Chapter Text
It's not your eyes
It's not what you say
It's not your laughter
That gives you away
You're just lonely
You've been lonely, too long
“Garrus, I…” Shepard swallowed, her hands tense against her body. Her vitals were skittering all over his visor and he reached up and turned it off, took it off, set it down. He had her in front of him, between his broad, three-fingered, talon-ended hands. He didn’t need it between them, too.
“Shepard.” He reached up to touch her cheek, thought better of it, removed his gloves, set them by his visor. She didn’t miss any of his movements. He realized he was revealing himself to her in ways he never had. Barehanded, now, he approached her skin again, hesitant. His hand, palm a scant inch from her cheek, quivered in question. Her eyes fluttered closed and she turned towards it; he let out his breath as his skin touched hers. Acceptance. Then there was a gentle weight in his hand as she leaned into the contact. Want. Need, even.
When they’d fumbled into both acknowledging the heated tension between them, him bringing up something awkward about taking a tiebreaker to his quarters for another kind of stress relief and her taking his phrasing about reach and flexibility and saying something about testing her flexibility instead and him being stupid and not realizing she wasn’t talking about sparring… he’d never thought they’d end up here. Whether it was because one of them would get their heads back on straight or, well, maybe they’d go and die, first—but here they were, ready to go through the relay to where absolutely nothing but the statistically very, very high likelihood of death if not absolute annihilation awaited them, and they were together, out of their armor, in her quarters, and…
Oh, you're acting your thin disguise
All your perfectly delivered lines
They don't fool me
You've been lonely, too long
She’d been in the gym all afternoon and into the evening, pounding her body mercilessly, her outlets a punching bag, a treadmill, the bag again. It took Thane and Tali both to coax her out, Garrus too afraid he was the cause to try. She was soaked in sweat, her red hair plastered to her skull, and Dr. Chakwas was waiting outside, offering solace in the form of a painkiller, a concentrated rehydration beverage, and a mild sedative. Shepard had washed the former down with the drink, scowling at the taste, and reluctantly pocketed the latter when Chakwas had put it in her palm and folded her fingers around it.
EDI had unlocked the door for him as soon as the elevator had arrived at her quarters, intoning gently, “The commander has ordered you to have full access, Vakarian,” and then, “She has requested I initiate maximum privacy protocols upon your arrival. Logging you out.”
And so now he was here, the door locked behind him, Shepard fresh from the shower, standing wrapped in a fluffy towel, barefoot, the light from the aquarium playing over her skin. And his visor and his gloves were off and he was touching her, and he realized she was shaking.
“We don’t have to, Shepard,” he said, quietly, realizing his chest was aching in a way it never had.
“Riley,” she choked out, her hand coming up to cover his, the other reaching out to touch his mandible. “Please.”
“Riley,” he echoed, and her eyes closed and the shaking got worse, intensifying, like tectonic activity approaching its crest. Shit. Fuck. Shit. What’s happening?
And then he realized; she was crying, trying to lock it in, trying not to let it show, but when his free hand came up to touch her shoulder it broke free and suddenly she was on him, plastered against his hide, the tiny quivers opening into huge gasps that slowly ebbed. He found himself cradling her against him, idly noting he was holding her towel against her skin.
Let me in the wall
You've built around
We can light a match
And burn it down
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, later, slowly peeling herself off of him and tucking her towel back around her body. Her face was red, eyes bloodshot.
“No,” he murmured to her, his subvocals trilling in his need to soothe her. “Come here.”
She followed him wordlessly to the couch, sat beside him. It was awkward, finding a way to sit together; she needed him against her, needed to feel his warmth thawing her out. Eventually he propped himself up against the armrest and she laid along his side against the back of the couch, her legs crossing over at his waist, and with an extra pillow under her head it was… wonderful.
Cuddling, Garrus’s brain identified. Turians didn’t… cuddle. But here he was, cuddling with a mostly-naked Shepard on her couch, and it was beyond what he’d hoped. His fingers traced meaningless symbols on her upper back, never ceasing as soon as he figured out it eased how her hands gripped him, softened the tension in her spine, even coaxed a little sigh out of her lungs, a nuzzle against his cowl.
He felt himself slowly slipping into a happy floating-place, entirely content, when she stirred. He opened his eyes and found hers looking at him, peering closely at his face.
“Garrus?”
“Mm?” Had he been in the company of other turians, he would have been ashamed of the wild trill of his subvocals; they were possessive: mine, mine, don’t you dare.
She climbed over him and off the couch, still clutching her towel close to her, and backed away from the couch, being careful to avoid the low table. Then she stopped, just out of arms’ reach, and bit the insides of her lips, nearly pulling them out of existence, just for a moment.
And then she shed the towel, slowly, opening it and letting it fall, looking down at it as it left her hands to make a semi-circle around her feet. It took another long moment—and Garrus’s low rumble—to make her look up again, to meet his gaze. His mandibles were fluttering, and while his eyes flickered down her skin, they raced back up to hers again in record time.
Her gut twisted; the first time Kaidan had seen her, he’d been silent, too, silence born of awe, and then he’d been on his knees in front of her, touching her, letting his hands glide up the outsides of her legs, over her hips, to her breasts, thumbing their tips before he kissed her, picked her up, and carried her to bed to do it again, again, again.
But this is Garrus, her mind nudged, gently. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. And neither do you.
Let me hold your hand
And dance 'round and 'round the flames
In front of us
Dust to dust
Spirits, his mind swirled, hazy. There was nothing turian about this woman, no spurs, no plates, and while her waist was layered with hard muscle it wasn’t sinuously curved, but when it came down to it—man, woman, and nothing else—it didn’t matter. He wanted.
No, needed, and when he reached out towards her and she stepped closer and his hands, his bare hands, thank the skies he’d taken his gloves off already, his bare hands touched her skin, slithered to her hips, and her breath stuttered and suddenly a new scent teased his nostrils, one that made his mandibles flutter further and his subvocals strain, he thought she needed, too.
She stood patiently, her hands roaming over his skull plates, his fringe, his shoulders, while he explored, nosed, inspected, trying to understand human skin and hair and shape. Belly button, nipple, breast, she told him, sometimes chuckling, sometimes sighing.
When his hands narrowed in at the hidden shapes between her thighs she gripped his wrists, gently. “You’re still dressed.”
“That’s true.”
“You also haven’t kissed me yet.”
“Oh?”
“It’s usually considered polite to kiss before—during—well, you know.”
“I see.” She let go of his wrists and he slid out of his tunic; she stepped back so he could stand and he slid out of his pants and underclothes and then he was as she was, bare. He’d never been nervous before, but he’d never been with her before, either. But as it was it didn’t seem to matter, because she was on her tiptoes and he bent down to her, and though he had no idea how to manage this kissing thing, her lips were on his mouth plates and the little sound that vibrated from her chest to his did as much for him as the touch of her mouth to his.
They broke apart and Garrus slid one hand behind her head. “We do this,” he said, softly, and rested his forehead against hers and hummed, trying to convey everything—everything—he felt through his subvocals, and knew from her answering gasp that she knew, somehow.
He straightened and she settled back on her feet and smiled at him, then turned to the bed, large, fluffy, inviting.
“A sight better than your cot, I think?”
“You’d be right.”
And then she was in his arms, and he took the three long turian-steps to the mattress and set her down.
You've held your head up
You've fought the fight
He lay beside her and she reached up, at his level now, her fingers skimming gently over his markings, the scars, unerringly finding the dull ache in the damaged mandible and rhythmically pulsing two fingertips over it. He suddenly felt bare, vulnerable, open, her hands delving in and seeking out his pain.
You bear the scars
You've done your time
“Garrus,” she whispered, sounding like her heart was breaking, and gently rested her forehead against his and—hummed, an incredibly close approximation of his vocalization, and then her hum broke into a muted cry and he realized it was for him and what else was he supposed to do but hold her face in his hands and kiss her?
Listen to me
You've been lonely, too long
And then it was something new, her tongue against the edges of his plates, and after a moment’s hesitation he let his slide free to touch hers and she sighed. And then her hands were sliding over his plates, touching, finding, seeking, and he discovered that his talons run gently up her spine made her shiver and almost moan in delight, over and over. And then she’d pushed him over, slightly, helped him sort out the pillows he needed for his fringe, and was giving him the same attention he’d given her, seeking out the edges of his plates, how his body worked. But when she found a good spot she used her mouth, too, and Garrus immediately filed that one away for use in the very near future.
She had bypassed his groin plates entirely, though, and he was getting… uncomfortable. “Shepard?”
“Riley.”
“Riley,” he echoed again. His voice sounded strained. “Need a little help.”
She stopped immediately and moved back up to his face. “What is it?”
“My plates need a little… persuading?”
She swallowed and looked uncertain. “I’m… uh. Fill me in?”
He reached for her hand and guided it down, wondering if perhaps human males were substantially different in this regard. He didn’t know—he’d focused purely on human women. He wondered if she’d done any research of her own and guessed maybe not.
“Here,” he said, his voice hitching as her fingers landed on his plates, and he knew she noticed a difference; there was definite heat, there, and they were shaped differently. She shifted down and let her fingers seek over him, and he groaned. And then there was something moist, hot, gentle, soft, probing over the edges, running along the sides, and he tensed, keening.
“Oh.”
“Indeed,” he muttered in reply before groaning again. Then he sighed in full-bodied relief as he felt them spreading of their own accord; Shepard sat back, and then the tell-tale fullness surged in his groin and his cock slid free.
Shepard’s eyebrows shot up. “…Oh.”
Garrus chuckled and gestured for her to come back up, brushing his forehead against hers and then kissing her. “My turn?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, simply moved down and let his tongue wrap around a nipple, and her breath hitched. He brushed the other with his mouth plates, taking it between them, careful to keep his teeth away, and she shuddered and whined beneath his touch.
When he reached her hips, nudging gently to encourage her to let him see the apex of her thighs, she didn’t react right away. He looked up to find her biting her lower lip and recognized it as hesitance.
“What is it?” he asked, softly, reaching up to hold her hand.
“Fuck, Garrus,” she replied, her voice twisting oddly in sorrow and need. “What if… what if I lose you?”
“You won’t,” he said, but he knew that there were so many ways she meant when she asked that question, and he knew that answer wasn’t enough, not really.
She’d already lost him once. There were two hims there, too. Garrus felt a thread of anger in his veins; he’d wanted to rip Kaidan apart for what he’d done to her. But Kaidan had no place in her bed—their bed—and he set that aside.
There was only Riley and Garrus, bathed in the dancing glow of the aquarium, and that was everything they needed. Shepard and Vakarian.
Let me in the walls
You've built around
We can light a match
And burn them down
Then she did widen her legs, jumping when one of his first movements was to nuzzle gently into her center and inhale her scent; she jumped again when his tongue slid out to taste, and when she couldn’t hold back her moan as his tongue flickered over her hidden bud, she found Garrus’s free hand with hers and gripped it tight, refusing to let go before he did. And he was never letting go.
Let me hold your hand
And dance 'round and 'round the flames
In front of us
Dust to dust
When he crawled back up her body, leaving her shuddering, shaking, hiccupping with barely-sated need—he had been determined to bring her to climax at least once before, because he really wasn’t sure how this whole thing was going to work and she was going to get her release no matter what—she gripped him frantically, her hands scrabbling over his body, blunt nails scraping against his plates.
“Spirits, Riley, I need you,” he told her, tongue sliding up from her collarbone to her ear.
She whimpered in reply. “Please, god, Garrus, please, please. I need…” She knew she was babbling, didn’t care; her mind was gone, driven out by her body’s cries for him, not his body but him, Garrus Vakarian, all of him, every way she could. She didn’t know how else to explain it to him but to press her forehead to his while she keened and cried in unintelligible sounds, ones that sounded like music when his shrill harmonics joined.
You're like a mirror, reflecting me
Takes one to know one, so take it from me
He had reach, and she had flexibility, and they fit; they fit. They fit. Tears, real, honest-to-god tears streamed from the corners of her eyes to her hairline as he slid inside her, gently, slowly, letting her stretch to accommodate him. He kissed her as he did, saying things that weren’t translating but might not have translated anyway, keening underneath the sounds.
You've been lonely
You've been lonely, too long
When he thrust, her body threatened to shatter, over and over, until the end of time (which for all they knew could very well be tomorrow), and her cries and moans were met equally by the turian above her, within her, surrounded by her. He’d been lost, he realized, until he’d found her; lost in so many ways and now he’d not only found a mooring but he’d found a berth.
And Shepard… she sobbed as she came, as he found his own climax, bit gently into the muscle between her neck and shoulder, bathed the gentle wound. He’d found her, saved her, remembered her from life to death and back again, and now he’d given her something to remember, too.
We've been lonely
We've been lonely, too long