely and charming, if a bit possessive. If things had been different-if Shepard could be different, then maybe-
“This is mine,” Ameera sighed, stopping outside the door.
There was a moment where Shepard wasn’t sure what to do.
“Well, I’ll-uh-oh!”
Before she could finish, Ameera had backed her up against a streetlamp and kissed her. Shepard froze for a second but then thought, fuck it. Ameera’s lips were soft, so much more like a human’s than Garrus’ and, as she slid her hands up into Shepard’s hair, she couldn’t help but sigh. Ameera definitely knew what she was doing. Her tongue, so short and smooth, teased Shepard’s bottom lip, asking for entrance, which Shepard granted instinctively. Ameera’s body was soft and forgiving where it pressed against her own, her hands were gentle and familiar as they carded through Shepard’s hair. It was nice. It was simple and all Shepard could think about was Garrus. When they broke apart, breathless, and panting, Ameera’s eyes were bright and sparkling and Shepard felt sick with wanting, sick with needing something she knew Ameera couldn’t give.
“Do you-do you want to come up?” she asked.
Shepard bit her lip, her mind and body warring with one another for a moment before she forcibly took a step back and shook her head, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Ameera.”
The Asari looked disappointed for a moment, but didn’t push, letting Shepard slip away into the night without insisting she call again. It was a relief. As the cold air bit into her skin, Shepard finally felt her head start to clear. Desire still pounded through her like a kick drum, but she could at least order her thoughts into something resembling coherence. The walk back to the Normandy’s docking station was long, long enough for Shepard to start planning the conversation she would have to have with Garrus sometime in the coming days. It broke her heart to even consider severing the connection they had been building. In all her years of service, no one had ever understood her the way Garrus did. No one had ever made her feel safer or more comfortable, no one could pull her out of her head and back into her body the way he could. He was her best friend, but he needed something she couldn’t give him and, as much as she wanted to cling to what they had, she had to love him enough to let him go.
EDI welcomed her back to the ship, which was silent and empty at this time of night. She took a deep breath, letting the familiar surroundings sooth her fraying nerves. She wondered if Garrus had even come back to the Normandy. Had Sarah made him the same offer Ameera had given Shepard? Had he accepted? She stepped into the elevator, torturing herself by imagining Sarah and Garrus tangled up together, his hands on her hips, her head thrown back as he tasted her neck. No awkward learning phase for them. No, Garrus knew how to pleasure human women now. At least she’d helped with that, she thought bitterly.
The elevator dinged, opening on the door to her cabin and Shepard sighed with relief, desperate to wash this horrific night off her as soon as possible. She stepped inside, catching a glimpse of herself reflected in the glass of the fishtank. At least she looked good. Kasumi had talked her into buy this dress on their last trip to the Citadel, she had to remember to-
“Garrus,” she said, shocked to find him sitting on the edge of her bed, holding his head with his elbows resting on his knees.
He looked up, his blue eyes dark with something that made her skin tingle, and let out a breath of his own, standing and making his way towards her quickly.
“Shepard,” he replied, his voice dripping with relief and some other emotion she couldn’t identify as he gripped her waist with one hand and cupped her face with the other. He brought his head down, resting his forehead against hers, “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
“I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” she replied, trying for a light tone and failing miserably, “Sarah seemed really into you.”
He growled, his hand tightening on her waist, “Fuck Sarah. Shepard, this whole night was-”
“I can’t do this anymore, Garrus,” she said quickly, forcing the words out before the comfort of his presence shook her resolve, “I’m sorry, I thought I could but I-” she detangled the bodies, taking half a step back and crossing her arms over her chest, “I just can’t.”
He looked like she had slapped him and Shepard felt her heart break just a little more at the confusion in his face.
“You can’t-what?” he asked, stepping towards her again, one arm still outstretched as though to hold her, “I don’t understand.”
Shepard was mortified to find that tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes and threatening to spill over and she tried to force them back with sheer willpower.
“I’m not a Turian,” she eventually said with a rueful laugh, “I thought I could handle sleeping with you and you sleeping with other people, but I can’t, alright? I’m a stupid fucking sentimental human and I just can’t have you all to myself at night and then watch you cozy up to other women during the day. It’s too hard, I can’t do it.”
Well, fuck. That was not what she had practiced. What happened to ‘the good of the mission’ and ‘too busy’ and ‘need to start getting more sleep’? She had so many lines prepared that didn’t boil down to ‘love me, love me, love me’ and that is what came out of her mouth? She felt vulnerable and exposed, like a bug under a microscope. All her ugliness was on display, all her insecurity, her jealousy, her weakness. She hated it. Every instinct told her she needed to bolt, but she felt like she was anchored to the ground, held in place by Garrus’s eyes on her, heavy and dark with expectation.
He was quiet for a long time before he let out a bark of harsh laughter, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What?”
He did grab her now, pulling her hips against his as he continued, “You think I want anyone else? You think I haven’t been going out of my fucking mind waiting for you to come back, just praying-praying, Shepard-that you weren’t off falling in love with that Asari somewhere?” His voice was frantic, words spilling out like water from a faucet that had been opened too wide. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out and Garrus just continued, “Every time that woman touched you I wanted to rip her arm off.” he traced her lips with one of his talons, his eyes flicking between following the path of his finger and holding her own, “Did you really think that coming home to me with your lipstick smudged, smelling like some other woman wouldn’t drive me insane?”
God almighty he was sexy when he was angry. She knew there were things she needed to unpack, feelings that needed discussing when the waves of relief stopped cresting over her, but all that seemed to matter was that Garrus wanted her. Garrus wanted her. Not just someone to take the edge off, but her specifically. He had been waiting for her, not just because he knew she was someone he could fuck, but because he was worried, he was jealous, he was hoping she would come back to him. It was almost too good to be true.
“You said this was what you wanted,” she pushed back, feeling the hot flame of desire pulse through her “I asked-I asked you, Garrus.”
“I lied!” he replied, “I was insecure and jealous and I lied. I’m a terrible Turian, Shepard, you know this. I haven’t wanted anyone but you since-since-” his voice trailed off and he squeezed her waist, suddenly shy.
No, no, no, she thought to herself, you’re not getting away from me this time. She slid her hands up his torso, letting her fingers graze the soft skin of his lower back in the way that made his muscles clench. He bit back a moan and she felt her body respond in kind.
“Since when?” she asked breathlessly.
“Shepard-”
“Tell me,” she insisted, “you made me sit through three hours of drinks while watching Sarah’s hand climb steadily up your thigh, you owe me.”
“You showed up dressed like this,” he countered, his left hand dragging over the corset’s boning, “we’re even.”
“Garrus,” she warned.
He sighed, “Omega. The moment I saw you through my scope.”
“You shot me,” she reminded him, her whole body flooding with warmth.
He let out a breath of laughter, “You were taking your sweet time. I needed you to-” he sighed, leaning in and nuzzling into the crook of her neck, “I needed you.”
“That’s a long time to wait,” she said.
He let out a shaking, shuddering breath, “You have no idea.”
“Oh, yeah?” she teased, hooking her fingers under his jaw and gently forcing him to meet her eye, “try me.”
She pulled him close, pressing her lips to his and pouring every ounce of pent up loneliness and confusion and jealousy into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, sighing when he immediately returned her affection in kind. God, how could she ever have doubted that this man wanted her? How could she not have assumed that they were in this together, the way they had been in everything else together? His hands wrapped around her back, toying with the ribbons of her corset before sliding down to grip her ass. His tongue scraped against her teeth and she could feel his groin plates shifting to make space for his cock to press against her stomach. His body was hard and unforgiving beneath her, his hands were sharp where they dug into her skin. They were incompatible, two people that evolution had never meant to meet and yet all she could think as he moved his mouth down her neck was yes, yes, yes.
He was alien, but he was completely hers and, as his reverent touch grew harsher and more frantic, she knew they would fight like hell to get back to each other, come what may. Garrus nipped at her neck, backing her up against the fishtank as his hands travelled past her ass to the back of her thighs. She whimpered as the coolness of the tank against her back clashed with the sharpness of his talons scraping against her soft skin. Her core was aching. She bucked into his hips, chasing a friction she knew he wouldn’t provide until he was good and ready, but relishing the deep groan it pulled out of him anyway as she pressed herself against his dick.
“Garrus-” she breathed.
He ignored her, engrossed in his task of lavishing the column of her throat and cleavage with attention. As his tongue dragged across the skin of her breasts, which were pushed up and on display thanks to the corset, his talons continued their exploration of her thighs, moving from just below the curve of her ass, down and around until they were toying with the skin just below the hem of her skirt. He loved teasing her this way, only applying enough pressure to make her skin dimple and keep her painfully aware of how slowly he was moving.
“I swear, Garrus, if you rip my dress-” she started.
He chuckled and she flushed at the edge of desperation in his voice, “No, this dress should be put in a museum. It’s a cultural artifact. It’’l be the prosecution’s smoking gun when they find me dead tomorrow morning. No, there will be no ripping of the dress.”
Instead he merely slipped one of his hands beneath the hem, making her whine as he trailed his talons along her inner thigh, up, up, up-
She could hear his voice catching as he teased her, alternating between gripping her skin with his fingers and using his talons to hold her attention on the growing need between her legs. Garrus had a terrible habit of making her beg but, with the way his mandibles were flaring, his breath shaky and barely contained, she knew she wouldn’t have to wait long. She tilted his face up to hers, taking a second to press her lips to the mangled scar that covered so much of his right mandible. It was a small tenderness, a self-indulgent reminder that he was real, that he was there, that, despite the odds, he had survived. She loved that damn scar. She loved it more than anything else in the world even if she would never say it, but maybe he knew. Maybe he knew and that’s why it was that kiss that made his fragile resolve crack right down the middle.
Garrus made a sound that was half curse, half groan and there was the sound of ripping. Shepard felt her nice underwear slip down her thighs, completely wrecked and a pleasurable knot of anticipation coiled in her abdomen. She opened her mouth to say something sardonic and witty but it caught in her throat and became a gasp when he plunged two of his fingers into her heat. His fingers were long and thick, two of them at once, especially with no build up, sent a shock of that delicious pain that bordered on pleasure through her. She was tight, too tight. She could vaguely hear him whispering praises in her ear about that, telling her how badly he wanted to feel her clench around his cock, but it was all senseless noise dissolving into the feeling of fullness, the completeness of his fingers inside her, just gently brushing that spot that made her feel like she was dying. It was astonishing how wet she was, how immediately ready her body was to stretch to accommodate him, how much of a relief it was to have him fill her again, but he wouldn’t move. She needed him to fuck her with those fingers, but he held them still, forcing her to feel every inch of her body stretching to make room for him.
“F-oh god, fuck, Garrus-” she breathed, instinctively gripping his wrist as she stretched around his fingers.
He growled and kissed her hard, pressing his third finger to her clit, rubbing tight, soft little circles around it in that way that made her thighs tremble. His tongue in her mouth, the ice cold glass against her inflamed skin, his fingers inside her, her clit sending shockwaves of pleasure through every nerve in her body as his thumb traced it relentlessly, it was too much. It was always too much, but he didn’t stop because he knew how badly she wanted this, how much she craved the clashing sensations, how she needed him to take her apart completely before she could put herself back together again. He moved his mouth to her ear, sucking a dark bruise onto the skin at the corner of her jaw, timed perfectly to coincide with him thrusting his fingers into her. Her hips bucked, chasing the friction and she looked down.
“Oh, fuck,” she groaned.
There was something so goddamn hot about seeing Garrus’ hand beneath her skirt with the soft fabric bunched up over his forearm. She could just barely make out his fingers moving inside of her, so private and mysterious while her whole body melted into his touch. It was obscene. It was fucking holy. It was-
Garrus picked up his pace and her brain short circuited. Her head fell back against the fishtank, eyes fluttering shut as she sighed and moaned, her cunt clenching around his fingers as he wound her tighter and tighter, until she felt like she was about to snap. He was whispering praises into her ear that her translator couldn’t understand, but all that she registered was the sound of his voice. That voice, wrecked with wanting, strained like he was struggling to keep himself together as he brought her closer and closer to her peak. That voice that had always kept her sane, that had been driving her mad all evening, washing over her like a river. It was so perfectly Garrus, so she kissed him. She kissed him because she couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe while he fucked her open with his fingers. She kissed him because she needed more, and because her lipstick just looked so damn good on his skin and he moaned her name, his cock hard and throbbing where it pressed against her hip. She bucked into him again, grinding against his fingers as the coil inside her tightened and tightened and tightened until he crooked his fingers up and pressed them against that place inside her that made everything go white. It was good, and then it was really good and then it was better and then-oh god, fuck, fuck, yes, oh god, just like that, fuck-
She arched her back and cried out something broken and desperate as she came hard against his fingers, trembling and clenching around him as the aftershocks tore through her. He fucked her through it, his fingers moving more and more slowly as she came down from the high, his voice a constant soothing presence in her ear. When he kissed her next it was gentle, relieved even.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing kisses to the side of her neck.
“And I’m yours,” she breathed, “just yours.”
She felt him react to that, his hips involuntarily bucking into her as he groaned. She smiled wickedly, pushing him back towards the bed. It was going to be a long, long night.
