Author's Note: Playing the games really inspired me, and this little thing spilled out. Obviously I am a huge Shakarian shipper. (SQUEE!) I am unsure what this will turn out to be, though I am working on a second "chapter". I know it's short, sorry about that, but I just needed to upload something TODAY. Its literally been like 5 years guys. Woo! Anyhooo hope it doesn't suck too bad. :P Lemme know, and thanks. :) LS
PS: Set in ME1, for now.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bioware's awesome characters or games. I just write about them for fun.
Blood
She yanked her arm back to herself with a hiss, away from the work bench. The metal cutters had slipped and pierced the skin of her index finger. It stung, and blood began oozing to the surface of the small prick. She brought it up to her lips and sucked the blood off, unaware she'd been seen from across the room.
He had heard her make a slight noise, and before he could turn to look he could already smell her blood, tiny amount that it was. The predatory instinct in him making itself known, quietly. He inhaled the scent, relishing it. It was not the first time he'd caught a whiff of human blood. Chora's wasn't exactly known for its peaceful atmosphere. He'd seen many a barroom brawl between humans and other aliens turn fatal, and after a few years in C-Sec, he had come to recognize the scent. He knew it was red and thick, and if spilt in large quantities meant death to a human.
The scent, blood of any species, on the battlefield meant victory. Turians were apex-predators. Their senses heightened, the sheer instinct to kill overpowering all other thoughts. It was a death sentence to whatever lay between a turian and his target, not to mention the target. Blood lust, cold and primal.
In battle the instinct to kill was good, necessary. In everyday life, like that aboard an Alliance ship surrounded by crew mates and friends, it went unused. Worse, it was dangerous if not in check. That's why it surprised him when he inhaled the scent of Shepard's blood. His first thought was not about controlling the overwhelming need to conquer an enemy. His mandibles tightened as he watched her suck the red substance from her finger.
No, what he felt was predatory, but in a much different way. Instead, the one animalistic urge that pulsed through him in a matter of seconds was a sexual one.
Between turians, the act of "love" was not a soft, gentle moment like that shared between other species, such as asari or humans. The same primal instincts that aided the soldier in battle were similar when it came to romance. It was brutal, violent, each partner making certain to leave their mark on the other. Turians had sharp fangs, and blood was inevitable in any serious coupling. It was a sign of possession, for mates. While not as sweet and romantic as a human kiss, a bite from a lover to the collar was an exceptional sign of love, eternal devotion. Turian unions were lifelong.
The scent of a partners blood during such a moment called into action the carnal, animal lust that would normally be attributed to fighting. It was hot and heavy, and completely numbed all other urges. Losing control was an inevitability.
These are the urges that ran through his mind for a split second, watching her suck on her finger one last time before wiping the blood onto her pants. The scent was still in the air, floating to his sensitive nose, and with it the urge to conquer, to lose all self-control, to possess a female. His female. Which was odd, to him. Shepard was not his. Shepard was Shepard. He ground his teeth together, fighting the perplexing thoughts.
By now she had returned to the task of modifying her armor. Her back was to him, facing the work bench in the Normandy's cargo bay. He stood next to the Mako, having been in the middle of tune-ups when she had unwittingly interrupted him. Now he just watched, dangling the wrench in his hand, mouth slightly agape.
Her body wasn't spectacular, not for a human anyway. But then he wouldn't really know what was good and what was less than. All he had ever fantasized about were turian women, even as a boy. Of course, he'd seen the mags featuring "exotic" species: asari, quarian, human, drell. Yet he had never been attracted to them. He had never thought of a human as a potential mate, or even a lover. There was already such a stigma against inter-species relationships, he had never spent much time entertaining those types of thoughts. But before now, he had never met any human quite like Shepard.
He studied her form as she bent over the table, concentrating on whatever she was working on. The dark, black hair she usually wore swathed up into a bun while on duty was now cascading over her shoulders. It looked thick, and it reflected the dim red light of the cargo bay. His eyes traveled down her shoulders. Her body was muscular, but not overtly. Not bulky like a male. Her milky, pinkish skin looked soft, but he wouldn't know for sure unless he felt it. And he never had. It certainly didn't seem as tough as his plated turian skin. He wondered, then, what it would feel like against his. He pictured marking her neck with his teeth...
Suddenly there was a loud clang of metal against metal. He had dropped the wrench. She spun around at the sound, and he could do nothing but wince. Her expression was quizzical, as if to make sure he was alright. He didn't realize he'd been staring. Quickly he looked away. He scooped up the tool and turned back to the Mako, as if he had been focused on it this entire time. She frowned, but didn't make anything of it and turned back to her work. Silently, he thanked the Spirits that she had. He couldn't possibly form words while his mind was struggling to comprehend it all, struggling to comprehend why his first urge after he noticed her scent had been to...to take her.
Vivid images flashed through his head, and he shook it, trying to clear the haze before it started. Fiddling with the control panel before him, Garrus sighed. He wasn't going to get anything done like this. This, whatever it was, would have to wait. Nobody else was lining up to repair the Mako's suspension for the umpteenth time.