Garrus Vakarian sat in the living room of his partner's rented apartment, leaning back into the sofa and watching the television. It was morning, light filtering in through the tinted window overlooking part of Renteil, one of Bekenstein's premier industrial centers. Garrus sighed, flipping the channel to a morning news program. He settled in as a number of news stories began to scroll down the screen in several columns sorted into topic and subject. He selected a few with the remote and they began to play.
What followed was less than reassuring. Much like each day before it, the newsnet was little more than an assortment of stories and vid-logs cataloguing the declining state of galactic affairs. In front of a baroque cathedral of some kind, a batarian pundit publicly denounced Alliance efforts at conciliation regarding the destruction of a mass relay by public figure Commander Calissa "Calamity" Shepard, and called for the impending tribunal to convict her on all charges. Garrus understood the tribunal was necessary for the Alliance to avoid open war with the batarians, who had been searching for a reason to shed human blood since that species' emergence onto the galactic scene such a short time ago. Yet, Garrus could not help but feel Shepard had been abandoned and betrayed by every major organization she had put her faith in, much like him. First the Citadel Council disavowed the Reaper threat despite the enormous efforts of her and her crew leading to the defeat of rogue Spectre Saren Arturias. As if that wasn't enough, she gave her life in service, only to be brought back by Cerberus, which promptly cut ties with her when she no longer met their needs. Now, the Alliance was looking to sentence her to death for the 'reckless waste of life' in postponing the imminent Reaper invasion. Garrus had seen the Reapers with his own eyes, heard them speak of the impending doom of all life in the galaxy. His will almost broke remembering just how much had been lost to this crusade already, and his mind swam thinking of what was still to come.
Watching such fear-mongering newsnet broadcasts made his muscles ache from months of fighting and stress, and old wounds long-healed flared into phantom, painful memories of their infliction. He reached up to his face, rubbing the uneven texture of his cheek and forehead, scorched and twisted from an incendiary missile blast. He tried not to recall the incident, having been no closer to death than in that one moment, prostrated on a cold floor, coughing up and choking on his own blood.
"You're up early," a voice came from behind him, a warm reminder that the tale being told on the back of his eyelids had a happier ending.
"Couldn't sleep," he replied, still fixed on the television, only half perceiving it from tiredness and being elsewhere in his mind. Calamity sidled up to the couch and sat herself down, her dyed-black hair loosely gathered behind her ears. She was still in her underclothes, black and lacy. It reminded Garrus of their first night together not so long ago. She leaned up against his arm, moving her body closer to his. She watched the television for a few moments.
"Turn it to something else," she demanded coldly. Garrus only half realized they were watching a report on her and her exploits prior to her recruitment as a Spectre. It was the same 'insider documentary' that aired all the time, with most of the data supplied by Alliance types with loose lips.
"Sorry," he apologized, quickly changing it to some kind of religious ceremony presided over by hanar. Neither showed much interest, so Garrus turned it to a police drama, the kind older humans supposedly watched. She didn't say anything immediately, so he assumed it was acceptable.
Her skin felt nice against his, bringing back memories of the nights they'd spent together since the Omega 4 mission. She was so soft to the touch, smooth and brightly colored. When he had first seen her in her entirety, her body was bruised and beaten, scarred and torn. Since, she had healed, leaving flush, rose-colored lines on her skin, feeling like a cloth map to his touch. Three years having known her only in battle, he accepted this side of her, the vulnerability, softness, warmth, and the moments of peace. It was like she became an entirely different person, at odds with the scale and stakes of any mission she undertook; every pull of the trigger, every confrontation altered hundreds of fates across the galaxy.
And here he was, the one being in existence she allowed this close; no armor, no weapons, no pretense of command. He wondered what she thought of him, what had drawn her to him. He assumed at first it was sexual, her sudden and unexpected advance during the mission requiring clarification. Now he wasn't sure of anything, where he belonged in her life or even his own. Archangel was dead, the Cerberus mission at an end, with Calamity awaiting trial on Earth. She never spoke much about herself, what went on in her head, how she was handling the tenuous position she occupied between the Council, Cerberus, and the Alliance. She hardly spoke at all. Garrus reasoned Calamity was much like him, having spent so much time in the storm that the quiet seemed strange and mocking. To simply sit on a sofa, in an apartment on a world that wasn't plagued by war, watching television; it seemed like some kind of dream.
She pulled her knees in, hips rubbing against his pajama slacks. He slowly threw an arm over her shoulder, letting her lean in until her head was in his lap. As she watched the droll, uninteresting story unfold, he ran a finger through her hair, combing it back over her ear. She hardly moved, but made no protest. Feius, the Donaldson's' cat, came into view, stretching out on the carpet in front of the television. Calamity had promised to look after him while they were away on vacation. The orange and white tabby was especially fond of Garrus, rubbing up against his legs and climbing into his lap unannounced. The Donaldson's' hadn't recognized Calamity for who she was, so the two couples had come to be friends in the months since the crew of the SR2 had parted ways. The Donaldson's' were an older couple with two sons well into their thirties. Frederick had been a starship engineer for Nashan Stellar before his retirement, while Lisa worked part time as a receptionist at his old firm. They made for an odd double date, but Lisa had pushed them into more social outings. To hide her identity, Calamity dyed her hair black and wore it longer than usual, to look, as she put it, 'more ladylike'. Her muscular arms and shoulders would make that hard in her small wardrobe of strapless dresses and low-cut gowns, but female ex-military weren't so uncommon on Bekenstein that it would be a dead giveaway.
Calamity twisted around so that her face pointed up at the ceiling, Garrus' hand still cradling her in his lap. She gave him a faint smile that brought a spark of happiness.
"We should get some breakfast," she suggested, prodding him in the stomach absently.
"Where?" he asked, contemplating each subtle curve of her cheek and mouth, exploring with his eyes.
"I liked the Galaxy Diner. Simple, and cheap."
"Sounds good," he said. The two of them sat for a while yet, unwilling to move. Calamity pressed her cheek against his stomach, the soft breaths from her nose tickling him. "I'm going to clean up," he said, moving carefully out from under her. She lay on the couch as he made his way to the bathroom, eager for a shower to wash away all the erroneous thoughts, eager for a fresh start. Feius watched him as he went, rolling over onto his stomach and letting out a yawn. The cat looked at Calamity, who gave him a look of boredom, but also of comfort. She sat up and stretched her arms above her head, yawning and moving to stand. Her joints popped in several places, working out the stiff spots until she moved more fluidly. Sighing, she walked to the bathroom, leaving Feius to stare up at the television, idly watching the colorful pictures and scrolling script.
Garrus was already in the shower stall with the water running on 'Hot', steaming up the bathroom mirrors. The walls and cabinets were off-white with white towel racks, leaving the whole thing feeling a bit sterile to Calamity. Garrus had heard her come in, registering only a moment of recognition before continuing to bathe himself. Calamity stared in the chest-height mirror, examining her facial scars, crow's feet, and worry lines. She huffed, ruffling her hair up for a few moments before looking again. She smiled, strands of black shooting off in whatever direction they pleased. She smoothed her hair back and stripped in short order. She looked at herself in the standing mirror set into the back of the door. She was pale, with pink scars all over her body; shrapnel wounds, bullet scars, burn scars. She considered that other women might have them removed, what with cosmetic tech being as advanced as it was, but she considered the irregular lines and splotches her life's story. No words could recount her life in such a way that these scars could, plus it helped her match her man, she thought with a smile. She missed the bullet-path scar that used to run across the bridge of her nose, having earned that particular mark from Torfan, the grim mission that begat her meteoric rise. Cerberus had taken that mark from her, but given her new life. Primping, she pressed her breasts together, holding them in place with her biceps. She gave the mirror a sultry look before her shoulders sank in disappointment. Anything bigger and it'd interfere with her aim, she thought, not to mention the back problems.
Still, there was one mark in particular that caught her eye. On the areola of her left breast, a little purple scar stared back at her. She remembered her first night with Garrus, mere hours before the Omega 4 mission. She had teased him a little too long, and he bit down on her without realizing just how tender her skin was. He apologized vociferously afterwards. She found his nervousness cute, in stark contrast to his usual intense moods.
Even now, naked, only a few feet from the first man she ever really loved, Calamity Shepard considered the insanity of it all. She thought about his hard angles, the rough texture of his bony collar, the toughness of his skin, his slender but strong hands. She stepped up to the shower stall and opened the door, stepping inside. Garrus moved back enough to give her some room, almost leaning against the wall, slick with water. Calamity bathed herself for a few minutes, lost in thought, while Garrus did much the same. The warm water melted away the bad thoughts plaguing her every waking moment. The heat from Garrus' body radiated out, more intense than the running water. She breathed in the unique scent his body gave off, like burnt cinnamon. Her head swam, wondering how she had come to find comfort in his rough body.
As if to add poignancy to her conflicting thoughts, she felt his hands on her shoulders, his mouth inches from her neck. Slow, hard breaths tickled the skin of her nape, eyelids flickering and toes curling. She wanted to turn around, put her hands on his chest, but Garrus pinned her against the wall, running hands up her back and sides. Her breath was heavy with expectation, awaiting the forbidden pleasures he would inflict upon her.
She could sense his frustration at not being able to enter her as he would a woman of his own species, the conflicting nature of their genetics making each other's fluids toxic. She yearned for him to plunder her right then and there, but his will was good. A talon snaked its way down her stomach, meandering inexorably towards her sensitive opening. He slipped it inside her, as pleasant exultations emitted from her lips. Her body tightened as he pushed deeper inside her.
"God," she moaned, taking his hand and coaxing him further. Garrus laughed quietly between his own heavy exhalations. If a sapient species had sex for pleasure, and had a concept of a god or gods, it never mattered; they would always be called out in the throes of passion. He pleasured himself at her writhing and moaning, basking in every induced spasm and heady gasp. She was nearly there, judging from each high-pitched moan. He still had some ways to go, waves of primal instinct washing over him, anticipating release. He removed his talon from within her, tugging on her hips until she rounded on him. Back pressed against the wall, she looked up into his eyes, then down at his manhood.
She wanted him inside her, she felt so close. They could just as easily get a condom and be safe, but such a thing was the furthest from their minds. He pressed into her, uncaring of the consequences. She positively howled as he spent little time working into her, his throat rumbling hotly. Her legs wrapped around his narrow waist, and hands grasping his bony collar, her body rocking with his in a rhythm older than either of their civilizations. Garrus hid it from himself even now, deep inside her, but he felt nothing for other human women, his lust powered purely by his strong attachment. She had saved his life, opened her heart to him when he had been marred by battles both physical and emotional. There was no one else in the galaxy more deserving of his attention or his love. Even so, he still questioned her feelings for him; what she hoped might come of this doomed pairing. He placed his head on her shoulder, thrusting again and again until he felt climax well up inside him. Throaty rumbles reverberated throughout his entire body, each ending in a sharp bark. She held his head, stroking his fringe roughly whilst barely able to withhold climax.
She called out to him, to God, to whoever was listening. She knew it brought out the beast in him, took his performance to that next level. She had teased him into sex multiple times since the Omega mission, once the night after, then the following day. Without warning, she would seduce him, finding joy in how quickly he had adapted to the human style of lovemaking. Perhaps he hadn't been with too many turian girls; she hadn't asked. It didn't seem important, as her concentration faded once again, filled entirely with his throbbing length. She melted in his arms. Five years with little more than a pair of asari booty calls, Calamity had forgotten the touch of a man on her skin, the strength with which they made love. She had little left within her to hold on, and screamed out after three short inhalations. Her entire body was on fire, nerves flaring over every inch of her skin. Muscles tightened, pulling him in as hard as she could. Biotic flames lapped the surface of her skin, a purple glow welling up from within.
Garrus struggled to free himself, barely in control of his rampaging desire. He could feel short strands of seed begin to drip from his member, but Calamity did little but to hug him close, welcoming it. Clenching his mandibles closed, he thrust into her one last time, filling her over and over again. Stars hovered in his vision, his hearing fading, almost drowning out a low roar. The strength left his legs, and he wobbled for a moment. They both were short of breath, waiting for their wind to return. Calamity pushed past him, Garrus having little left to resist, his drive spent. Milky purple seed thinned with water ran down the inside of her legs. Still weak, she began to clean herself out. She cursed quietly under her breath.
"Was it worth it?" Garrus asked, closing his eyes and basking in the afterglow. She beamed, clearly pleased.
"Absolutely," she stated, continuing to wash out what was left of Garrus' seed. "Just to be safe, call the doctor." Garrus quickly stepped out of the shower, dashing for the phone with drops of water hitting the carpet. Calamity imagined the conversation he would have with the physician, followed by the likely safety lecture. Worth it, she thought to herself, definitely worth it.
