She sat on the bed, head in her hands. It was quiet; she never knew what to do with quiet. Everything she had known, from Mindoir to Akuze , was filled with noise and smoke; everything she had known was in the realm of the senses. Screaming and smoke, the way blood felt as it splatted against her gloves, the tickle of sweat tracing a path down the back of her neck. Everything she could feel, physically identify, she could manage. This, right now, was unmanageable.
The silence, the clean smell of metal and glass, even the muted light from her fish tank; it was all too little. Everything seemed to be made to blur into something unobtrusive and, Shepard supposed, welcoming. She didn't feel welcome. She felt, in this place of defined angles and subtle colorings, that she was too alive. She hated that, because whenever she felt alive, it was always taken from her.
She could rely on her senses, live within them, because when it was overwhelming she felt small. Everything she had, everything she could give was focused on what she was doing in the moment and nowhere else. That is why she survived, or so they said. On Mindoir, she had focussed on where the slavers had already pillaged, hiding underneath a bed that a dead neighbour lay upon before she had been rescued. On Akuze, she'd focussed on her comm, on who was alive and who was coming, running and shooting until she was exhausted and, again, rescued. Both times, she had been shipped around, bright lights glaring at her as shadowed figures questioned and prodded. After Mindoir, she had bullied a friend into teaching her how to fight, the dodging and jabbing, punching and twisting filling her mind with oblivion; nothing existed then but her need to be prepared. After Akuze, she was grounded and questioned for three months, the times not filled with hard probing she had busied herself with learning how to fire larger weapons, how to quickly duck and shoot even as she kept up a steady running pace.
Now, though, there was nothing between herself and her fears. In twelve hours they would hit the Omega 4 relay and she would be over-whelmed again. Until then, she was stuck in this god-forsaken sensory underload.
She sat on the bed until her thoughts became unbearable, wondering how the hell she was able to stay sitting for so long. Standing abruptly, she tore her clothes from her body, leaving them to fall in a scattered trail leading to the bathroom. Pushing her underwear down, she took the flimsy cloth between her toes and, with a mischievous, slightly hysterical grin, she kicked it off, watching with too much giddiness as it landed on one of her model planes she felt compelled to collect. Turning, she shivered and quickly tip-toed to the shower. Turning it on, she cranked the heat up as far as the safety protocols would allow, stepping under the steaming water with a slight hiss. The drumming of water against her skull beat out a rhythmless tattoo, leaving her blissfully blank.
As the hot water hit her skin, she thought of another sort of heat and flushed. Garrus. She had never realized how warm he actually was, never thought about the heat he always seemed to radiate. She had chalked it up to her own reaction to his nearness but after touching him she had nearly moaned at the sensation of heat creeping up her fingers and caressing the back of her hand, all the way up to her elbow before it faded away. Turning, she began to soap up the wash cloth, rubbing the coarse material as she thought of the turian.
Everything she had ever heard about turians had made her wary of them, but the same went for humanity as a whole. The entire killing each other thing, no matter how long ago it might have been, had put the two species on edge around each other. Turians could not seem to understand the bare-faced creatures who seemed to rely too much on manipulation and law-bending; humans could not understand the avian creatures who demanded nothing less than strict military regimentation in everything.
Shepard had thought she'd understood turians as much as any human could, but with Garrus she was learning quite a bit more. Like how only exiled turians had full face paint; the pattern had to be completely different from any other clan or it would be seen as a slight against that clan and the exile would be have to be killed to save face. They had extraordinary hearing but their sense of smell was sorely lacking; Shepard grinned thinking about how rank his food could smell to everyone else, but he would only be able to get the surface smells. She also found out where his erogenous zones were, although that was more Mordin's work, but if it hadn't been for Garrus she would never have wanted to, thus Mordin wouldn't have felt the need to give her a series of embarrassing and informative vid-discs.
Everything about the turian calmed her, she had also found. When she was with him her senses were given a veritable feast, something about him constantly catching and focussing her attention. Even if he was just standing in the main battery she had found out he purred when he worked. Fucking purred. His voice was enough to push any other thoughts from her head and the looks he gave her made her skin goose-bump even when she wasn't looking. The washcloth now rung out, Shepard hung it back up to allow it to dry before she rubbed all the suds off her body. Sighing, she turned the water off, missing the needles against her skin already. Grabbing a towel, she started to rub herself dry. As she bent slightly to towel her hair, she walked through the door, hearing it hiss open and close. What she didn't hear was the intake of breath, or the clink of talons against glass. She did, however, get a good look at taloned feet and long legs. Crying out, she straightened up, the towel still in her hands, her hair still in her towel. The action resulted in an odd stutter as she tried to straighten, found her hair caught in the towel, tried to tug it loose only to tug herself forward. The taloned feet stepped back momentarily before coming forward. Abandoning the towel, Shepard let the terry cloth go and whipped her head up, towel and all, just as Garrus seemed to bend down to help. Groaning when she felt the collision even through the barrier of towel on her head, she bent down further, just in time to watch a wine bottle slip from a taloned hand to land, unshattered, on the ground, rolling behind the taloned feet to bounce down the steps before it stopped at her bed. Huffing out a laugh, she backed up a step and slowly straightened. Disentangling the towel that had fallen in front of her eyes, Shepard was about to look up and laugh the situation off. The look in Garrus' piercing blue eyes stopped her, though. He looked stricken, scared, mandibles a little flared and slightly off-kilter.
"Ah, ha," he laughed uncomfortably, one hand reaching up behind him to rub at his neck. "Uh, didn't-wasn't quite expecting that," he said uncomfortably, his eyes moving around uncomfortably. Looking at him standing there, trying not to stare at her naked body, Shepard couldn't help the smile that threatened because, even if he wasn't aware of it, his talons were clicking together nervously, his shuffling feet loud against the metal of the floor.
All these sounds, those little niggling things that no one else would notice, seemed to fill her small space. Being there, silhouetted against the bright lights of her empty fish tank, Garrus seemed unnaturally and erotically large, his entire presence reaching out and filling the shadowed empty spaces. She didn't care that she was naked, had always been adverse to clothing ever since she was told she could not get her clothing dirty when all she had wanted to do was run in the mud and play with the dirt. As a solution, she'd taken her clothing off and carefully folded it by the back door; when she'd been brought back by the Chief of Police, naked and dirty, her mother had been mortified. Shepard had never been happier.
But it bothered Garrus, so she held her smile in and held up a finger. "Be right back," she said, backtracking to the bathroom to get a robe. "Uh, no, no, it's okay," Garrus said, starting to straighten and turn, still not looking at her. "We should, uh, this-this isn't-." Shepard doesn't allow him to finish, terrified that the one thing she needed was pulling away from her, just like everything else that had ever made her feel alive. "No!" she cried, maybe too harshly, because he stops and stares at her, finally. Blushing, Shepard turns away and retreats to the bathroom, grabbing a robe quickly and hoping he hasn't left yet.
When she returns, he's still standing there, but turned around, contemplating the rest of her room. She realized that no one had ever really been up here before, and now feels oddly ashamed that she has butted into everyone else's lives but has never offered anything of herself. Shaking it off, she clears her throat, but he's heard her and has chosen not to turn around. She steps up to him, not sure what to do, but from here, even, she can feel his heat. He is not wearing his armor, she finally notices, but some civvies, and she realizes just how different he is.
Even with the vids Mordin had sent over, she had never associated those turians with her's; somehow had put him into a completely separate category that was strictly reserved for Garrus. Now, though, she notices the way his thin arms and legs are so densely muscled that there's hardly any tone. His carapace is odd, for sure, and every time she looks at him she can't help but chuckle because it looks so much like a hoodie. She drags her gaze up to his face and is startled when she notices he's been watching. She wants to blush under his gaze, but she's not a virgin and he knows it, so just watches him back. His face, she decides, is the best part of him because it's so expressive, and even though the scars are probably horrible, she wants to peel away that bandage to see what he would be like without it.
It's only when he's grasped her wrist that she realizes she was about to do exactly that. Looking down at his taloned hand wrapped around her wrist, she raises her other hand and touches it, reverently and oh so gently. Tracing her fingers over his gloves, she disentangles herself and, with a small glance at his expression, begins to pull the glove off. He rumbles slightly, purring she thinks, although this sound is a little bit rougher than when he's calibrating. Tossing the thick material aside, she raises his hand and stares at it, tracing the pattern of lines on his rougher skin with a fingertip, drawn closer and closer by the promise of heat and spice until she's got her lips pressed against his palm. Her tongue flicks out, slowly retracing where her finger had explored. Garrus groans and his hand flexes instinctively, his talons brushing through her damp hair. She smiles and rubs her nose against his skin, scratchy and so perfect against her own.
"Jo," he rumbles out, and Shepard looks up at him again. His mandibles are slightly flared, his eye bright and she wishes he'd take that visor off so she can see both of them. Has an odd thought that maybe he's a robot and it's welded to his metal skull, and the thought makes her lips turn up into a mischievous and self-deprecating smile. "What?" Garrus asks, pressing closer, leaning down so he can press his forehead to hers. She doesn't answer, just continues smiling. She breathes in sharply when his forehead finally touches hers, his skin so hot against her own, and she has that same feeling she had when she was younger, of just wanting to be naked. So she releases his hand and undoes the ties of her robe, leaning into his contact as she shrugs the material off, letting it pool at her feet.
A hand comes up, hesitant, and Garrus is looking sideways at his own hand, watching himself touch her. She shivers when the warmth floods through her system, and he purrs again, watching the goose bumps form on her arms where he has touched her. She watches him as he explores her body, watches the twitch of his mandibles, the way his fringe begins to stand on end, listens to how his rumbling and purring changes to something dark and primal. He turns his gaze back to her, and she whimpers when his hand leaves her arm. His mandibles flare, crooked, and she knows he's grinning. Reaching up, he carefully removes his visor, and as it clicks off, the constant tiny hum that accompanies it shuts off as well. The room is bathed in light, eerily silent save for their heavy breaths. Shepard reaches up, tracing her fingers over the vertical stripes of Garrus' uniform, feeling the slight vibrations he's trying to hold in, and it thrills Shepard that while she yearns for sensation, Garrus tries to lock it away so as not to be overwhelmed.
This, she decides, will be interesting. She finds the clasps at the front of his shirt, hidden in all the dark material, and begins to tug them open. Looking up at him, her breath catches when he raises his other gloved hand to his mouth and, with care, catches the material in his teeth and pulls. Just that simple act of baring his sharp teeth and doing something so innocuous as remove a glove had Shepard on edge and she was embarrassed when she felt a slight trickle on her thigh. Looking down, she hoped he hadn't noticed, probably didn't smell anything, but his head was cocked, and Shepard realized that she had groaned. He's looking at her, predatory, but her fingers are sure on the clasps, and she removes his shirt.
Now it is her turn to explore. She traces gentle fingers over his carapace and into the dip where the softer skin of his neck sits. Reaching up, she curls her fingers and scratches along his skin, pressing up against him when he groans. She trails her fingers down over his thick skin, finding the delicate skin between his plates and on his waist. His arm curls around her back, hand resting on her ass as his other starts to play with her hair. Already drying in the sudden warmth of the cabin, the dark waves are frizzy, and he runs his talons through them with amusement. "Didn't realize hair could be so messy, Jo," Garrus teases, a rumbling chuckle starting in his chest. She moans when he vibrates against her, not even bothering to act indignant about her hair. He seems to catch on, because he's abandoned her hair and is scraping his talons against her throat and behind her ear. "Garrus," she gasps out, clutching his carapace, "you're wearing clothes."
He chuckles again, his skin moving against her peaked nipples, and she feels herself grow wetter and hotter. He leans down and nips at the skin of her shoulder, his teeth careful to not break the surface. He reaches down, and she follows, letting him remove his pants by himself. There is a small scuffle when he has to manoeuvre around his leg spurs, but she helps him and they are flush against each other again. Reaching down, Shepard feels that slit that Mordin had told her about, hidden behind some softer plating. She begins to rub gently, feeling his moisture spread as his talons grasp her more firmly, nearly breaking skin. Looking up into his face, Shepard smiles at his expression; his eyes are closed and mandibles slack, his expression the turian equivilant of 'oh holy fuck, yes'. Her gentle probing is rewarded when she feels something unbearably hot and slick poke out into her hand. She moves slightly to get a better look, and nearly chokes on her intake of breath. Garrus looks down, worried, but Shepard is hypnotized by the magnificent cock laid out in front of her. Garrus reaches out a hand tentatively, pushing at her hair and urging her to look at him. When she does, she smiles and grasps his cock, forcing a hiss from him. "Garrus," she starts, looking back down at his cock, "Garrus, no wonder turians hide this. I'm pretty sure there'd be more demand for turian strippers if people knew you were walking around with…with this."
"Uh, tha-thanks," he says uncertainly, breath hitching when her small hand strokes his curved length, tracing over the pattern of bumps on his penis. She's leaning down, and now Garrus has begun to get nervous. His hands flex, curling and uncurling, at his sides as he watches her small tongue dart out and lick the tip. He wishes he'd paid more attention to the vids, now, because she's licking him and he's not quite sure what the proper protocol is for this. Turians don't do this, what with the mandibles and fangs, but he'd heard about it. He never thought he'd experience it though, and so stood there and swayed as she slowly swallowed more and more of him. Her tongue is everywhere, lapping at his head and licking broad strokes up the side of cock. Her hands are busy, one fisting the base of his cock, the other between her legs, and she moaned every time she jerked her wrist. It was too much for Garrus. "Gah, Jo," he gasped, pulling at her dark hair, "you need to, ugh, to stop. I-I ca-han't…ungh!" It's embarrassing, he decides, when you come within a minute of receiving your first blow job.
But she's still kneeling and staring at him expectantly. There is some of his thick cum on her lip and it's so hot that he's hard again. She smiles at him, and licks the head again, enjoying his euphoria. "Up for some more?" she asks, taking his cock with both hands and pumping. Garrus vaguely wonders if they're actually doing this, then decides he doesn't care because it's happening now. He hopes she didn't want slow and sweet, but judging from her actions he suspects she is getting exactly what she wants.
He shifts down and grasps her upper arms, pulling her up forcefully. She squeaks, actually squeaks, and he smirks at her expression. Turning them, he pushes her up against the fish tanks, her breasts hitting the cold glass, and she gasps then groans when he presses up behind her, his heat compensating. Reaching down, he forces a hand between her and the glass, tweaking her nipples like he'd seen done in the vids. Her moan this time is low and loud, speaking of a million pent up feelings just now finally finding release. He leans down and nips at the skin of her neck, his nose filled with the scent of her shampoo and the fine sheen of sweat building on her body. His other hand traces the outside of her breast, down her trim waist and between her legs, to the hair curling there.
She gasps when he traces his talons through her hair, reaching down and finally touching her wet labia. They both moan this time, and she's pressing against the hand on her breast; he obliges and tweaks her nipple, ripping a hoarse cry from her throat. Being careful, he uses one taloned finger between her legs, tracing out the shape of her labia, pushing on her lips and he tries to find that one spot. She reaches down with a hand and adjusts him, crying out when their fingers press against her clit, she pushing him harder against that small nub. He smiles into her hair, repeating her motions, and now her hand is back up against the glass, clawing against the glass. Pushing her harder into the glass, he releases her breast and she gives a needy, whining moan until both his hands are between her legs, and she groans, long and low again. With one finger, he gently plays with her clit, rubbing and pushing as she writhes against him. With his other hand, he seeks out her entrance, already so hot and wet and pulsing with the anticipation of cock.
Smirking, he turns his head slightly so he can speak into her ear. "You have to tell me if I hurt you," he growls, his voice low and rough with need. She nods against the glass, a halo of condensation blooming on the cool glass around her overly heated body. He pushes his finger in and she cries out, holding as still as she can so he will not hurt her. Garrus groans into her hair, biting the side of her neck, trying to resist the urge to push her to the ground and rut her senseless. Moving his finger out, he pushed back in, feeling the tightness give away as he finger fucked her, and he hoped he won't hurt her, because once he was inside, he wasn't sure if he could stop. She's moaning and trying to writhe, now, and Garrus grins, rubbing her clit and pushing his thick finger into her over and over until her entire body seems to seize up and she cries out, her cunt pulsing around him.
His body screams at him, and he obeys, finally. While she is still limp from her orgasm, Garrus hooks both hands under her legs, lifting her up, her knees pressed against the glass as he spreads her and positions her over his throbbing cock. "Are you ready?" he grits out, refusing to move until she's certain. She moans again and nods, "Fuck yes, Garrus, just, please." It's the plea that sends him over the edge. Pulling her down as he thrusts up, he buries himself into her grasping body, his primal roar of possession mixing with her scream of lust. He holds still for a moment, but she's already wriggling, pleading for him to continue. Growling, he lifts her up and impales her again, the soft walls of her cunt, ploughed aside by his cock, twitching and expanding inside of her. He groans again, not sure how much he can take even though he's just come. She's shaking around him, her cheek pressed to the glass, her hands bracing herself as he buries his cock into her over and over, grunting with exertion. He can feel that she is close again, can see it in the tightness of her limbs, the tell-tale shaking and near sobs. Snarling at how little he is getting from this position, he abruptly pulls out, ignoring her cry of bereftment, and grasps her waist. Pushing her around, her finds the largest free space, which just happens to be on the floor in front of her desk.
Pushing her down onto her knees, she whines and pushes her shoulders into the floor, lifting her ass into the air. Garrus doesn't know if she learned the turian way in the vids or if it was a human sexual custom as well, but he doesn't care. Folding his long legs on either side of her, he grasps her hips, pulling her open as much he can before he's plunging back inside. He's so hard and she's so tight, but not tight enough to stop his cock from expanding. Garrus knows this needs to end soon, or she'll be hurt, so he leans over and bites her shoulder, deep, holding her there as he pistons in and out of her body. She's crying out, one hand between her legs as the other reaches up and traces his engorged fringe as best she can from her position. The added sensation was all Garrus needed. Growling and snarling, he's still biting her when he comes, her blood and his saliva starting to pool underneath her shoulder, but neither notices as their worlds are shaken apart and put back together. She comes and her walls squeeze him almost painfully. With a sharp cry against her skin, his seed coats her inside, pushed out of her tight cunt when he continues to push into her, trying to dominate as much of her as possible.
When they're both spent, he collapses and rolls off of her. She groans and rolls over, tucking herself into his side. Looking down at her head, he makes out the bite marks with something like horror, but also a small amount of satisfaction. "Jo," he prompts, trying to move away, "you're bleeding." Shepard makes an angry sound but doesn't move, eyes closed. Garrus sighs and tries to move away again to collect the medi-gel.
"Jo. Jolena, you're bleeding." She murmurs and sighs, and Garrus suspects she's already asleep. Sighing again, he forces his arm out from under her head, chuckling at the frown her sleeping face is pinched in. He gathers her up and deposits her small form on the bed, retreating to find the medi-gel. He nearly slips on the forgotten bottle of wine and smiles ruefully at his past fears and reservations. Placing the bottle on her little coffee table, he continues to the bathroom. When he returns, she's staring at the ceiling, a perturbed and amused look on her face. Wary, Garrus approached, hoping he hadn't done anything wrong. "What is it?" he rumbles out, rougher than intended and hopes she doesn't notice his unease. She turns to him, notices the gel and offers up her shoulder. "Nothing," she sighed, "just realizing that it's quiet." Garrus makes a small noise of assent as he applies the gel, "Everyone's trying to sleep." She smiles and settles back onto the bed. "Including us?" she asks, and even though it's light and she's trying not to make anything of it, Garrus knows her too well. "Including us," he agrees, before ordering the lights down and slipping into bed with her. She presses her cheek against his chest, as if listening to his breaths, and he falls asleep with his hand in her hair.
I tried writing smut, and this is how it turned out. Hope you like, though!