As requested by twinwriter16, a fun triangle of smutty fluffy wonderfulness! I feel really bad because I agreed to write this almost a month ago and like a total loser took FOREVER to write it. But I promise there's more in progress!

Greenyoda987 is, as always, the greatest for working with me and being the best beta EVER.

The shuttle's thrusters sputtered as the vehicle banked hard to make its retreat, leaving its unfortunate occupants scrambling for cover from the hail of bullets descending on them. Yet Shepard turned the opposite way, back toward the bomb they were defending, praying it could be diffused. No matter how angry she had been about not knowing all of the facts about the mission, she empathized with the younger Victus. She just hoped it wasn't all for nothing.

"Lieutenant, status report!" she barked into the comm, falling back to try and get a look at his progress. Her movements were practiced, automatic as she swapped the clip of her pistol; she caught a glimpse of a Centurion bearing down on her and sent him sprawling with a biotic missile. She could hear Garrus and James draw closer, covering her movements as the remaining Cerberus troops fired desperately back at their entrenched position.

For a second, there was no reply save the ominous groan of the metal mechanism encasing the ordnance before the turian lieutenant swore. "Mechanism's jammed! I have to release it manually!"

Shepard caught a glimpse of him just as he started ascending the ladder leading to their target. "There's got to be another way!" She knew what that meant: he'd go up, release the jammed machinery, and the firing mechanism would fall, along with the Lieutenant. There was no way he could survive.

"No time."

Shepard growled something nondescript and slapped her pistol back into its mounts on her hip, already on her way toward the platform. "Don't you dare kill yourself over this, Victus." With a huff, she hoisted herself back onto the platform, scrambling to the console in search of the countdown. Less than thirty seconds. "This is not worth your life. There's got to be another way!" She stepped back, searching until she caught sight of him, dangling from near the top. The blood drained from her face and she swore, scrambling toward the ladder he had used moments before.

"I have to make this right Commander!" She could barely see the flutter of his mandibles as he wrenched the cover free and reached for the jammed mechanism to pull it free.

"Detonation in ten seconds," the placid voice of the console intoned.

"Victus!"

The cylinder slid out smoothly and he let it drop, clutching for the bars that served as the only thing keeping him from falling too. "Victory at… any cost."

Shepard watched, eyes wide as the metal frame screeched free and fell. She could hear screaming, belatedly realizing the sound was coming from her, and reached out, extending as far as she dared. It was an instant, barely half a second, yet the moment seemed infinite. His face flashed by, the only discernable emotion it could convey being fear, and she hadn't realized how young he truly was until then. His hand reached for something—anything—to save him, and sparks erupted from where his gauntlets scraped down the armor over her forearm. She grabbed for his hand, her fingertips sliding helplessly off the back of his hand.

All at once, the gunfire seemed to cease, everything grew quiet, and dust billowed up, blurring the war-torn landscape.

He was gone. Shepard stared, dumbfounded, at her empty hand and felt her throat tighten. No one was supposed to die. Not like this…

"Shepard, is—"

"Gone," she choked out, sliding back down the ladder. Her boots hit the metal deck and it took all of her effort not to crumble. She had been so close… If she'd been just a second faster, she might have saved him…

Neither Garrus nor James said anything, the gravity of what that single word meant crushing anything they could have replied with: the Primarch's son was dead.

"Shepard, we're reading that the bomb is offline. Cortez is bringing the shuttle down." Shepard looked up at the sound of her pilot's voice. "I assume everything went well?"

Shepard bit the inside of her lip to keep from screaming, and James saved her the trouble of answering, "Just get us back on the ship, Joker."

The shuttle felt darker, colder, than when they had landed on the krogan homeworld, and Shepard let her head fall into her hands, her elbows set on her knees. She had touched him… She could have saved him, should have saved him… He had been right there. If she'd just reached a little farther… Or pulled him back with a mass effect field… Or something!

"Got a lot of chatter coming in from the krogan forces planetside, Commander." Shepard barely looked up at her pilot's interruption. "Looks like their sweeping out the remaining Cerberus troops. Hate to be the guy to tell them about that surprise package." There was only a brief pause before he spoke again, but his demeanor had changed and his usual humor was gone. "You get out ok? It sounded like things got ugly down there."

A bitter, melancholic smirk pulled at the corner of her lip and she shook her head. "The turians took a lot of casualties, Joker," she murmured past the lump in her throat, "the Primarch's son included."

For a second, it was silent as the grave and Shepard looked back down at the floor between her feet. "Understood, Commander. Joker out."

She didn't see the quick exchange of looks her squadmates shared before James jerked a thumb toward her hunched form and fixed Garrus with a hard look. Fix this, it said.

Garrus sat carefully beside her, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "He never hesitated." When she didn't look up, he swallowed heavily and kept going. "Whatever he was before, he'll be remembered for this."

She sighed. "What does the turian code say about this, Garrus?" she asked quietly, pressing her fingers into her eyelids. She wished Tarquin hadn't screwed up their landing… If only their mission hadn't gone wrong… I wouldn't have watched him die.

"Hard to say. Sacrifice in war is expected, so he did us proud, but…" A sad laugh escaped him. "We're a hard bunch to please."

Shepard couldn't help the smile that curled up the corner of her lips. "Of course you are."

"Living your life for the good of the cause, society first, platoon first," Garrus continued, unabashed, "It's all just expected." After a pause he gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You did everything you could."

She scoffed and shook her head, letting her hands dangle between her knees. "He did what he had to when it counted. But I couldn't."

"Shepard…"

"I could have saved him, Garrus," she cut him off in a harsh whisper, "I got a hand on him, I could have grabbed him… "

"No, you couldn't."

"You don't—"

"Yes I do." The turian let the hand on her shoulder slide around her back and pull her to his side. "There was no way you could have saved him, even if you had grabbed him. He was falling too fast, the force would have ripped you off the scaffolding and you would have gone down with him. It might make me a bad turian, or even a bad person, but I'm glad you didn't get a hold of him. We can't afford to lose you too. I know I can't."

Shepard had retreated back up to her cabin the second they'd returned to the Normandy, And Garrus could understand why, but it left him in the unpleasant position of breaking the news to the Primarch. He understood why she felt so badly about it—he couldn't imagine seeing a life literally slip through his fingers—but the friendship he'd found in the Primarch made what he was about to do all the more painful.

"Garrus, what happened down there? Is there any news about my son?"

Garrus winced and held up his hands when the Primarch approached. "Victus… Adrien, maybe you should sit down."

"Don't treat me like some defenseless civilian, Vakarian. Out with it!" He was almost shouting and shoved the younger man roughly.

Garrus grabbed him by his shoulders and dragged him to a less-trafficked corner of the war room. "Tarquin died putting this right, sir," he rumbled, "He completed his mission. And Shepard watched him pay the price for your secrecy. Are you happy now?" It had been a crucial piece of intel, and Victus had withheld it. Shepard had been furious, and Garrus could understand why, but he felt a more personal betrayal; he had thought they were friends.

The Primarch's expression fell, all of the fight draining out of him and he sagged against the wall. "He's dead then…"

"Primarch!"

Garrus moved so he was between the Primarch and the advancing angry krogan and put up a hand. "Not now, Wrex."

"Out of my way, Garrus, he has to answer for this!"

Garrus was about to give him a piece of his mind when Victus pushed him aside. "We couldn't risk another galactic war with the krogan."

Wrex, however, didn't show any signs of accepting that explanation. "The genophage wasn't enough? You had to plant a bomb on my planet?"

"The decision was made hundreds of years ago, so much has changed."

"Not enough to tell us about the bomb, coward!" Wrex lunged at him then, slamming him back against the bulkhead, and Garrus dove in to tear them apart.

"Hey! Enough!" He gave Wrex a rough shove back—barely enough to put a step between the two leaders. He understood the reasons for withholding the intel, but it still rubbed him wrong that the Primarch hadn't trusted him, at the very least, with the true nature of their mission. But he wasn't about to let Wrex berate the man who had just lost his son. "We have better things to do than fight with each other, regardless of how much of a reason either of you has!" He turned his anger on the man he had come to call friend. "Adrien, you had a bomb on Tuchanka!" With a growl, he turned on the krogan he'd come to view as a kind of head-butting, grandfather-like brother. "And Wrex, in his position, you would have done the same damn thing."

Wrex scoffed. "Figures you would take his side, damn—"

"His son died today making this right, Wrex," Garrus cut him off sharply. "It's done."

"Please, Garrus, it's alright…" Victus looked like a man who had had the strength sucked out of him; his reassuring smile looked weak and shaky.

Wrex had taken a step back, noticeably surprised, and awkwardly cleared his throat before speaking. "Alright, fine, you made your point. We have bigger enemies to face." He stalked away before anything else could be said and the Primarch visibly sagged.

"It's not alright." It wasn't a question and the elder man didn't try to deny it.

"I'll live. I'll have to, I suppose. Nothing else I can do, besides make sure it wasn't in vain." Victus shrugged. "I owe Shepard my thanks. Because of her, Tarquin died with the respect of his men. Whether she knows it or not, she did both Tarquin and myself a great service."

Garrus flicked a mandible in a sideways smile. "I think she does."

"The way you talked about her on Menae, I shouldn't be surprised." There was an edge of humor in his voice and Garrus indulged him with a laugh. "I find it very hard to believe she isn't turian."

"Believe me, she's not."

Victus snorted. "Now that you've put that image in my head—thank you, by the way—I really would like to thank her."

Garrus nodded toward the exit hallway. "She went up to her cabin. She's taking it hard… I can't guarantee that she'll want to talk about it."

"I'm willing to take that risk."

They rode up the elevator in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Shepard had barely said a word since the shuttle had docked, and Garrus wasn't sure she would be ready to face Victus. No matter how many times he told her there was nothing she could have done—he had even showed her the readings from his visor, and all the algorithms that concluded exactly what he had: nothing could have saved him—he knew she would still blame herself. That's just who she was. Even if it was ridiculous.

The door to her cabin was locked when they stepped out, but Garrus didn't seem to care. A few quick commands on his omnitool, and the lock glowed green. Victus had the good grace not to comment and Garrus entered first.

"Shepard… The Primarch wanted to speak with you; I thought it would be better if he came up here." He stopped at the top of the stairs and she looked up. Her eyes were red and he could see the wet trails down her cheeks before she scrubbed them away. "Jane…"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, scrambling to her feet and pushing her hair back out of her face. The blonde locks were limp, still matted with dirt and grit. "You wanted to see me, Primarch?" Her expression had been schooled into a neutral mask, but Garrus could still see the tension across her shoulders, and the desolate look behind her eyes. Sometimes he wished she could let herself be vulnerable…

"I actually wanted to thank you, Shepard," Victus said, stepping around Garrus to descend into her small living area, "I owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did down on Tuchanka."

"With all due respect, sir, I watched your son fall to his death. I did nothing for you to thank me for," she said flatly, pressing her lips together to hide their tremble.

But Victus shook his head. "He died with the respect of his men. You didn't have to do that for him, but you did… And I wanted to thank you for that." At Shepard's confused expression, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "His sacrifice will be recorded in the histories of the Ninth Platoon, something any father would be proud of."

Garrus could hear the waver of his friend's voice, and the pain in his subharmonics, but said nothing. He was the leader of the turian people; betraying how deeply the loss affected him would do nothing to help his reputation on the galactic stage. Not that Shepard cared—or would say anything even if she did—but Victus might care. Garrus knew that, while a high-ranking officer, Victus was not completely trusted by all members of the Hierarchy, and the feeling was mutual.

Shepard met the Primarch's eyes boldly, the careful mask cracking only for a second. "I'm sure that's enough, sir, but I can't understand how." She took a step away, out from under Victus's hand and set both hands on the small desk she kept within falling distance of the bed, leaning her weight onto them. "I should have saved him. And I can't forgive myself for his death when I could have stopped it."

Garrus opened his mouth, but Victus beat him to the punch. "Enough, Commander. If everything Garrus has said about you is true—and I'm sure it is, regardless of his penchant for exaggeration—then I know that there is nothing more you could have done for my son."

Shepard's shoulders slumped and she let out a heavy sigh. "I…" She swallowed and tried again. "I'm sorry, sir. I know this isn't easy for you."

"There's no need to apologize, Shepard. Garrus told me that you tried to save him. That's not an easy position to be in."

The human woman looked down at her boots and ran a hand down her face. "He looked terrified. Dammit, he was so young…"

Garrus finally closed the distance between them and put his arms around her; automatically, she buried her face against his cowl. He let out a comforting trill and pressed his mouthplates to her hair in his approximation of a kiss. "Don't beat yourself up," he murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear.

"Only a fool doesn't fear death," Victus said tiredly, "And I like to believe—for all his faults—that my son wasn't a fool. But he was young…"

Shepard looked up and studied him for a moment, blinking back fresh tears. When she stepped back, Garrus cast her a quizzical glance, but she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before facing the Primarch.

"Sir," she said gently, "I don't know how turians mourn, but I can only imagine how you feel right now. I… well, I've lost people, and my… friends, squadmates on Elysium, people left behind… But… well, never a son. And…" she stopped, seeming to falter and hesitate a bit, but one look in Victus's eyes—eyes that seemed to be searching for something to hold on to—she continued. "This might be a human ship, but you're not alone. We are all in this fight together. Friends and family are what we're fighting for. Just, know that you're not alone," she finished, holding her arms open to him almost as if she were thinking of embracing him.

"I… thank you, Commander," Victus replied, cocking his head to the side as his mandibles fluttered questioningly. He shot a glance at Garrus, almost asking if the younger turian knew what the human woman was doing. Garrus just tilted his head down and gave a very subtle jerk of his head towards Shepard.

Shepard looked almost slightly rejected for a moment, before something seemed to dawn on her: Garrus only hugged because she was human, and she'd never seen any other turian do it. Whoops. "I, uh… well, humans sometimes show they are concerned or that they care about others by… hugging. I don't mean to assume anything, or to start a diplomatic incident" –her lips turned up in a small smile, trying to show the Primarch that she wouldn't be offended if he said no— "but, it sometimes helps.

For a second, Garrus thought he might refuse—they'd vaguely discussed the state of galactic affairs, and Victus had made it clear that he was ambivalent on the issue of humans—but the older man surprised him by flicking one mandible in a lopsided grin. "Turians aren't built for hugging."

Shepard smirked and rolled her eyes, grateful for the break in the awkward tension. "We manage," she replied, gesturing to Garrus. "You don't have to, but—"

Strong arms wrapped around her and she was surprised to find that Victus was actually even taller than Garrus was. Never thought I'd feel short… After a second, she carefully tightened her arms around him so it was a proper hug. What she hadn't expected was the low growl that she felt from his chest. Garrus had taken an instinctive step forward, but looked just as confused as she did.

"Apologies," Victus finally said, stepping back, "The stress of this new job is…"

"I understand, Primarch," Shepard said, sparing him further explanation. Oh, she definitely understood that. If she didn't want to bash in her own skull on the bulkheads, she wanted to bash someone else's head in. Or rip her hair out. Or lock herself in her cabin until the universe decided to make more sense. But those weren't options, leaving her sorting out the mess. She knew all too well how stressful the job he'd suddenly found himself in was. And he was adjusting well, it seemed. Garrus slipped an arm around her waist and she smiled. "More than you probably know." It felt good to talk about something else, anything else. Even something this personal was better than talking about death. Again.

"You're both terrible," he replied, putting a hand over his eyes. "First Garrus, now you. I'll be lucky if I don't see you two fucking in my dreams."

Shepard guffawed at his bluntness; she had forgotten that it was common in turian culture to use sex as stress relief. It had been a good ice breaker when they had first started out, but Garrus had been surprised to find how quickly Shepard had taken to the idea. Although, she had never thought the Primarch of fucking Palaven would be making jokes about her sex life. She shook her head, pushing her hair back behind her ear with a chuckle, but Garrus studied the Primarch in curious silence, flexing his fingers against her hip.

"Well," Victus finally said, stepping back, "I should leave you to it, Commander. And I'm sure there's something the Hierarchy needs me to sign. Thank you again, Shepard. Garrus." With a nod, he left, leaving the two of them alone in her cabin.

After a brief pause, Garrus chuckled and put an arm around her shoulders, turning her so they were face-to-face. "I think you just made a pass at the Primarch."

Shepard stared at him for a second, blinking wide blue eyes in confusion. "I did?" The dour mood of the morning seemed to retreat, even if only a little as Garrus nuzzled her hair affectionately.

"Yes. And he didn't seem put off by it either."

"Reeeeally…" A catlike grin spread across her face and he quickly bundled her against his chest.

"Stop right there, I know that look," he rumbled, tightening his arms around her. She made a show of looking innocent before pressing a kiss to his throat.

"Is that a no?" she purred against the exposed skin and he growled. "Cuz the safe-word is 'Blasto'."

That drew a surprised laugh out of him and he leaned back to look at her. "Why would… Never mind. No, it's not. Just tread lightly."

"So you're not stopping me?"

Garrus scoffed. "While you were incarcerated, I was serving with him. Plenty of time to admire the way the man handles a rifle."

"Mm… So you think he's sexy too."

"That's one way to put it."

"Harlot."

Garrus rolled his eyes. "You're one to talk, Shepard," he teased, nipping her neck.

"You love me regardless," she replied haughtily, smiling up at him. "Besides, he must need some stress relief too, right?"

Garrus had to admit, she had a point, and she would be the one to understand. She was passionate about everything and threw herself completely into everything she did, regardless of how trivial in the grand scheme of things. Which, of course, sometimes got her into trouble. And when she wasn't in trouble, she was so stressed she could barely function. She wasn't unlike a turian in that way; the pressure would just build and build until it absolutely needed an outlet. And that was when she would find him. He had almost begun to expect her after every mission; hot, fast, and hard to get her head on straight and work off the adrenaline. He couldn't complain though; despite the hopeless nature of their mission, he was the most relaxed he'd been in a long time. Maybe she was on to something…

The terminal at her desk beeped and Shepard sighed, pulling away from him to investigate. Her brow furrowed as she read the message; the Hierarchy wanted her help identifying the dead from the Ninth Platoon. She'd have to tell them Lieutenant Victus was dead… Just like that, her mood fell and she sighed, covering her face with one hand. Garrus knew that look; it was one she let only him see. She was close to breaking.

"Hey, c'mere." Garrus pulled her to him again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Worry about that later. How about we go eat, and then we can come back up here, and you can catch some sleep?"

"You know I don't sleep."

"You do after great sex."

That made her laugh and she shook her head. "I need a shower first."

He had to give her that; he knew how she felt about post-mission dirt. "You shower, I'll bring food up here."

"Deal." She moved away from him again and leaned into the bathroom to flip the shower on. When she glanced back at the door and saw Garrus still waiting, she raised a brow. "Aren't you going?"

"Waiting for my favorite part," he replied with a smirk as he leaned back against the fish-tank. Shepard knew he was trying to do everything in his power to convey some sense of normalcy, anything he could possible do to distract her from what had happened and what was yet to come; no easy feat. It was the little things like this that made her know she could trust him, with anything. He just… knew her. So she obliged him and rolled her eyes, hastily peeling off her uniform. She did a quick turn, blew him a kiss, and retreated into the warm spray. From her refuge, she heard his light laugh and the sound of his footsteps. Then, silence.

With a grateful sigh, she let the pounding jets of steaming water slough the blood and grit and grime off her skin. It was such a small thing, but she thanked any deity that was still listening to her for small amenities – like hot showers; it felt like heaven to scrub the gravel from her hair.

She wasn't looking forward to submitting the IDs, but it had to be done. And she knew this was just the start. That thought chilled her. She hated losing people; saving the Council at the cost of human lives was the hardest decision she'd ever made. And this war was going to leave a trail of death a light-year wide. How long before it was her friends' bodies she was picking up off the battlefield? Could she bear to bury Liara, or Wrex? Or Garrus? She smacked the shower control angrily and stomped out, trying to outrun that train of thought. The Reapers would pay for this, all of it. She quickly threw on the loose shirt and shorts that she slept in and flopped into her desk chair, a towel wrapped around her head. Her fingers typed a quick reply that her eyes didn't see, the movements automatic until she his "send". No doubt Palaven command would respond within the day.

"Good news, food's still hot," Garrus announced as he returned. Shepard threw the towel into the bathroom and stood, happily taking one of the trays from him.

"Halle-fucking-lujah," she sighed, cracking the lid off and padding down to her couch. Steam wafted up as she settled down and she hummed contentedly; she had never expected that the most precious things in her life would be a hot shower and a warm meal. "What is it?"

"No idea, but I don't really care." Garrus watched her wolf into the food for a moment before venturing a question, "How are you doing?"

There was a second of silence as she chewed, her eyes dropping down to the floor. The concern was evident in his voice, and it made her throat tighten painfully as tears brimmed on her lashes again. She forced herself to swallow and take a long breath before answering.

"I've been better," she admitted, swallowing another rich bite of… whatever it was she was eating, she didn't even care. "I'm terrified of having to submit my reports… "

"You did nothing wrong, Shepard," he insisted laying a hand on her leg and giving her knee a tender squeeze. She managed a small smile, but shook her head.

"The Primarch's son died on my watch, Garrus. Regardless of who's at fault, it looks bad. And…" She set down her fork and cradled her head in her hands. "I feel terrible for Victus. He was counting on me to get his son off that rock, and I failed. If I'd been faster, Tarquin might still be alive."

"Shepard, don't," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Don't blame yourself for this. Victus knew the risks when he sent his son on that mission. He doesn't blame you for this, no one in their right mind does." He didn't want to tell her to forget about it—it would only make her angry, and he knew she would ignore it anyway—but she needed to stop beating herself up over it. When she didn't look up, he slid closer to her side and slid an arm around her shoulders. "Promise me you'll let this go. Maybe not right now, but eventually. Don't let this bring you down."

Shepard huffed out a sigh and leaned toward him, setting her head on his shoulder. "I'll try." She knew she should try to eat more, but her unfinished plate stared back at her, its appeal gone as her stomach threatened to rebel. Carefully, she stood and crossed the room to her bed, falling gratefully onto the sheets. When he laughed, she held out one hand blindly. "C'mere."

She could hear his footsteps as he followed and the mattress dipped when he sat on the edge beside her. She felt blindly until she found his hand and tugged him down beside her, tangling the rest of her limbs with his. Heat radiated off of him and soaked into her, slowly but surely easing some of the tension from her muscles.

"You really should eat more."

She shook her head, the top of her head tucked under his chin. "Can't. Just… lie with me for a while?"

Garrus smiled, his palms rubbing circles along her back, and let out a low hum. "I suppose so. You're right about this whole hugging thing, though," he pointed out, "I feel much more relaxed."

"This is cuddling," she corrected, hiking her leg up over his hip and pulling him close, pressing their bodies together from chest to knee. "And yes, I am. I'm almost positive I could solve all of the problems between the races if we got everyone together for a cuddle pile. You can't be upset when you cuddle."

When her hips flexed against his, he growled in agreement, one hand sliding down to trace the line of her thigh. "Or do other things…" He felt her smile against his cowl and trailed one talon up the exposed stretch of her spine.

"Insatiable," she muttered, arching into the feather-light touch.

"You know I only want the best for you," he replied, cradling the back of her head and tilting her face up to his. "And you'll actually get some sleep too."

"Mmm…" she hummed, brushing her lips against his mouth, "And who would I be to stop you from acting in my best interests?"

"Exactly." He rolled them easily so he was hovering over her, his hands and knees caging her in, and pressed their mouths together more insistently. She draped her arms around his neck and arched up so they were pressed together, savoring the friction and slide of their clothing between their bodies as their tongues dueled, mapping the now-familiar terrain. When they broke apart, she gasped and he turned his attention down to the exposed skin of her throat, trailing hot, teasing bites down to her shoulder.

"Garrus," she whined, pressing her fingers into the back of his skull. He growled in response, but continued his trek downward, sliding her shirt up to expose her breasts and stomach to his hands. When his tongue brushed the sensitive peak of her breast, she twitched, biting down hard on her lip. "Fuck, please…" she begged, running her nails along the exposed skin between his plates as he teased her.

"Patience," he purred, switching to her neglected breast. He felt the goosebumps beginning to rise on her skin as he trailed a hand down over her stomach to tease along the waistband of her shorts. Her hips strained toward him, seeking more contact, but he remained tauntingly just out of reach. When she groaned in response, he chuckled, tugging the offending garment down her legs, and bent to lick a trail down her stomach. She gasped and he couldn't help the low moan that escaped him when he found that she wasn't wearing any underwear. "Spirits Shepard…" he growled as he ran his thumb along her slit, savoring the near-convulsive moan it drew out of her.

She felt like her skin was on fire, and every cell in her body craved just a bit more contact. She forced her eyes open and managed a hazy look down at him, her fingers tangling in the sheets. "Please, Garrus," she begged, bucking her hips against his fingers. In just a few moments, he had her completely undone and begging, like putty in his hands, and while it should have embarrassed her, she couldn't seem to care. "I need you."

His laugh vibrated through her body, but before she could appreciate the feeling, he leaned back. Her eyes shot open and she sat up quickly, surprise written on her face, but he held up a reassuring hand as he stood at the foot of the bed. "Patience," he reminded her, leisurely removing his tunic; her eyes lit up, drinking in the sight of him as he casually removed his clothing. She licked her lips hungrily and beckoned him back down with one finger.

When she spoke, her voice was low and husky, drawing him toward her like a moth to a flame, "I've waited long enough."

Garrus was on her then, pinning her arms above her head and spreading her legs with his knees. "Agreed," he growled, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips. She melted into him, squeezing her legs around his waist. His breath left him in a rush as she flexed her hips, the new angle pressing him against the warmth of her sex, and she took the opportunity to trail open-mouthed kisses along his jaw.

"Take me," Shepard begged, circling her hips against him, and he could have sworn he felt all higher brain function vacate his skull. For a second, he could only fathom that she was pressed so intimately against him, and that he desperately needed to be inside of her.

She cried out when he entered her suddenly, making her throw her head back against the pillows, and he buried his face against the crook of her neck, tasting the tiny beads of sweat on her skin. Every part of her fit him perfectly, and he could feel her body tighten and he rocked forward experimentally.

"More," she breathed across his cheek, her face flushed and warm. And he obeyed, picking up a punishing pace that had her keening, tugging against his hold on her wrists. Yet from the sounds she made—her muttered curses, clumsy supplications, and enthusiastic praises—he knew she was losing control as quickly as he was. His hips snapped against hers, his grip on her arms clenching as she drew him further and further into oblivion. Her startled, euphoric moan shocked him back to the present just as she squeezed tight around him, her back arching off the bed; and it was only one, two, three more frantic thrusts before he joined her with a low rumble.

When his head cleared, he rolled onto his side and pulled her with him, bundling her against his chest; he could see her eyes beginning to glaze over, the sure sign she was close to falling asleep.

"You were right about other things," she mumbled against his carapace, pillowing her head on his bicep.

"Beg pardon?" he grumbled, still struggling to break through his own mental haze.

"You can't be upset when you're cuddling, or doing other things. That involve less clothes."

Garrus chuckled, settling back, and let his eyes fall closed. "I'll be sure to tell the Primarch."

"Good."

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