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Shepard looked like shit. Her eyes were red with dark circles under them. Her skin was dry and pale. Her hair was pulled back messily, off her neck and out of the way but clearly not washed or brushed. If Garrus were to guess, she hadn’t slept last night and something was weighing on her.
He wasn’t on her last mission; she’d needed him to stay behind. He had no idea what happened, though Wrex had said it was a success. She’d seemed off ever since though; quiet and twitchy, shrinking in on herself when she thought no one was looking. She sat at a console, her hand absently clawing up the nape of her neck and she closed her eyes, relaxing a tiny bit, but still clearly shaken.
He was struck by his strong desire to help calm her, but wasn’t sure what she needed. The noise of the CIC didn’t seem to be helping her though. He moved towards her, slowly so she could see him coming. He didn’t want to startle her.
“Commander,” he kept his voice soft, his subvocals indicating his concern, not that her translator could parse that, “can I get your help with something in the battery?”
She looked up at him, hands moving to her temples, “Is it urgent?”
“It sure looks like it,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a pointed look. He didn’t see it as lying to her. Whatever was bothering her was clearly urgent and here wasn’t the place to discuss it. He wouldn’t presume to invite himself into her chambers so he’d suggested his.
She closed her eyes and drew a steadying breath before standing up and moving past him, leading the way. He followed behind her silently, trying to figure out what he’d say to her.
She stopped at the door, waiting for him to open it. He let her in and grabbed her a chair. She ignored in and sunk down onto his cot.
“What do you need my help with?” she asked.
Unblinking, he put the chair in front of her and sat down on it. “You,” he said. “Something’s wrong. Something happened on your last mission.”
She stiffened under his gaze, her hands tightly gripping each other, knuckles white with the force of it. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. There was steel in her voice but it wavered. Her eyes darted around the room, looking at everything but him.
“Shepard,” he said softly, extending a hand between them, but not touching her.
She didn’t move, seemingly frozen, but he could hear her laboured breaths, see her chest begin to rise and fall quickly. Her chin was raised, almost defiantly and she blinked repeatedly, eyes glassy. He wanted to pull her into his arms, bury his face in her neck, press her against his chest and let her feel his subvocals rumble through him.
“Nothing you say or do here leaves this room,” he said. “What do you need?”
“I-” she took a shuddering breath before looking straight at him, studying his face. “This is my body,” she finally said, her words hanging heavily in the air between them. “It’s for me to use. No one else.”
He paused for a moment, puzzled by her comment. Of course it was her- “Oh,” he whispered, understanding. “Oh Shepard.”
“Don’t,” she said firmly.
He nodded, swallowing, “Did someone-” he couldn’t finish the question, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.
She shook her head, staring back down at her hands. The corners of her mouth turned up in a sad imitation of a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Years ago,” she said. “Yesterday was just an echo.” She put her hand in his and squeezed gently.
“What do you need?” he asked again.
She drew in another steadying breath before looking right into his eyes plaintively and pulling him towards her by the hand. She shuffled over, indicating that she wanted him to sit on the bed beside her. He let her position him, leaning against the wall of the battery, a couple pillows behind him to keep from flattening his fringe.
He went perfectly still when she curled her legs up over his lap and tucked herself into his side, her head resting against his chest. She sighed and grabbed his hand from behind her back, resting it on her thigh so his arm cradled her back. She let out a low hum and he relaxed a little.
“Okay?” she mumbled, eyes closed.
She was all skin and bone and muscle and still so much softer than he expected. He curled himself around her and rested his chin gently on the top of her head, breathing in her scent. She smelled like standard issue soap, the cleaner she used on her armour, and something else that he assumed was just her. It stirred something in him, surprising him.
Filing that under things to examine at a later point in time, he brought his hand up to the nape of her neck, threading his talons into her hair and gently running them up and down the soft bit of flesh there below her skull like he’d seen her do to herself. The sound that tore from her throat was extremely erotic and all remaining tension immediately leached from her body. The display of trust she was showing wasn’t lost on him. He could kill her so easily like this if he wanted to and he knew she was aware of that. Instead, she rested her hand on his waist, running her thumb back and forth on his shirt over the sensitive skin there.
“Yes,” he replied, unable to keep his growing desire out of his subvocals. He thanked the Spirits her translator wouldn’t catch that and mentally berated himself. He was supposed to be comforting her, not getting turned on by whatever it was this was. He nuzzled her forehead with his cheek anyways.
“You always have my six, Vakarian,” she said softly. Her voice sounded a little shaky.
“Rest, Shepard,” he said softly. “I’ve got you.”
He tightened his grip on her, rocking them both gently. She curled further into him, sighing and he began to sing for her. He wasn’t a gifted vocalist but turian lullabies were always more about feeling than hearing. His mother sang it to him when he was frightened as a child, not that he thought of Shepard as a child but she was frightened and it always helped him. His subvocals rumbled rhythmically in his chest beneath her.
She was still in his arms for a long while, absently running her hand up and down his thin waist. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she sniffled, her body beginning to shake against him.
“Udina didn’t want me on this mission. He was worried I was too damaged,” she let out a hollow laugh. “He doesn’t know the half of it.”
He shifted them both, turning her to face him, his chest rumbling with concern. He let his thumb drag over the tears that ran down her face, careful of his talon. She trembled in his arms and moved her hand up to cup his cheek as well, fingers stroking his mandible before tugging him down to press his forehead to hers.
“Shepard,” he growled. She must not know, he thought. If she had, would she willingly put herself in such a compromising position? He didn’t want to break the contact. He wanted to protect her, keep her in his arms, make her forget what had been done to her. That wasn’t his decision to make though. He pulled back, staring at her.
“Garrus, please,” her voice was a whisper. She shifted and he loosened his grip on her, letting her move. She straddled his lap, her hands sliding over his cowl to the back of his neck, fingers pressing up under his fringe.
Spirits he wanted her. Wanted to roll her onto her back and run his tongue over her body. Wanted to know if she tasted as good as she smelled. Wanted her arching beneath him, soft thighs hitched over his hips. Instead he pulled her arms away, lowering them to her sides.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“This is my body,” she repeated. “I can still feel their hands on me. Make me forget.”
He tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, head cocked to the side, studying her face. She met his gaze, turning her head in towards his palm.
“Spirits I want to,” he said, “but we talk first.” He lifted her off his lap, depositing her on the cot beside him. It seemed to him like the kind of discussion that was best had without distraction and it was taking all his restraint to not press her forehead against his again and let his hands roam her soft body.
“I’d rather not discuss the mission,” she said.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said. “We’re going to discuss what you want. What’s off limits.”
She let out a breath, crossing her legs in front of her in a way he found fascinating. His people couldn’t do that. She reached out and took one of his hands in hers.
“I want your hands on me,” she said. “I don’t want you to be gentle. Take control. Make me feel.”
“Anything I should avoid?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Don’t call me baby. Nothing that’ll cause permanent harm. Stop if I tell you to,” she paused for a moment, looking him in the eyes. “I trust you Garrus.”
He nodded. “Take control how?”
Her cheeks flushed a very fetching pink and he couldn’t resist reaching out to run a knuckle over them. She blinked her eyes closed, sighing.
He wanted to question whether her submitting to him would really help her reassert her control over her body, but he felt it wouldn’t be the right thing to say. Instead he waited, trusting that she knew best what she needed. At the very least, he would stop things if he felt they were causing more harm than good.
“Give me orders, hold me down, make me beg,” she said quietly. “Put your hand on my throat, pull my hair. Make it hurt. Take me. Please.”
He struggled to not show any sign her words were affecting him, but Spirits his plates were loose and he wanted her under him. He reached behind her, pulling the pin from her hair and letting the red waves tumble down her back.
“I have a few rules of my own,” he said, stroking his nails through her hair. “You tell me if anything is too much or you need to stop and we discuss what this is when our minds are clear. Understood?”
She nodded.
“Strip,” he told her, lowering his voice, subvocals dripping with his arousal.
She blinked at him, seemingly caught off guard by the change. He waited, trying to keep his expression blank. She bent down, pulling off her boots before standing to efficiently pull the rest of her clothes off, folding them in a neat pile and leaving them on his chair. She stood before him in a sports bra and panties.
Spirits did she look good like that. He watched the way her muscles shifted under her skin when she moved. Her flesh was so pale that he could see the blue of her veins show through in a few places. Her body dipped in gently at her waist before flaring into rounded hips, much smoother than the sharp spurs of a turian. He wanted to trace his hands down her sides and see if they were as sensitive as his was.
“If you want to keep those, you’ll take them off too,” he said. He was stalling - not because he didn’t want this, but he wasn’t completely certain what to do with a human.
She slowly peeled off her panties and stepped towards him. He briefly caught sight of more red curls between her legs before she climbed back onto his lap and reached under her arms to pull her bra off. He put his hands on her waist, feeling the rigid muscles along her sides. His hand eased i8ts way up her spine, weaving into her hair, nails raking up her scalp and she arched into his touch, moaning softly.
He pressed their foreheads together gently, just holding her in his lap. She grew impatient, her hips rolling against him and he let out a growl. He fisted her hair, pulling her back and she gasped. Spirits, the noises she made!
He lifted her light body and turned her so she was leaning back against him. He could smell her arousal growing stronger. It was intoxicating.
“Touch yourself,” he told her, thinking that it’d give him a good idea of what she liked.
She whimpered, letting her hands run firmly up the side of her neck and then across her collarbone. Her eyes closed. She sighed softly wrapping her fingers around the base of her throat, her other hand cupping a breast before pinching her nipple between her fingers. Her hips ground against him and he watched, entranced by the way she moved. Her body was so graceful, so flexible.
His subvocals rumbled and she let out another moan. He slowly ran the back of his fingers over her shoulder, tracing her arms until his hand came to rest at her throat. He pushed hers to the side and she tilted her head back against his chest, exposing herself to his grip. He kept his hand there loosely, waiting to see what she’d do next.
She cupped her other breast. Her fingers kneaded it roughly, pinching her nipple between them as they moved. He watched her nipples turn to hardened pink buds and he wanted to nip at them with his mouth.
She let one of her hands trail down over her stomach and settle between her legs. She sucked in a ragged breath and began rubbing herself. Her scent grew even stronger. She circled her fingers around something and let out an even louder moan.
“Spirits, you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath her.
She cried out, pushing her neck against his hand. He chased her hand off her breast and gave her an experimental squeeze. She cried out again and raised her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Her fingers felt so good digging into the soft flesh under his fringe.
He let the hand on her throat tighten a little, not enough to restrict air or blood flow, but enough that she’d feel it. Another cry tore itself out of her and he felt the way her vocal cords buzzed under her skin. He could feel her pulse under his hand hammering. His pants were growing tight and he wasn’t sure if the dampness was from her or him.
“Garrus,” she whimpered.
“Keep going,” he told her. “I want to watch you come.”
She moaned again and sped up the hand between her legs. He pinched one of her nipples between his fingers, careful not to cut her with his talons. She tried to move, a reedy whine coming from her as he slowly rolled and twisted it. He did the same with the other, alternating between the two.
Her motions quickly became less rhythmic and she was arching her hips towards her hand, gasping and moaning loudly until she fell silent. Her body suddenly went rigid, arching away from him. Her spine spasmed violently. She rubbed herself through it, her motions eventually slowing and she sunk back against him.
“Fuck,” his voice sounded wrecked, even to him.
He lay her down on the bed, settling between her legs and pressed his forehead to hers again. She hooked her knees over his hips, settling them around his narrow waist and grinding herself up against his erection. He wanted nothing more than to sink into her, bitw her throat and claim her, but they hadn’t discussed that first so he restrained himself.
Instead, he pulled away, pulling her hands off the back of his neck and pinning them to the bed above her with one arm. He reached between her legs with his other and pressed it against her wet slit, rubbing her slowly, trying to find what it was that made her moan so loudly. He traced a knuckle over her opening and she arched towards him. Then he found a soft nub and she arched off the bed, crying out.
He kept his grip firm around her wrists, and kept teasing her slowly, removing his hand every time her movements became erratic. Her face and chest were flushed. Her skin glowed with sweat, and he bent to run his tongue up her throat. She whimpered under him.
“Please, Garrus.”
“Something you want?”
She moaned, tugging against his grip and grinding her hips against nothing. He took one of her nipples into his mouth, being careful of his sharp teeth, pressing it against his rough lip plates and she moaned again.
“Garrus!” her voice was also wrecked. Her breath came in ragged, catching on her throat as she panted.
“Yes, Shepard?”
“Fuck,” she gasped as he lightly brushed against her clit again.
“Ask nicely,” he said. He was proud of how quickly he was able to turn her into a writhing mess. “Tell me what you need.”
She whined again, “Garrus! Please! I-” her words stopped as he rubbed her again, more firmly this time.
“I didn’t catch that.”
It was taking all his restraint to not free himself from his pants and sheath himself inside her. He was struck by an idea, something he’d seen in Fornax.
“Don’t move your hands, or I’ll stop,” he told her before sliding off the cot to kneel on the floor. He pulled her down towards him so her legs hung off the edge and stared at her wet cunt. Her curls were damp. He nuzzled against her inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh with his plates. Her scent was intoxicating so he ran his tongue over her.
She gasped, arching towards his mouth. He licked her again, teasing her until she began begging him again. He slipped his tongue inside her, her taste much stronger there. He could feel her internal muscles contract around his tongue and rumbled at the thought of how good she’d feel on his cock.
She arched off the bed when he gently pulled her clit into his mouth and sucked on it. He stopped teasing then, desperate to make her fall apart with his mouth. His tongue explored her entrance, stopping on a rough patch of skin inside her that caused her legs to clamp around his head until he pried them apart with his hand.
She was crying out his name, and the name of her god, pleading with him to not stop. He had no intention of stopping. He kept her legs open and sucked her a little harder and she broke. She shuddered under his mouth, her walls spasming around his tongue. He continued, licking and sucking on her as she came down and began pulling away from him, overstimulated.
He didn’t stop. She didn’t ask him to. Soon he had her arching towards his mouth again and her next orgasm followed shortly after. He wondered how many humans were capable of and decided that he’d find out.
Around the fifth or sixth time he got her off, her hands came down to hold his head against her. He decided against stopping like he’d originally threatened, too proud of himself for the way her body was just continuously spasming under his mouth. It seems like her orgasms were starting to blend together, one starting before the last subsided, and he found it hard to count them anymore.
When her grip loosened and slid off his fringe, he stopped, nipping at her thighs before climbing back up on top of her. Her body kept spasming and she was panting beneath him, her eyes barely opening.
He quickly freed his hard cock from his pants and gripped it, slowly plunging into her. She gasped at the intrusion, body trying to tense towards him, but her muscles were too exhausted and she barely moved. Her let out a growl as her walls spasmed around him. He knew he wouldn’t last long but he waited for a sign from her that he could move.
She tried to tilt her hips feebly and he took that as permission, pulling out slowly before thrusting himself back in. He fucked her roughly, driving gasps and moans from her throat. His forehead pressed against hers and he could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine. His motions quickly grew erratic and he pulled out, emptying himself on her stomach.
She let out a groan, body still twitching. Spirits, she looked thoroughly debauched. Her hair was a tangled mess in the blankets around her head. Her head lolled to the side and her arms lay where they’d fallen. Her body continued to twitch, as if her own pulse was setting her off.
He caught his breath, coming down, before pulling his shirt up and using it to clean her off. She gasped and tensed as he ran it between her legs before mopping his spend off her stomach.
He gathered her limp and spasming body in his arms and lay down behind her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice completely hoarse.
“Shh. Rest commander,” he wrapped an arm around her and began humming the same lullaby he’d sang her earlier.
It took her body another twenty to thirty minutes to stop spasming at her pulse and she was soon asleep in his arms. He hummed softly, hoping it was something she’d be amenable to repeating. He fell asleep as well, thinking to himself how good it felt to have her in his arms.