FILL: At Face Value (14/??)
anonymous
June 20 2011, 21:42:30 UTC
So Jane took it. “How do you get through it?”
Garrus gave her a strange look, and she could read the flicker of surprise disguised in his hard turian features. She was sure he wasn’t expecting that out of her, not the woman who’d always been prepared to get indignant when someone questioned her orders. But he duly answered, grim, “For the longest time... it was the rage that sustained me.”
The self-deprecation returned in a nauseating wave, enough that Shepard couldn’t stop her eyes from briefly closing. “And I took that away from you.” She rubbed wearily at her opposite shoulder. “Maybe you deserved your vengeance. I think I did wrong by you --”
“You did nothing of the sort,” Garrus snapped, his voice like a door slamming. Something appeared to galvanize him out of his brief ennui, and armour rattling, he turned on her.
“Look at me, Shepard,” he ordered, and when Jane didn’t respond fast enough, one gloved hand reached out to capture her face with its long, three fingers. The sensation locked their eyes. He leaned close, so close, that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face, see the tips of his teeth past his flaring mandibles.
“You were right,” Garrus told her firmly. “Killing Sidonis would have put me down a path I never really wanted. I'll be honest with you; this is still taking some getting-over for me. I can't compartmentalize two years of anger. I had myself convinced that I deserved that kill. My entire universe was rebuilt around that belief.” His hand gentled against her cheek. “But I know you did the right thing. I know your reasons for it. You were fighting for me.”
Then he let her go, sincerity hardening his features, Garrus straightening his back and clenching his hands as he bowed his head and faced her.
“Now I get through it by obligating myself to your directive,” he confessed. “I need you, Shepard. I need your fight. I've made it mine. I fight for the memory of my ten men, for their surviving families, for their children, and I'll protect you, your mission, so that it may live on. That's what they'd want.”
His blue eyes creased slightly. “But it's not just that. There's... there's also what I want.”
And then, before her eyes, Jane watched as Garrus moved, doing something she’d only ever heard about in her codex of turian culture. He’d conceded to her authority, yielded to her command more times than she can remember, but never once had he ever done this.
He stood up from the bed, and in a single, graceful motion, dropped to one knee and bowed in supplication. His solid armour resounded when it hit the floor. Kneeling there, Garrus begged her in a purely turian gesture of regret. His voice was rough and thick. “I fight for you because I know you're the only one who can save us. Because even though you’ve already died once for us, I know you’re prepared to do it again. Because even with your own past and loss, you’re still willing to cry for fallen batarians. You did the right thing, and yet, I... doubted you, Commander, and I apologize for it. It's my job to protect you, and I've let you down again.”
Jane’s eyebrows knotted. Again?
Garrus’s hands tightened against the floor, and his eyes drew shut. Turians rarely, if ever, closed their eyes when awake or conscious. It was their purest gesture of surrender.
“I'll be prepared to do anything to be returned to your confidence, Commander,” he pleaded. “You can assign me to vanguard. You can throw me in the brig. You --“
Re: FILL: At Face Value (14/??)
anonymous
June 20 2011, 23:50:07 UTC
*Dies from awesomeness*
I can only be revived by more. I can't wait to read more! This tugs at my heart-strings so fully, the gambit of emotions. I'll be blubbering over here. It's so wonderful!
FILL: At Face Value (15/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 00:14:22 UTC
Jane just yanked him up by two handfuls of his collar, forcing Garrus out of his act of supplication and into her fierce kiss. He froze, his eyes flaring wide. He'd never been kissed before, and since turians do not commonly kiss, it was not so much the sensation but the ramifications that jarred him. He froze for a moment. That meant...
The turian surged forward, his weight pushing insistently down until Jane's smaller body conceded, falling tiredly back to the bed. She broke the kiss as his hands found her waist, bidden to explore the firm lines of musculature through her clothing. They watched each other, his sharp blue eyes fixed on her wide grey ones. She was breathing harshly; her lips were swollen from where she'd crushed them against Garrus’s unyielding mouth plates, and even in this impassioned moment, Shepard found reason to pause, her doubts trying to resurrect like some old ghost.
This isn't right, not now, not after everything--
"Garrus, we don’t have--" Jane began to apologize.
Then, without warning, her gunnery officer cut her off with a very distinct growl, curved two armoured fingers over her mouth, and leaned in to pull his hot, rasping tongue up the side of her throat. It was long and rough, every turian taste bud scraping a merciless path up her jugular and behind her ear, and the action shot an arrow of heat straight to her groin. Shepard's breath caught in her throat.
"Don’t finish that thought," he told the fragile arteries in her neck, grazing his needly teeth over the fragile flesh that shielded them. Garrus’s hot breath puffed against her skin, smelling vaguely alkaline, like motor oil and gunmetal. "Didn't we already agree to this?"
Jane reached up long-sufferingly to pull his hand from her lips. "We also agreed to wait--"
Garrus’s teeth reprimanded her shoulder, shredding the fabric there and catching the muscle beneath. He rumbled warningly, “I almost lost you on that fucking asteroid. You almost died and it would’ve been too late. I'm a smart man, Shepard. I don't make the same mistakes twice. And neither do you."
Eyes half-lidded, Shepard swallowed against the pulling sensation of turian teeth in her skin, the pain strangely inciting her but not to want to escape it. Her hands wearily closed down on the armour shielding his upper arms. Doggedly, she still persisted on argument. “But weren't you worried -- about us researching this right -- about it getting awkward --?”
“It won't,” Garrus interjected stubbornly, taking his teeth out of his commander’s shoulder to survey the flesh around her collarbone. His too-warm breath clouded over her as he indulgently processed her scent. “I'm too pissed off.” His fingers searched Shepard’s form-fitting civvies for the most obvious openings. “And you know when I get pissed off, I make things happen.”
Jane sighed away the rest of her fight, her breath steeped with patient amusement. “One of the things I love best about you.”
Hands stopped, Garrus froze at that admission, seeing through its empty tease to the disguised meaning beneath. He searched her eyes, part of him waiting Shepard to realize her own statement, and give her time to retract it, regret it--
But Jane Shepard, her grey eyes still lingeringly red-rimmed, simply smiled back up, confirming the question in his stare. Comrades like her and Garrus, who had learned each other’s faces in those glorious moments of living or dying, needed no extraneous words between them.
Exhaling thickly, Garrus leaned down to push his forehead against hers, pressing intimate, insistent weight. It took Shepard a moment, but it hit her that this must be a turian kiss, second base for a race who had no lips and too many teeth for prolonged kissing. She copied the movement, craning her neck to return the pressure, and was rewarded by the luxurious sensation of his throttling purr as it soaked into her vertebrae, the sound burying into her so deep that she felt it inside her molars. “Shepard,” he spoke against the skin of her forehead almost worshipfully, “you don’t know what you do to me. I was worried whether I’d be able to respond to a human. Now I can’t imagine this not happening tonight. It has to. I’ll make you feel good.”
FILL: At Face Value (16/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 00:15:56 UTC
Despite the nervous heat fluttering through her belly, Shepard intoned wryly, “Is that one of those infamous turian honour promises?”
Garrus pulled back to stare Shepard down, his sharp eyes aimed like a pair of gun barrels. She was mocking him, and he knew it. “Yes, though I don’t think you understand their full ramifications. You’ll have to allow me to demonstrate.”
# # #
In two quick, deliberate movements, the heavy gauntlets unlocked from Garrus’s wrists, and he dismissively let them drop. His hands were exposed up his elbows, revealing his lean, sinewy muscles and thick skin. He flexed his six fingers, each one of them studded with a long, curved killing talon. A turian’s natural weapons. Shepard had seen them used before in battle, and they had more strength and sharpness than any trench knife she’d ever kept in her possession. She’d seen those claws rend enemies into hamburger.
Now he’d turned them on her, and it came down to a matter of trust, to stay still and silent as those weapons drew against her body. It was up to both of them to be careful; even one wrong shift or unprepared jolt could leave her with some messy puncture wounds. But he appeared more than intent on his end, rapt and delighted to explore her body with an infinite patience. His hands followed the way her civilian clothes clung to her body, then, he appeared to grow immediately tired of touching fabric, and his fingers searched for an opening on her clothes. But human clothing was foreign and alien to turian designs, whose civilian wear was never meant to be pulled harmlessly overhead or arranged around soft shoulders. There would be too many rips and tears.
But his exploring hands couldn’t seem to find a buckling system in her clothing. Agitated, he bent down and tilted his head to squint under her arms and down her sides, searching and finding nothing. Well, nothing save Jane’s half-hidden, and very amused smile.
So that’s how it’s going to be. His gaze flattened, and Garrus replied with a flick of his hunting knife claws. Fabric tore noisily, and before Jane even had time to express the surprised indignation that was colouring her face, he’d torn her shirt free. He reached to similarly snap the carriage-harness she wore underneath, rumbling with curiousity to steal his first glimpse of her breasts. They looked small and firm, streamline to her athletic body, and he wasn’t too sure what to make of them.
That is, until he touched one, capturing it in one clawed hand, and Garrus paused at the utter sensation of softness. It was hard to believe that a creature as strong, durable, and enduring as Shepard could feel so vulnerable. She’d proved her prowess endlessly, but to touch her like this aggravated every one of his protective instincts. He had no idea human flesh was that delicate. The thought, again, of her trapped alone on that asteroid station, and surrounded--
Her gentle sigh broke his dark thoughts, Garrus sobering to the sight of Jane relaxing, responding to the whispers of his claws against her nipples.
He vowed privately on his own honour that he’d never repeat that mistake. He’d protect her, more than she’d ever realize, and probably far more than she’d ever like. He wouldn’t let anything come so close to learn that she was this soft. The dichotomy of their bodies at this moment didn’t escape him, all of her exposed, soft, and prone curves contrasted with his plated hide and heavy, cumbersome armour. She looked so small against him. It was very diverting.
Soon enough, his hands released her breasts for the much more engaging length of her waist, a turian’s natural erogenous zone. A human’s waist was shorter and thicker than a turian’s, but he definitely liked hers, and his arousal shot up at the sight of her hip bones creasing out from the curves of her body. Needing to see and touch more, his claws curled into the waist of Jane’s pants, the seams already tearing at the edges.
“Garrus, I need some clothes left to walk out of here--” Shepard groused, trying to untangle his fingers.
FILL: At Face Value (17/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 00:18:49 UTC
“Then I suppose you’ll never leave,” Garrus confirmed with a playful edge, opening her pants down to her knees. Fabric split noisily under his claws. She gave him a dirty look, but he soon earned her forgiveness by reaching in and letting his claws tease along her inner thighs. Then, the turian went to the patient pains of pulling the unravelling fabric free of her long legs.
Shepard’s smooth skin was already chill bumped in that strange, human way. “What about you?” she pointedly turned on him from where she sprawled across the mattress.
“In due course,” Garrus just replied. He craned his head at that strange undergarment she wore next to her groin, daring to muffle the strange, sweet smell he could scent arriving from between her legs. To appease her, he slipped in his talons with total delicacy and worked it down her legs without a single catch in the fabric.
“Now let me see.”
# # #
He was rumbling, almost purring like some big cat, as all six of his talons hooked under Shepard’s thighs and jarringly pulled her hips up into the air. She gasped with mild shock, her arousal not helping the way her world was dazedly spinning, and a moment later, Shepard found herself heaped across the mattress, her shoulders pinioned back into the pillows as her left ankle hooked against Garrus’s armoured carapace. He was perched above her, almost mantled like a hawk, with that intent, predatory face of his hovering between her legs. She felt one of his mandibles scrape her inner thigh and realized what he was aiming to do.
Numbly, detachedly, Shepard wouldn’t have ever figured this as a universal form of foreplay. And didn’t Mordin once warn her--
Her leg tensing where it draped over his sizeable shoulder, Shepard tried to turn her hips inside Vakarian’s hands for purchase. He only seemed to fight her harder, holding her half-slung form up from the bed. Jane huffed with agitation. “Garrus, you can't. Proteins -- you'll go into shock --”
His steely eyes glanced up from her groin. “Then try not to get too wet.”
He’s been watching the vids, Jane realized with a groan, before the first hot stroke of his tongue effectively short-circuited any chance of cognition. She cried out, still trying to remember her argument, her logical reasoning that this shouldn’t be happening, that it’s not safe, but then Garrus’s steamy, too-hot turian breath exhaled over her folds. “Is that how you taste, Shepard?” his dark, flanging voice inquired silkily of her. “If the spirits didn’t want me to do this, they wouldn’t have made you taste so fucking good.”
His claws tightened against her ass, barring any escape, and with no further preamble, her gunnery officer went to town. Human tongues had nothing on their turian counterparts, which were longer, stronger, and endlessly rough, complete with sandpapery taste buds scraping against her tortured flesh, almost promising to lick her raw and senseless. He feasted greedily on her, with long and heavy licks that physically rocked Shepard back against the bed, Garrus nearly turning desperate to sample that taste he’d complimented her on. The sensation was nothing she ever imagined, but then only few humans would ever know the sensation of turian battle ferocity turned into an insatiable need to force pleasure from their lovers. He’d already made it known he had no intention of letting her go.
“Goddamnit, Garrus,” Jane cursed helplessly as he ate her, her words lost into a cry when the lashing tip of his clever tongue snuck through her folds and hit her clitoris. Head thrown back against her pillows, her voice broke with her keening. Then the smart son of a bitch seemed to realize what he did, and capitalized on that little nub of nerves, opening her shivering legs wider as he descended upon it. The world tilted dangerously, pleasure blearing her eyes as Garrus laved the spot fiercely, his pace slow and entirely without mercy. Her wetness flooded his mouth, and it only seemed to encourage the turian, who was deliberately set on feasting on her as though she were some rare alien delicacy. Did she really taste that good to him?
FILL: At Face Value (18/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 00:20:50 UTC
# # #
She did.
If he’d only realized this sooner, Garrus thought. If he only knew what he was missing, everything would have been different. He would have acted on his feelings much sooner, far before Shepard even mustered the nerve to ask him to her bed: it would’ve been before Cerberus, before that fucking Alenko, before her dying so he could have at least been there to prevent it. And he would have. His fury was like a fire moving beneath his plates, railing against nearly losing that woman a second time, and her taste on his tongue was his only catharsis. He needed to prove this to her. Prove how much she meant to him. Prove how much he needed her. Prove how insane she made him.
Every turian instinct felt like ignition fluid in his blood, aggravating him to act, to fight, to conquer; this was a demonstration of his hunger, of his devotion for her, but turian devotion was as much an exercise in war as anything else. And she would know it.
Garrus pushed cruelly with his tongue, and felt his mate orgasm, her spine tightening as her fingers twisted into the bed sheets. He drew it out with a long, savouring taste, caring not for her recent fears that drinking her would be potentially fatal. He’d like to see it try. If a rocket to the face couldn’t end him, what could? His anger made him feel invincible. What mattered is that she was alive, here with him, and he would take from her all time would allow.
# # #
With a windy sound, Jane relaxed, weak and dreamy from her pleasure. Garrus rumbled, leaving behind points of blood as he unhooked one clawed hand from the flesh of her ass, his palm gliding up the smooth length of Shepard’s leg as he stretched it to rest up against his shoulder. Her skin felt clammy, and there were wet pockets of sweat trapped in the insides of her knees. Dully, he noted his own arousal, aching something fierce and poisonous in his groin, trapped inside the heavy plates of his armour. He still needed to remove the damn thing. But he wasn’t finished.
Shepard had just finished sighing away the best orgasm of her life when his tongue started anew. It woke her up faster than a slap to the face, already too painfully over-sensitized to suffer this.
“Garrus,” she croaked, trying to retreat, but his right hand curled around her ankle while the left dug more painfully into her hip. He chose to say nothing, happy to let his tongue speak for him in this more tactile language. And it did, lapping her firmly and unforgiving, burying into her folds to worry her swollen flesh. The pain was sharp, and every punctuated flick of her clitoris seared. Her eyes watered, but he didn’t let up, pushing Jane forward through the agony until pleasure began to build under the burn. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, warmth returned to radiate up her back.
Her pride mattered so much to her, but at this point she was just sobbing, her face flushed and tears rolling out of her closed eyes. “Oh, God,” Jane kept bleating, “Garrus, you son of a -- oh, God!” Then he began to purr, the sound humming deliciously up between her legs, and Jane was lost again, mindless and insensate, reaching one trembling hand to pull his head closer. Her fingers found the skin under her officer’s fringe, and her nails angrily dug in. The action reflected inside his shocked eyes, and Garrus surged forward with a growl, pushing a talon carefully into her as his tongue curled around that battered nub and sucked.
It was all she needed. Jane’s second orgasm shook her, arriving with a breathless sob, hitting her so sharp and scorchingly hot that she saw stars. She locked up in agonized ecstasy, riding the last emphatic drag of his tongue, and then collapsed, her ribcage fluttering as her body fought to keep her breath. Dimly, she felt Garrus’s hand stroke down her leg once more, returning it gently to sling across the mattress. When she found the strength, or at least the discretion, to crack open her eyes, she saw him looming over her, his exposed hands unlatching the initial bands of armour from his body. His face wore the turian equivalent of a shit-eating grin, which looked just as universally irritating. “And that’s a turian promise.”
FILL: At Face Value (19/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 00:23:40 UTC
Jane pushed a tress of dark hair from her sweat-smeared brow, her mouth twitching. “Duly noted, you bastard.” Then, frowning absently, she aimed a squint up on her undressing lover. “Where the hell did you learn that?”
Garrus dropped a heavy layer of steel from his arm that looked -- and sounded -- to weigh a good twenty pounds. Turians definitely were stronger than they looked. “I do my research, Commander.”
Jane’s lips curved with a half-hearted smirk at his quip, but she wasn’t really listening. Instead, she was enrapt by Garrus’s body, as he revealed himself inch by inch from his restricting armour. He looked so alien, but also so beautiful, beautiful in that dangerous, tempting way a weapon is. The serrated edges and hard angles of his body reminded her of a living blade, and he looked so contrary to everything she knew about human men, with their heavy muscles and soft lines. Garrus was narrow and lean, with a hundred razored edges that seemed designed to rip and tear. She wasn’t too sure how she found it all so arousing. Maybe it was just a side-effect of her natural masochism.
She determined that he wouldn’t be the one having all the fun. Sitting up, Jane obligated herself to helping Garrus strip, her nimble, five-fingered hands tangling with his as she reached for the endless clasps and locks of his turian armour. He watched her with obvious affection, those predatory, unblinking eyes of his enrapt to watch her human face. As she opened one latch and let the chest pieces fall from his torso plates, he reached out wordlessly and let the point of one talon push a lock of hair from her eyes. The action made Jane smile.
Then, with a rasp of the bed sheets, the bed creaked as her lean, naked body lifted from the pillows, her weight settling on her shaky legs. Her knees were buckling, and her genitals burned with an aching, painful rawness that still felt sweet. A strange emotion compelled her to sink down, opening Garrus’s knees to kneel between them as he sat on the edge of the bed. The sight of her, vulnerable and flushed between his legs, her exposed flesh encircled by his long limbs and armour, seemed to make the turian tense painfully on the spot. Jane ventured that he was reacting to the submissive implications of her gesture, and the unspoken invitation of dominance appealed to his turian nature. With a culture of social ranks and fierce hierarchy, their civilization was built on control and supplication. He’d done the same as she did now, when he bent and guiltily appealed to her mercy, confessing his doubts, and must not have expected her to return it. He inhaled slowly and deliberately, staring her down with a predatory intensity.
So Jane just made it worse, by leaning in and feeling along Garrus’s legs until she found the telltale notches in his greaves, letting each piece open as she patiently pulled them away. Each movement revealed fabric, which opened rather easily to expose his warmed, plated hide. It was nothing like human skin, neither soft nor porous, instead matching the evolutionary step after scales, his flesh taking the form of expansive, grafted plates that rose up in countless little edges. Mordin wasn’t kidding when he warned her about chafing.
One leg freed, she ghosted a kiss against the hard, textured flesh of his thigh. Turian skin was thick, but it certainly wasn’t insensitive, because that littlest touch incited a growl straight from the back of Garrus’s throat. He stared holes down at her, unspeaking, unmoving, and if she could read turian faces as well as she thought, Jane swore he looked a little nervous. Hiding a smile, she stripped his other leg, then, pushing up to her knees, leaned into her officer’s torso to find the opening on his pelvic plackart, the reinforced, alien alloy unhitching from his body and lowered to the floor with a heavy, muted clang of steel. Now he was as naked as she, his tall, long-limbed, and sharpened body almost runic with his pebbled plating. Jane’s eyes followed the way they wove and interlocked in a long and almost artful path down his chest, terminating to the engorged opening that slotted the reinforced natural armour between his legs.
FILL: At Face Value (20/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 00:29:39 UTC
He was rumbling, almost purring like an engine as she reached one hand to graze her finger down the length of that secret slit. Garrus jerked, but said nothing.
“Anaphylactic shock got your tongue?” Jane couldn’t help but ask, looking up from his groin to meet the turian’s eyes. It was an innocent joke, but it did reflect her genuine worry. He was being awfully quiet--
“Shepard...” Garrus eventually breathed, almost trembling, and not from allergic reaction. He appeared to be fine in that respect, his pain coming from other obvious sources. He was fixed and poised, looking as though he were one twitch, one reflexive flex away from descending violently, ruthlessly upon her, but that tender look in his eyes was holding him still. He shuddered out a grumbling breath that was underlined by an animalistic whine. “I can’t… remain long like this -- not in my nature -- “
“Good,” she replied, “I think I want to see you squirm.”
And Jane stuck two fingers into that slit between his plates. Unlike Garrus, she hadn’t done extensive research, not on this. Much like any of her battles, the plan of action ran entirely by instinct, instincts she had nearly doubted until he reminded her of who she was. Her roulette was rewarded by a fierce snarl, and her gunnery officer’s legs visibly seethed and shivered as she navigated that warmed sheath until her fingers found something hot, slippery, rock hard, and... huge. Garrus buckled with a hollow grunt, and his pelvic plates opened to push his erect member free. It was unlike what Jane ever expected, shaped differently from a human man’s, thicker and corrugated with the swollen meat of his thicker hide. It was a deep, dark blue, engorged by the blood what ran through his veins. It was also big.
Her officer was breathing shallowly, almost panting, and Jane figured turian men weren’t built for extended foreplay. It seemed to be killing him to sit there, patient and pliant, all to let her whet her curiousity, and to prove his infinite trust to allow her at the most vulnerable part of his body. That fact didn’t escape Shepard, who felt her heart pang at the tortured way his hands opened and shut. He was barely hanging on, but she also owed him one...
She leaned in, the plates of his inner thigh scraping the soft skin of her side, and Garrus keened with agitation. He was already hypersensitive, and Jane took infinite pleasure in the way he buckled when her palm closed around his erection. She squeezed, testing the flesh, and watched his face, her grey eyes following the spasms of his mandibles as they twitched in and out. He was definitely squirming. Feeling emboldened by her lover’s response, and taking obvious delight in the modicum of control she had over his strange, exotic body, Shepard tested her reins with a first, slow pump, sneaking in her other hand to grip him fiercely at the base. Garrus responded with some delicious, helpless sounds.
“Shepardddd...” he slurred, his voice deepened into something faint and foggy, but the underlying growl was entrenched with warning. He was losing patience--
“Call me Jane,” she whispered, before leaning in to lick him from base to tip. He wasn’t the only one prepared to play with fire, or at least fatal allergic reaction, as she closed her mouth over his cock’s engorged tip and demonstrated what human mouths can do. She sucked him fiercely, and his howl must have jumped every organism with ear drums in the half-mile radius.
Re: FILL: At Face Value (20/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 00:53:45 UTC
hrnghrrh. I would just like to take a moment to point out that this whole 'the waist/hips are more interesting to turians than breasts' trend is my favorite thing to ever happen, ever.
FILL: At Face Value (21/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 01:20:01 UTC
Driven by this small sense of accomplishment, that there may be a chance to get this right, Jane only intensified her attentions. He tasted strongly, like copper, like that strange, metallic taste of blood, and the smell off his thighs, so close to her face, reminded Jane of ash from wood fires. A strange warmth curled in her belly, and she felt all the more compelled to please him, prove to Garrus how, even in the recesses of space, in ships and countless stations, he had that unique way of tasting, smelling, and feeling like home. She pumped him determinedly as she sucked, her palm rolling against his erection’s strange, uncanny ridges, and the action only seemed to make him thicker. A strange sound burned past her ears, and curious, Jane looked up. He was stooped at the waist, bent over her body, and panting, his mandibles fallen open and the skin changing colour down the sides of his throat. The breath hissed in and out through the dangerous rows of his sharpened teeth.
And he was staring straight at her.
It was, quite possibly, the most erotic thing Jane had ever seen.
Their eyes meeting, almost warring with each other with matching intensity, Jane’s fist squeezed Garrus’s cock with some of her augmented, Cerberus strength. Her tongue pushed into the slit.
It happened so fast. One moment, she was crouched between his thighs, bending his near resolute self-control to her very whims, and the next, the world flipped and swiftly-upended, and the breath coughed free from Jane’s lungs as her back slammed flush against the mattress. Not a heartbeat later, her gunnery officer was mantled above her, his hands locked around her wrists, his forehead pushed against hers, and his cock brushing her entrance. His blue eyes were wide and almost sightless, glassy like taxidermy, reflecting the insanity of teased turian instincts. Jane’s lips parted as she stared back at him, awed, frightened, and aroused all at once. She’d never seen him this way.
“Jane Sheparrrddd,” he growled into her flesh, turning his head to let his teeth bump and drag the length of her clavicle. That sinister tongue of his returned to lap the sweat beading between her breasts. His hands tightened, their talons pinching warningly into her skin. He seemed to be luxuriating in her body, alien as it must have been to him, softer and more yielding than the turian women he must have known. His breath, almost boilingly hot, tracked across her breasts, which tightened when a chill rose across her body. The action seemed to interest Garrus, and his tongue swept curiously around her nipple. He sunk closer down upon her body, applying slow, steady weight, and she felt that glorious, ribbed cock of his grind against her thigh.
Voice catching, Jane threw back her head and let her eyes fall shut. This was really going to happen. In one moment, he’d be--
Wait.
Her eyes opened. “Garrus,” Shepard uttered, quickly sobered, “stop. We can’t.”
He froze, almost dangerously. His voice sounded distant and papery. “You... don’t want this?”
“We need protection. It’s too much of a risk.”
That caused him to draw back, forced to stare at her as though she’d gone mad. “I have my rifle.”
Jane’s eyes rolled and her head flopped back against the bed. She sighed with exasperation. “I mean a condom. Does your translator know that word? We’ve been playing with fire so far, and neither of us is dead, but that might be asking too much.”
Garrus paused for a beat, and then let his head fall. His face twitched with the turian equivalent of amusement. “Right. Condoms. It’s the Citadel,” he continued, probably talking to himself. “There should be some in this room.” He glanced at her. “Don’t ask me how I know.”
FILL: At Face Value (22/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 01:38:28 UTC
Reluctantly, his clawed hands pulled off her wrists and he left her flushed, chafed body, rolling up to his two-toed feet with an audible groan. Garrus stretched, then, as if remembering what he left behind on the bed, pinned Jane with a searing glance. “Stay there,” he ordered darkly. She shifted against the covers, but he stopped the movement with a snapped, “Don’t move a muscle.”
Feeling a little light-headed, she watched the turian disappear into the room’s adjoining bathroom. Jane thought Garrus looked beautiful before; she hadn’t seen him walk naked with all that turian serpentine grace, armed with an erection that looked about as angry as the expression on his face. She couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty: Jane Shepard, galactic hero, system destroyer, mood killer.
At the very least, she took advantage of the small reprieve, if just enough to catch her breath. Jane sat up, brushing a hand at the collection of scratches and teeth-marks already notching her shoulders, and bit her lip against the throbbing, piercing ache that ripped up from her groin. Still, she couldn’t deny the way her flesh still burned. Almost absently, her fingers snuck down to touch her folds--
“You moved.” Garrus’s sudden, grim accusation trapped her from across the room. He was back, looking tortured and near half-mad, the only difference about him the plastic barrier that was rolled over his member. He tilted his head against the sight of her, caught touching herself. His hands flexed with the scissory sound of his rasping claws.
In a few purposeful strides, the turian had crossed the room and recaptured his woman, his fingers drawn to the long lines of her waist. Jane couldn’t look away from Garrus’s smouldering stare. He bent his head down, and even though it was not a turian gesture, she had to kiss him, reaching up to bruise her lips against his scars. Her hand snuck boldly around to play with his fringe. He snarled something unintelligible, and their bodies were back on the bed again, one twist of his strong arms and flexible bend of her back to pull Jane’s flushed, naked body into his lap. Her turian remained seated, his arms sealing her spine close to his warmed, scratchy plates. His knees opened her thighs, and his cock ground up between her legs.
It was a position she was unused to, but it felt right, perfect, to be surrounded by Garrus as he seemed to take total reverence in her body. He was worshipping her with his teeth and tongue, laving her throat, licking deeply into her carotid sinus until her head spun. Her head nestled back against his shoulder, her dark hair winged across and down his pebbly alien carapace. He looked and felt the opposite of all she was, but Jane knew she didn’t want it any other way.
“Garrus,” she whispered, reaching down between her legs to rub the underside of his cock. He nipped her neck, and wrested his arms free to hook his claws under her ass. He lifted her, and the woman held in a breath as she felt the head of his member nudge against her soaked flesh. Drunk on arousal, she reached down to guide him, hot and thick, to the mouth of her entrance. She could feel his cock just barely brushing her folds...
Without warning, Garrus let her go, and Jane fell sheathed on top of him, unable to stop her cry against the sudden, delicious sting of fullness. He was maddeningly thick, stretching her just short of the point of pain, and the burn only fed harder into her lust.
He was having similar troubles with the concept of sanity. Garrus was keening, his arms returning to cage her naked body, one clawed hand sliding possessively up the side of her throat. "Too -- tight," he wheezed, the tips of his mandibles scratching her collarbone. "Never -- knew --"
Jane was the first to move, unseating herself from Garrus’s hips just enough to let his cock grind back up into her body. All of those strange, corrugated ridges and bends she'd thought so strange were a fucking revelation. She groaned, feeling pleasure knife, white-hot, up the bones of her back. Growling from behind her shoulder, Garrus didn't take long to assist, caging her hips in his wide hands and lifting her, until she rocked, back and forth against his slowly-moving pelvis.
FILL: At Face Value (23/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 01:40:43 UTC
Her eyes rolled, and her head fell back again to bring her lips to his neck. Mimicking his gesture, she bit down in a decidedly turian manner. He howled and thrust harder, the head of his cock striking a place that made lights spark against the backs of her eyes. She shuddered short of a sob.
A rhythm built as he pounded her, pleasure and pain mixing into something so good Jane couldn't dream of it stopping. "Don't stop, don't stop," she pleaded as much, begging Garrus in a desperate moan that only seemed to egg him on. She needed him so badly.
"Keep your eyes open, Shepard," he replied tersely, and when she didn't, his right hand twisted around to slide down between her legs, and he put his trigger finger straight on her over-sensitive clitoris. Jane's eyes shot open, trying to stop Garrus with her tightening thighs. His knees just pulled her legs farther apart, and she surrendered, crying out as his hand worked her in time to his insistent strokes. Her thighs flexed against his knuckles and she stretched backward, reaching both arms back to dig her fingers into that well-documented nerve cluster under his fringe. He responded deliriously, turning his head to press his face against hers. She bit desperately at his scars and held on for dear life.
The memory of his words found themselves back in her thoughts: Do you trust me?
"Yes," said Shepard, and then she came.
Her walls viciously clamped down as a third orgasm ripped through her, an internal assault that even Garrus seemed unprepared for. She felt him tense up like living sheet metal, and his jaws opened to let a horrible sound tear out of his throat. His talons squeezed her mound and dug into her hip, and he slammed one final time straight up into her body, all of his crushing strength bearing her down and against his alien body.
Then, after several seconds of soundless, breathless rigidity, Garrus relaxed with a burdened sigh, folding down and around Jane's battered body. She heaped against him, tasting the strange, bitter tang of turian blood on her lips, and immediately regretted performing the simplest of movements, which brought burning and pain.
It was wonderful.
"Jane," he eventually purred, pulling his moisture-slicked talons out from her legs to touch her face.
She closed her eyes, unable to ignore the way her heart pulled at the gesture. They'd only ever agreed to be lovers, but she knew now that it couldn't stop there.
"Garrus, that was... the opposite of awkward. That was amazing."
Her admission gave him pause, and he tilted his head down at her. His rigid features tightened with confusion. "We're not done."
Jane's eyes popped open. "Son of a --"
# # #
"Now we're done," Garrus kindly confirmed as Jane collapsed in a dead heap against the mattress, her body flushed and raw, her voice shattered into something that something between a bleat and a sob.
Their bodies tangled together, hers unable to move and his unwilling to let her go. The turian reached out one talon and indulgently moved a lock of sweat-soaked hair from her eye. "Turian intercourse is a seven-stage process. I thought you knew that. You really should've watched the vids."
"Shut -- up -- alien -- bastard," was all Jane could wheeze.
FILL: At Face Value (24/??)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 01:42:33 UTC
# # #
Hours later, when the sight had returned to her eyes and the feeling back to her legs, Jane marinated in the total rarity it was to have a few moments in the dark. She and Garrus held each other, exhausted but satisfied, and though she knew her body probably looked like it was caught between the seventh and eighth rings of hell, she finally felt peaceful. Her officer ran his strange alien claws up and down her back, their points gliding wonderfully against her skin. She buried her face trustingly into the cradle of his shoulder. Turians were the farthest things from good pillow candidates, but she found him perfectly comfortable.
He said little, letting his sleepy, lazy presence do the speaking for him, and Shepard liked it that way. It was something monumental that happened, something that would change their friendship forever. They both needed time to process it in their own ways. They’d work it out at their own pace.
That is, if they have enough time...
For someone like Jane Shepard, bliss never managed to stay for too long. Her eyes opened despite the encouraging purr from Garrus’s chest to close them again, and a nagging thought haunted her through the up-and-down motion of his breathing. She didn’t want to end the moment. But she had to tell him, now more than ever...
“I’m sorry,” she said once more. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the mission. I really thought it was routine. But it mattered to me. I thought that if I could do it alone, and return successfully... it’d be like I never died. Like I could go back and be that same woman again. I know I worried you. I regret not saying anything.”
He said nothing, but he didn’t tense, didn’t pull away, and didn’t go cold. Jane let that hopeful response embolden her to keep going.
“If we survive this, Garrus,” her quiet voice rose up against his skin, “they have me slated to face trial.”
His claws stopped that gentle movement on her back. For several moments, Garrus was eerily silent, until he yielded with a tired sigh. “I heard as much. I didn't want to believe it. What will you do?”
Jane turned her head to meet his eyes. “I told Admiral Hackett that I'll turn myself in.”
“You can't be serious.” Garrus pulled his hand away from her, and she could feel his already rock-hard body tense all the more. “They expect you to play martyr for some diplomatic bullshit?”
Jane frowned to herself. “Lesser evils or not, my actions killed a lot of innocents. The batarians are on the cusp of war.”
“So what happens?”
“I'm not sure,” Jane admitted, hating how simple honesty made her feel so helpless. “I stand for my crimes and they'll decide whether I'm guilty. The Alliance isn’t implicating itself to save face in front of the Council, which I understand. But Earth extradites on intra-galactic matters, no questions asked; it’s the way COPUOS works. It means that if I'm convicted, I may not even be sentenced in a human jurisdiction.”
FILL: At Face Value (25/25)
anonymous
June 21 2011, 01:44:44 UTC
That made him move. Garrus sat up in a fierce jerk, Shepard almost thrown bodily from atop his body. She caught herself with one arm, glancing up at the turian with obvious shock. His eyes were dark and his mandibles were flared straight out. He was pissed. “You are not serious about getting handed over to the fucking batarians.”
“I don't know!” Jane yelled back, not sure why she needed to match his voice volume for volume. Their tender mood long dead and rotting, she rolled off to sit up, self-consciously drawing the wrinkled bed sheets against her naked body. She stared down at her lap. “Like I said, it's a possibility.”
“Their slaver raids killed your family!” Garrus’s voice barked at her turned back.
“All the more reason, Garrus!” she shot back, glancing at him over her naked, claw-marked shoulder. Her eyes then returned to stare down at her hands, hands that have killed so many. “They're going to argue that my attack was... personal. And maybe it was. Maybe that's why I didn't fight hard enough --”
The bed shifted, and she felt his talons gently close down around her upper arms. “You don't honestly believe that."
Something in that touch, something it communicated, made Jane’s heart catch and her eyes water far more easily than they should. “I don't-- I'm not--” she stammered, then closed her eyes and centered her dizzied thoughts. Did she?
She set her jaw and shook her head, sincere, resolute. “No. No, I wanted to save them. I still do. If I could take it all back, and try it again...”
With a light grunt, Garrus drew her back to his body, and Jane didn’t fight him. She pressed up gratefully against his rough, too-hot turian skin. His talons wove into her hair, and she felt his forehead bump her temple.
“You're over-thinking this, Shepard. We still have the Collectors to take out. We need to concentrate on that first. But,” Garrus continued delicately, shifting to lean down over her, “I promise you now: we survive this, and I won't let you go through that alone. I'll never make that mistake again. I'll fight for you, and if any batarians want to make you their political prisoner, then they'll have to take me out first.”
It was a violent admission, but it still made her heart pang. Jane reached out to draw her fingertips up her lover’s scars. “Is that another turian honour promise?”
“No,” he admitted, leaning his head into her hand. “That's a simple certainty. But...” he continued, and his gaze reclaimed that mischievous, dangerous glint. “If you're looking for another turian promise, I can give you one of those.”
He captured her face in all six of his fingers, the killing edges of his talons ghosting gentle lines down her flesh. His eyes gazed into hers.
"If you ever sneak off on another mission without me, I'll break your legs."
Jane Shepard always thought herself an old hand when it came to reading turian faces. It took working with Garrus Vakarian to show her the ropes, and to fall in love with him to really seal the deal. She looked up at him, and saw within his cold, unmoving facial plates and his flaring mandibles that, while the threat was empty, he was still dead serious.
Nothing was fixed, and her problems still spread ahead of her with the fatal inevitability of walking a forced march through a minefield. Promises couldn’t be made for people like her, mistakes couldn’t be taken back, and change couldn’t be avoided. Tomorrow may be the day when everything goes straight to hell, but she knew that at least for now, everything was how it should be. And when that hell came to take her hand, she wouldn’t be going alone.
Jane’s mouth pulled into a familiar smile. "Duly noted."
Garrus gave her a strange look, and she could read the flicker of surprise disguised in his hard turian features. She was sure he wasn’t expecting that out of her, not the woman who’d always been prepared to get indignant when someone questioned her orders. But he duly answered, grim, “For the longest time... it was the rage that sustained me.”
The self-deprecation returned in a nauseating wave, enough that Shepard couldn’t stop her eyes from briefly closing. “And I took that away from you.” She rubbed wearily at her opposite shoulder. “Maybe you deserved your vengeance. I think I did wrong by you --”
“You did nothing of the sort,” Garrus snapped, his voice like a door slamming. Something appeared to galvanize him out of his brief ennui, and armour rattling, he turned on her.
“Look at me, Shepard,” he ordered, and when Jane didn’t respond fast enough, one gloved hand reached out to capture her face with its long, three fingers. The sensation locked their eyes. He leaned close, so close, that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face, see the tips of his teeth past his flaring mandibles.
“You were right,” Garrus told her firmly. “Killing Sidonis would have put me down a path I never really wanted. I'll be honest with you; this is still taking some getting-over for me. I can't compartmentalize two years of anger. I had myself convinced that I deserved that kill. My entire universe was rebuilt around that belief.” His hand gentled against her cheek. “But I know you did the right thing. I know your reasons for it. You were fighting for me.”
Then he let her go, sincerity hardening his features, Garrus straightening his back and clenching his hands as he bowed his head and faced her.
“Now I get through it by obligating myself to your directive,” he confessed. “I need you, Shepard. I need your fight. I've made it mine. I fight for the memory of my ten men, for their surviving families, for their children, and I'll protect you, your mission, so that it may live on. That's what they'd want.”
His blue eyes creased slightly. “But it's not just that. There's... there's also what I want.”
And then, before her eyes, Jane watched as Garrus moved, doing something she’d only ever heard about in her codex of turian culture. He’d conceded to her authority, yielded to her command more times than she can remember, but never once had he ever done this.
He stood up from the bed, and in a single, graceful motion, dropped to one knee and bowed in supplication. His solid armour resounded when it hit the floor. Kneeling there, Garrus begged her in a purely turian gesture of regret. His voice was rough and thick. “I fight for you because I know you're the only one who can save us. Because even though you’ve already died once for us, I know you’re prepared to do it again. Because even with your own past and loss, you’re still willing to cry for fallen batarians. You did the right thing, and yet, I... doubted you, Commander, and I apologize for it. It's my job to protect you, and I've let you down again.”
Jane’s eyebrows knotted. Again?
Garrus’s hands tightened against the floor, and his eyes drew shut. Turians rarely, if ever, closed their eyes when awake or conscious. It was their purest gesture of surrender.
“I'll be prepared to do anything to be returned to your confidence, Commander,” he pleaded. “You can assign me to vanguard. You can throw me in the brig. You --“
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Can't wait to see how it ends.
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I can only be revived by more. I can't wait to read more! This tugs at my heart-strings so fully, the gambit of emotions. I'll be blubbering over here. It's so wonderful!
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The turian surged forward, his weight pushing insistently down until Jane's smaller body conceded, falling tiredly back to the bed. She broke the kiss as his hands found her waist, bidden to explore the firm lines of musculature through her clothing. They watched each other, his sharp blue eyes fixed on her wide grey ones. She was breathing harshly; her lips were swollen from where she'd crushed them against Garrus’s unyielding mouth plates, and even in this impassioned moment, Shepard found reason to pause, her doubts trying to resurrect like some old ghost.
This isn't right, not now, not after everything--
"Garrus, we don’t have--" Jane began to apologize.
Then, without warning, her gunnery officer cut her off with a very distinct growl, curved two armoured fingers over her mouth, and leaned in to pull his hot, rasping tongue up the side of her throat. It was long and rough, every turian taste bud scraping a merciless path up her jugular and behind her ear, and the action shot an arrow of heat straight to her groin. Shepard's breath caught in her throat.
"Don’t finish that thought," he told the fragile arteries in her neck, grazing his needly teeth over the fragile flesh that shielded them. Garrus’s hot breath puffed against her skin, smelling vaguely alkaline, like motor oil and gunmetal. "Didn't we already agree to this?"
Jane reached up long-sufferingly to pull his hand from her lips. "We also agreed to wait--"
Garrus’s teeth reprimanded her shoulder, shredding the fabric there and catching the muscle beneath. He rumbled warningly, “I almost lost you on that fucking asteroid. You almost died and it would’ve been too late. I'm a smart man, Shepard. I don't make the same mistakes twice. And neither do you."
Eyes half-lidded, Shepard swallowed against the pulling sensation of turian teeth in her skin, the pain strangely inciting her but not to want to escape it. Her hands wearily closed down on the armour shielding his upper arms. Doggedly, she still persisted on argument. “But weren't you worried -- about us researching this right -- about it getting awkward --?”
“It won't,” Garrus interjected stubbornly, taking his teeth out of his commander’s shoulder to survey the flesh around her collarbone. His too-warm breath clouded over her as he indulgently processed her scent. “I'm too pissed off.” His fingers searched Shepard’s form-fitting civvies for the most obvious openings. “And you know when I get pissed off, I make things happen.”
Jane sighed away the rest of her fight, her breath steeped with patient amusement. “One of the things I love best about you.”
Hands stopped, Garrus froze at that admission, seeing through its empty tease to the disguised meaning beneath. He searched her eyes, part of him waiting Shepard to realize her own statement, and give her time to retract it, regret it--
But Jane Shepard, her grey eyes still lingeringly red-rimmed, simply smiled back up, confirming the question in his stare. Comrades like her and Garrus, who had learned each other’s faces in those glorious moments of living or dying, needed no extraneous words between them.
Exhaling thickly, Garrus leaned down to push his forehead against hers, pressing intimate, insistent weight. It took Shepard a moment, but it hit her that this must be a turian kiss, second base for a race who had no lips and too many teeth for prolonged kissing. She copied the movement, craning her neck to return the pressure, and was rewarded by the luxurious sensation of his throttling purr as it soaked into her vertebrae, the sound burying into her so deep that she felt it inside her molars. “Shepard,” he spoke against the skin of her forehead almost worshipfully, “you don’t know what you do to me. I was worried whether I’d be able to respond to a human. Now I can’t imagine this not happening tonight. It has to. I’ll make you feel good.”
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Garrus pulled back to stare Shepard down, his sharp eyes aimed like a pair of gun barrels. She was mocking him, and he knew it. “Yes, though I don’t think you understand their full ramifications. You’ll have to allow me to demonstrate.”
# # #
In two quick, deliberate movements, the heavy gauntlets unlocked from Garrus’s wrists, and he dismissively let them drop. His hands were exposed up his elbows, revealing his lean, sinewy muscles and thick skin. He flexed his six fingers, each one of them studded with a long, curved killing talon. A turian’s natural weapons. Shepard had seen them used before in battle, and they had more strength and sharpness than any trench knife she’d ever kept in her possession. She’d seen those claws rend enemies into hamburger.
Now he’d turned them on her, and it came down to a matter of trust, to stay still and silent as those weapons drew against her body. It was up to both of them to be careful; even one wrong shift or unprepared jolt could leave her with some messy puncture wounds. But he appeared more than intent on his end, rapt and delighted to explore her body with an infinite patience. His hands followed the way her civilian clothes clung to her body, then, he appeared to grow immediately tired of touching fabric, and his fingers searched for an opening on her clothes. But human clothing was foreign and alien to turian designs, whose civilian wear was never meant to be pulled harmlessly overhead or arranged around soft shoulders. There would be too many rips and tears.
But his exploring hands couldn’t seem to find a buckling system in her clothing. Agitated, he bent down and tilted his head to squint under her arms and down her sides, searching and finding nothing. Well, nothing save Jane’s half-hidden, and very amused smile.
So that’s how it’s going to be. His gaze flattened, and Garrus replied with a flick of his hunting knife claws. Fabric tore noisily, and before Jane even had time to express the surprised indignation that was colouring her face, he’d torn her shirt free. He reached to similarly snap the carriage-harness she wore underneath, rumbling with curiousity to steal his first glimpse of her breasts. They looked small and firm, streamline to her athletic body, and he wasn’t too sure what to make of them.
That is, until he touched one, capturing it in one clawed hand, and Garrus paused at the utter sensation of softness. It was hard to believe that a creature as strong, durable, and enduring as Shepard could feel so vulnerable. She’d proved her prowess endlessly, but to touch her like this aggravated every one of his protective instincts. He had no idea human flesh was that delicate. The thought, again, of her trapped alone on that asteroid station, and surrounded--
Her gentle sigh broke his dark thoughts, Garrus sobering to the sight of Jane relaxing, responding to the whispers of his claws against her nipples.
He vowed privately on his own honour that he’d never repeat that mistake. He’d protect her, more than she’d ever realize, and probably far more than she’d ever like. He wouldn’t let anything come so close to learn that she was this soft. The dichotomy of their bodies at this moment didn’t escape him, all of her exposed, soft, and prone curves contrasted with his plated hide and heavy, cumbersome armour. She looked so small against him. It was very diverting.
Soon enough, his hands released her breasts for the much more engaging length of her waist, a turian’s natural erogenous zone. A human’s waist was shorter and thicker than a turian’s, but he definitely liked hers, and his arousal shot up at the sight of her hip bones creasing out from the curves of her body. Needing to see and touch more, his claws curled into the waist of Jane’s pants, the seams already tearing at the edges.
“Garrus, I need some clothes left to walk out of here--” Shepard groused, trying to untangle his fingers.
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Shepard’s smooth skin was already chill bumped in that strange, human way. “What about you?” she pointedly turned on him from where she sprawled across the mattress.
“In due course,” Garrus just replied. He craned his head at that strange undergarment she wore next to her groin, daring to muffle the strange, sweet smell he could scent arriving from between her legs. To appease her, he slipped in his talons with total delicacy and worked it down her legs without a single catch in the fabric.
“Now let me see.”
# # #
He was rumbling, almost purring like some big cat, as all six of his talons hooked under Shepard’s thighs and jarringly pulled her hips up into the air. She gasped with mild shock, her arousal not helping the way her world was dazedly spinning, and a moment later, Shepard found herself heaped across the mattress, her shoulders pinioned back into the pillows as her left ankle hooked against Garrus’s armoured carapace. He was perched above her, almost mantled like a hawk, with that intent, predatory face of his hovering between her legs. She felt one of his mandibles scrape her inner thigh and realized what he was aiming to do.
Numbly, detachedly, Shepard wouldn’t have ever figured this as a universal form of foreplay. And didn’t Mordin once warn her--
Her leg tensing where it draped over his sizeable shoulder, Shepard tried to turn her hips inside Vakarian’s hands for purchase. He only seemed to fight her harder, holding her half-slung form up from the bed. Jane huffed with agitation. “Garrus, you can't. Proteins -- you'll go into shock --”
His steely eyes glanced up from her groin. “Then try not to get too wet.”
He’s been watching the vids, Jane realized with a groan, before the first hot stroke of his tongue effectively short-circuited any chance of cognition. She cried out, still trying to remember her argument, her logical reasoning that this shouldn’t be happening, that it’s not safe, but then Garrus’s steamy, too-hot turian breath exhaled over her folds. “Is that how you taste, Shepard?” his dark, flanging voice inquired silkily of her. “If the spirits didn’t want me to do this, they wouldn’t have made you taste so fucking good.”
His claws tightened against her ass, barring any escape, and with no further preamble, her gunnery officer went to town. Human tongues had nothing on their turian counterparts, which were longer, stronger, and endlessly rough, complete with sandpapery taste buds scraping against her tortured flesh, almost promising to lick her raw and senseless. He feasted greedily on her, with long and heavy licks that physically rocked Shepard back against the bed, Garrus nearly turning desperate to sample that taste he’d complimented her on. The sensation was nothing she ever imagined, but then only few humans would ever know the sensation of turian battle ferocity turned into an insatiable need to force pleasure from their lovers. He’d already made it known he had no intention of letting her go.
“Goddamnit, Garrus,” Jane cursed helplessly as he ate her, her words lost into a cry when the lashing tip of his clever tongue snuck through her folds and hit her clitoris. Head thrown back against her pillows, her voice broke with her keening. Then the smart son of a bitch seemed to realize what he did, and capitalized on that little nub of nerves, opening her shivering legs wider as he descended upon it. The world tilted dangerously, pleasure blearing her eyes as Garrus laved the spot fiercely, his pace slow and entirely without mercy. Her wetness flooded his mouth, and it only seemed to encourage the turian, who was deliberately set on feasting on her as though she were some rare alien delicacy. Did she really taste that good to him?
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She did.
If he’d only realized this sooner, Garrus thought. If he only knew what he was missing, everything would have been different. He would have acted on his feelings much sooner, far before Shepard even mustered the nerve to ask him to her bed: it would’ve been before Cerberus, before that fucking Alenko, before her dying so he could have at least been there to prevent it. And he would have. His fury was like a fire moving beneath his plates, railing against nearly losing that woman a second time, and her taste on his tongue was his only catharsis. He needed to prove this to her. Prove how much she meant to him. Prove how much he needed her. Prove how insane she made him.
Every turian instinct felt like ignition fluid in his blood, aggravating him to act, to fight, to conquer; this was a demonstration of his hunger, of his devotion for her, but turian devotion was as much an exercise in war as anything else. And she would know it.
Garrus pushed cruelly with his tongue, and felt his mate orgasm, her spine tightening as her fingers twisted into the bed sheets. He drew it out with a long, savouring taste, caring not for her recent fears that drinking her would be potentially fatal. He’d like to see it try. If a rocket to the face couldn’t end him, what could? His anger made him feel invincible. What mattered is that she was alive, here with him, and he would take from her all time would allow.
# # #
With a windy sound, Jane relaxed, weak and dreamy from her pleasure. Garrus rumbled, leaving behind points of blood as he unhooked one clawed hand from the flesh of her ass, his palm gliding up the smooth length of Shepard’s leg as he stretched it to rest up against his shoulder. Her skin felt clammy, and there were wet pockets of sweat trapped in the insides of her knees. Dully, he noted his own arousal, aching something fierce and poisonous in his groin, trapped inside the heavy plates of his armour. He still needed to remove the damn thing. But he wasn’t finished.
Shepard had just finished sighing away the best orgasm of her life when his tongue started anew. It woke her up faster than a slap to the face, already too painfully over-sensitized to suffer this.
“Garrus,” she croaked, trying to retreat, but his right hand curled around her ankle while the left dug more painfully into her hip. He chose to say nothing, happy to let his tongue speak for him in this more tactile language. And it did, lapping her firmly and unforgiving, burying into her folds to worry her swollen flesh. The pain was sharp, and every punctuated flick of her clitoris seared. Her eyes watered, but he didn’t let up, pushing Jane forward through the agony until pleasure began to build under the burn. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, warmth returned to radiate up her back.
Her pride mattered so much to her, but at this point she was just sobbing, her face flushed and tears rolling out of her closed eyes. “Oh, God,” Jane kept bleating, “Garrus, you son of a -- oh, God!” Then he began to purr, the sound humming deliciously up between her legs, and Jane was lost again, mindless and insensate, reaching one trembling hand to pull his head closer. Her fingers found the skin under her officer’s fringe, and her nails angrily dug in. The action reflected inside his shocked eyes, and Garrus surged forward with a growl, pushing a talon carefully into her as his tongue curled around that battered nub and sucked.
It was all she needed. Jane’s second orgasm shook her, arriving with a breathless sob, hitting her so sharp and scorchingly hot that she saw stars. She locked up in agonized ecstasy, riding the last emphatic drag of his tongue, and then collapsed, her ribcage fluttering as her body fought to keep her breath. Dimly, she felt Garrus’s hand stroke down her leg once more, returning it gently to sling across the mattress. When she found the strength, or at least the discretion, to crack open her eyes, she saw him looming over her, his exposed hands unlatching the initial bands of armour from his body. His face wore the turian equivalent of a shit-eating grin, which looked just as universally irritating. “And that’s a turian promise.”
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Garrus dropped a heavy layer of steel from his arm that looked -- and sounded -- to weigh a good twenty pounds. Turians definitely were stronger than they looked. “I do my research, Commander.”
Jane’s lips curved with a half-hearted smirk at his quip, but she wasn’t really listening. Instead, she was enrapt by Garrus’s body, as he revealed himself inch by inch from his restricting armour. He looked so alien, but also so beautiful, beautiful in that dangerous, tempting way a weapon is. The serrated edges and hard angles of his body reminded her of a living blade, and he looked so contrary to everything she knew about human men, with their heavy muscles and soft lines. Garrus was narrow and lean, with a hundred razored edges that seemed designed to rip and tear. She wasn’t too sure how she found it all so arousing. Maybe it was just a side-effect of her natural masochism.
She determined that he wouldn’t be the one having all the fun. Sitting up, Jane obligated herself to helping Garrus strip, her nimble, five-fingered hands tangling with his as she reached for the endless clasps and locks of his turian armour. He watched her with obvious affection, those predatory, unblinking eyes of his enrapt to watch her human face. As she opened one latch and let the chest pieces fall from his torso plates, he reached out wordlessly and let the point of one talon push a lock of hair from her eyes. The action made Jane smile.
Then, with a rasp of the bed sheets, the bed creaked as her lean, naked body lifted from the pillows, her weight settling on her shaky legs. Her knees were buckling, and her genitals burned with an aching, painful rawness that still felt sweet. A strange emotion compelled her to sink down, opening Garrus’s knees to kneel between them as he sat on the edge of the bed. The sight of her, vulnerable and flushed between his legs, her exposed flesh encircled by his long limbs and armour, seemed to make the turian tense painfully on the spot. Jane ventured that he was reacting to the submissive implications of her gesture, and the unspoken invitation of dominance appealed to his turian nature. With a culture of social ranks and fierce hierarchy, their civilization was built on control and supplication. He’d done the same as she did now, when he bent and guiltily appealed to her mercy, confessing his doubts, and must not have expected her to return it. He inhaled slowly and deliberately, staring her down with a predatory intensity.
So Jane just made it worse, by leaning in and feeling along Garrus’s legs until she found the telltale notches in his greaves, letting each piece open as she patiently pulled them away. Each movement revealed fabric, which opened rather easily to expose his warmed, plated hide. It was nothing like human skin, neither soft nor porous, instead matching the evolutionary step after scales, his flesh taking the form of expansive, grafted plates that rose up in countless little edges. Mordin wasn’t kidding when he warned her about chafing.
One leg freed, she ghosted a kiss against the hard, textured flesh of his thigh. Turian skin was thick, but it certainly wasn’t insensitive, because that littlest touch incited a growl straight from the back of Garrus’s throat. He stared holes down at her, unspeaking, unmoving, and if she could read turian faces as well as she thought, Jane swore he looked a little nervous. Hiding a smile, she stripped his other leg, then, pushing up to her knees, leaned into her officer’s torso to find the opening on his pelvic plackart, the reinforced, alien alloy unhitching from his body and lowered to the floor with a heavy, muted clang of steel. Now he was as naked as she, his tall, long-limbed, and sharpened body almost runic with his pebbled plating. Jane’s eyes followed the way they wove and interlocked in a long and almost artful path down his chest, terminating to the engorged opening that slotted the reinforced natural armour between his legs.
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“Anaphylactic shock got your tongue?” Jane couldn’t help but ask, looking up from his groin to meet the turian’s eyes. It was an innocent joke, but it did reflect her genuine worry. He was being awfully quiet--
“Shepard...” Garrus eventually breathed, almost trembling, and not from allergic reaction. He appeared to be fine in that respect, his pain coming from other obvious sources. He was fixed and poised, looking as though he were one twitch, one reflexive flex away from descending violently, ruthlessly upon her, but that tender look in his eyes was holding him still. He shuddered out a grumbling breath that was underlined by an animalistic whine. “I can’t… remain long like this -- not in my nature -- “
“Good,” she replied, “I think I want to see you squirm.”
And Jane stuck two fingers into that slit between his plates. Unlike Garrus, she hadn’t done extensive research, not on this. Much like any of her battles, the plan of action ran entirely by instinct, instincts she had nearly doubted until he reminded her of who she was. Her roulette was rewarded by a fierce snarl, and her gunnery officer’s legs visibly seethed and shivered as she navigated that warmed sheath until her fingers found something hot, slippery, rock hard, and... huge. Garrus buckled with a hollow grunt, and his pelvic plates opened to push his erect member free. It was unlike what Jane ever expected, shaped differently from a human man’s, thicker and corrugated with the swollen meat of his thicker hide. It was a deep, dark blue, engorged by the blood what ran through his veins. It was also big.
Her officer was breathing shallowly, almost panting, and Jane figured turian men weren’t built for extended foreplay. It seemed to be killing him to sit there, patient and pliant, all to let her whet her curiousity, and to prove his infinite trust to allow her at the most vulnerable part of his body. That fact didn’t escape Shepard, who felt her heart pang at the tortured way his hands opened and shut. He was barely hanging on, but she also owed him one...
She leaned in, the plates of his inner thigh scraping the soft skin of her side, and Garrus keened with agitation. He was already hypersensitive, and Jane took infinite pleasure in the way he buckled when her palm closed around his erection. She squeezed, testing the flesh, and watched his face, her grey eyes following the spasms of his mandibles as they twitched in and out. He was definitely squirming. Feeling emboldened by her lover’s response, and taking obvious delight in the modicum of control she had over his strange, exotic body, Shepard tested her reins with a first, slow pump, sneaking in her other hand to grip him fiercely at the base. Garrus responded with some delicious, helpless sounds.
“Shepardddd...” he slurred, his voice deepened into something faint and foggy, but the underlying growl was entrenched with warning. He was losing patience--
“Call me Jane,” she whispered, before leaning in to lick him from base to tip. He wasn’t the only one prepared to play with fire, or at least fatal allergic reaction, as she closed her mouth over his cock’s engorged tip and demonstrated what human mouths can do. She sucked him fiercely, and his howl must have jumped every organism with ear drums in the half-mile radius.
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because that is my kink.
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And he was staring straight at her.
It was, quite possibly, the most erotic thing Jane had ever seen.
Their eyes meeting, almost warring with each other with matching intensity, Jane’s fist squeezed Garrus’s cock with some of her augmented, Cerberus strength. Her tongue pushed into the slit.
It happened so fast. One moment, she was crouched between his thighs, bending his near resolute self-control to her very whims, and the next, the world flipped and swiftly-upended, and the breath coughed free from Jane’s lungs as her back slammed flush against the mattress. Not a heartbeat later, her gunnery officer was mantled above her, his hands locked around her wrists, his forehead pushed against hers, and his cock brushing her entrance. His blue eyes were wide and almost sightless, glassy like taxidermy, reflecting the insanity of teased turian instincts. Jane’s lips parted as she stared back at him, awed, frightened, and aroused all at once. She’d never seen him this way.
“Jane Sheparrrddd,” he growled into her flesh, turning his head to let his teeth bump and drag the length of her clavicle. That sinister tongue of his returned to lap the sweat beading between her breasts. His hands tightened, their talons pinching warningly into her skin. He seemed to be luxuriating in her body, alien as it must have been to him, softer and more yielding than the turian women he must have known. His breath, almost boilingly hot, tracked across her breasts, which tightened when a chill rose across her body. The action seemed to interest Garrus, and his tongue swept curiously around her nipple. He sunk closer down upon her body, applying slow, steady weight, and she felt that glorious, ribbed cock of his grind against her thigh.
Voice catching, Jane threw back her head and let her eyes fall shut. This was really going to happen. In one moment, he’d be--
Wait.
Her eyes opened. “Garrus,” Shepard uttered, quickly sobered, “stop. We can’t.”
He froze, almost dangerously. His voice sounded distant and papery. “You... don’t want this?”
“We need protection. It’s too much of a risk.”
That caused him to draw back, forced to stare at her as though she’d gone mad. “I have my rifle.”
Jane’s eyes rolled and her head flopped back against the bed. She sighed with exasperation. “I mean a condom. Does your translator know that word? We’ve been playing with fire so far, and neither of us is dead, but that might be asking too much.”
Garrus paused for a beat, and then let his head fall. His face twitched with the turian equivalent of amusement. “Right. Condoms. It’s the Citadel,” he continued, probably talking to himself. “There should be some in this room.” He glanced at her. “Don’t ask me how I know.”
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Feeling a little light-headed, she watched the turian disappear into the room’s adjoining bathroom. Jane thought Garrus looked beautiful before; she hadn’t seen him walk naked with all that turian serpentine grace, armed with an erection that looked about as angry as the expression on his face. She couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty: Jane Shepard, galactic hero, system destroyer, mood killer.
At the very least, she took advantage of the small reprieve, if just enough to catch her breath. Jane sat up, brushing a hand at the collection of scratches and teeth-marks already notching her shoulders, and bit her lip against the throbbing, piercing ache that ripped up from her groin. Still, she couldn’t deny the way her flesh still burned. Almost absently, her fingers snuck down to touch her folds--
“You moved.” Garrus’s sudden, grim accusation trapped her from across the room. He was back, looking tortured and near half-mad, the only difference about him the plastic barrier that was rolled over his member. He tilted his head against the sight of her, caught touching herself. His hands flexed with the scissory sound of his rasping claws.
In a few purposeful strides, the turian had crossed the room and recaptured his woman, his fingers drawn to the long lines of her waist. Jane couldn’t look away from Garrus’s smouldering stare. He bent his head down, and even though it was not a turian gesture, she had to kiss him, reaching up to bruise her lips against his scars. Her hand snuck boldly around to play with his fringe. He snarled something unintelligible, and their bodies were back on the bed again, one twist of his strong arms and flexible bend of her back to pull Jane’s flushed, naked body into his lap. Her turian remained seated, his arms sealing her spine close to his warmed, scratchy plates. His knees opened her thighs, and his cock ground up between her legs.
It was a position she was unused to, but it felt right, perfect, to be surrounded by Garrus as he seemed to take total reverence in her body. He was worshipping her with his teeth and tongue, laving her throat, licking deeply into her carotid sinus until her head spun. Her head nestled back against his shoulder, her dark hair winged across and down his pebbly alien carapace. He looked and felt the opposite of all she was, but Jane knew she didn’t want it any other way.
“Garrus,” she whispered, reaching down between her legs to rub the underside of his cock. He nipped her neck, and wrested his arms free to hook his claws under her ass. He lifted her, and the woman held in a breath as she felt the head of his member nudge against her soaked flesh. Drunk on arousal, she reached down to guide him, hot and thick, to the mouth of her entrance. She could feel his cock just barely brushing her folds...
Without warning, Garrus let her go, and Jane fell sheathed on top of him, unable to stop her cry against the sudden, delicious sting of fullness. He was maddeningly thick, stretching her just short of the point of pain, and the burn only fed harder into her lust.
He was having similar troubles with the concept of sanity. Garrus was keening, his arms returning to cage her naked body, one clawed hand sliding possessively up the side of her throat. "Too -- tight," he wheezed, the tips of his mandibles scratching her collarbone. "Never -- knew --"
Jane was the first to move, unseating herself from Garrus’s hips just enough to let his cock grind back up into her body. All of those strange, corrugated ridges and bends she'd thought so strange were a fucking revelation. She groaned, feeling pleasure knife, white-hot, up the bones of her back. Growling from behind her shoulder, Garrus didn't take long to assist, caging her hips in his wide hands and lifting her, until she rocked, back and forth against his slowly-moving pelvis.
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A rhythm built as he pounded her, pleasure and pain mixing into something so good Jane couldn't dream of it stopping. "Don't stop, don't stop," she pleaded as much, begging Garrus in a desperate moan that only seemed to egg him on. She needed him so badly.
"Keep your eyes open, Shepard," he replied tersely, and when she didn't, his right hand twisted around to slide down between her legs, and he put his trigger finger straight on her over-sensitive clitoris. Jane's eyes shot open, trying to stop Garrus with her tightening thighs. His knees just pulled her legs farther apart, and she surrendered, crying out as his hand worked her in time to his insistent strokes. Her thighs flexed against his knuckles and she stretched backward, reaching both arms back to dig her fingers into that well-documented nerve cluster under his fringe. He responded deliriously, turning his head to press his face against hers. She bit desperately at his scars and held on for dear life.
The memory of his words found themselves back in her thoughts: Do you trust me?
"Yes," said Shepard, and then she came.
Her walls viciously clamped down as a third orgasm ripped through her, an internal assault that even Garrus seemed unprepared for. She felt him tense up like living sheet metal, and his jaws opened to let a horrible sound tear out of his throat. His talons squeezed her mound and dug into her hip, and he slammed one final time straight up into her body, all of his crushing strength bearing her down and against his alien body.
Then, after several seconds of soundless, breathless rigidity, Garrus relaxed with a burdened sigh, folding down and around Jane's battered body. She heaped against him, tasting the strange, bitter tang of turian blood on her lips, and immediately regretted performing the simplest of movements, which brought burning and pain.
It was wonderful.
"Jane," he eventually purred, pulling his moisture-slicked talons out from her legs to touch her face.
She closed her eyes, unable to ignore the way her heart pulled at the gesture. They'd only ever agreed to be lovers, but she knew now that it couldn't stop there.
"Garrus, that was... the opposite of awkward. That was amazing."
Her admission gave him pause, and he tilted his head down at her. His rigid features tightened with confusion. "We're not done."
Jane's eyes popped open. "Son of a --"
# # #
"Now we're done," Garrus kindly confirmed as Jane collapsed in a dead heap against the mattress, her body flushed and raw, her voice shattered into something that something between a bleat and a sob.
Their bodies tangled together, hers unable to move and his unwilling to let her go. The turian reached out one talon and indulgently moved a lock of sweat-soaked hair from her eye. "Turian intercourse is a seven-stage process. I thought you knew that. You really should've watched the vids."
"Shut -- up -- alien -- bastard," was all Jane could wheeze.
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Hours later, when the sight had returned to her eyes and the feeling back to her legs, Jane marinated in the total rarity it was to have a few moments in the dark. She and Garrus held each other, exhausted but satisfied, and though she knew her body probably looked like it was caught between the seventh and eighth rings of hell, she finally felt peaceful. Her officer ran his strange alien claws up and down her back, their points gliding wonderfully against her skin. She buried her face trustingly into the cradle of his shoulder. Turians were the farthest things from good pillow candidates, but she found him perfectly comfortable.
He said little, letting his sleepy, lazy presence do the speaking for him, and Shepard liked it that way. It was something monumental that happened, something that would change their friendship forever. They both needed time to process it in their own ways. They’d work it out at their own pace.
That is, if they have enough time...
For someone like Jane Shepard, bliss never managed to stay for too long. Her eyes opened despite the encouraging purr from Garrus’s chest to close them again, and a nagging thought haunted her through the up-and-down motion of his breathing. She didn’t want to end the moment. But she had to tell him, now more than ever...
“I’m sorry,” she said once more. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the mission. I really thought it was routine. But it mattered to me. I thought that if I could do it alone, and return successfully... it’d be like I never died. Like I could go back and be that same woman again. I know I worried you. I regret not saying anything.”
He said nothing, but he didn’t tense, didn’t pull away, and didn’t go cold. Jane let that hopeful response embolden her to keep going.
“If we survive this, Garrus,” her quiet voice rose up against his skin, “they have me slated to face trial.”
His claws stopped that gentle movement on her back. For several moments, Garrus was eerily silent, until he yielded with a tired sigh. “I heard as much. I didn't want to believe it. What will you do?”
Jane turned her head to meet his eyes. “I told Admiral Hackett that I'll turn myself in.”
“You can't be serious.” Garrus pulled his hand away from her, and she could feel his already rock-hard body tense all the more. “They expect you to play martyr for some diplomatic bullshit?”
Jane frowned to herself. “Lesser evils or not, my actions killed a lot of innocents. The batarians are on the cusp of war.”
“So what happens?”
“I'm not sure,” Jane admitted, hating how simple honesty made her feel so helpless. “I stand for my crimes and they'll decide whether I'm guilty. The Alliance isn’t implicating itself to save face in front of the Council, which I understand. But Earth extradites on intra-galactic matters, no questions asked; it’s the way COPUOS works. It means that if I'm convicted, I may not even be sentenced in a human jurisdiction.”
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“I don't know!” Jane yelled back, not sure why she needed to match his voice volume for volume. Their tender mood long dead and rotting, she rolled off to sit up, self-consciously drawing the wrinkled bed sheets against her naked body. She stared down at her lap. “Like I said, it's a possibility.”
“Their slaver raids killed your family!” Garrus’s voice barked at her turned back.
“All the more reason, Garrus!” she shot back, glancing at him over her naked, claw-marked shoulder. Her eyes then returned to stare down at her hands, hands that have killed so many. “They're going to argue that my attack was... personal. And maybe it was. Maybe that's why I didn't fight hard enough --”
The bed shifted, and she felt his talons gently close down around her upper arms. “You don't honestly believe that."
Something in that touch, something it communicated, made Jane’s heart catch and her eyes water far more easily than they should. “I don't-- I'm not--” she stammered, then closed her eyes and centered her dizzied thoughts. Did she?
She set her jaw and shook her head, sincere, resolute. “No. No, I wanted to save them. I still do. If I could take it all back, and try it again...”
With a light grunt, Garrus drew her back to his body, and Jane didn’t fight him. She pressed up gratefully against his rough, too-hot turian skin. His talons wove into her hair, and she felt his forehead bump her temple.
“You're over-thinking this, Shepard. We still have the Collectors to take out. We need to concentrate on that first. But,” Garrus continued delicately, shifting to lean down over her, “I promise you now: we survive this, and I won't let you go through that alone. I'll never make that mistake again. I'll fight for you, and if any batarians want to make you their political prisoner, then they'll have to take me out first.”
It was a violent admission, but it still made her heart pang. Jane reached out to draw her fingertips up her lover’s scars. “Is that another turian honour promise?”
“No,” he admitted, leaning his head into her hand. “That's a simple certainty. But...” he continued, and his gaze reclaimed that mischievous, dangerous glint. “If you're looking for another turian promise, I can give you one of those.”
He captured her face in all six of his fingers, the killing edges of his talons ghosting gentle lines down her flesh. His eyes gazed into hers.
"If you ever sneak off on another mission without me, I'll break your legs."
Jane Shepard always thought herself an old hand when it came to reading turian faces. It took working with Garrus Vakarian to show her the ropes, and to fall in love with him to really seal the deal. She looked up at him, and saw within his cold, unmoving facial plates and his flaring mandibles that, while the threat was empty, he was still dead serious.
Nothing was fixed, and her problems still spread ahead of her with the fatal inevitability of walking a forced march through a minefield. Promises couldn’t be made for people like her, mistakes couldn’t be taken back, and change couldn’t be avoided. Tomorrow may be the day when everything goes straight to hell, but she knew that at least for now, everything was how it should be. And when that hell came to take her hand, she wouldn’t be going alone.
Jane’s mouth pulled into a familiar smile. "Duly noted."
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