Chapter Text
Commander Jane Shepard isn't supposed to have favourites. Every member of her crew is valued and trusted. But there's one recent addition to the roster who has piqued her interest.
Garrus Vakarian is a turian, and the few of the species she's encountered have been stoically unhelpful or outright hostile. But this man (Is that what they call themselves? Male?) is smart and a little nerdy and she likes him a lot.
He's passionate but dedicated, unwaveringly loyal, cool-headed and dry-humoured. He can also be goofy and dumb and makes her laugh until her ribs ache. Shepard's been intrigued by him since the day they met. She doesn't know his age; only that he's old enough to be cynical, but not yet jaded by the crushing weight of the galaxy. She does know that he has a tender heart beneath the hard shell of his chest carapace, and has made it a habit of spending her downtime getting to know him better.
"How old are you, Vakarian?" Shepard asks, curious as they eat their separate chirality meals in the mess. The Normandy's drive core hums below, but all else is quiet during the night-cycle, en route to the Citadel.
"What do you think?" He replies in a smooth tenor register. His buttery voice hums with reassuring dual tones. Garrus lifts his chin and poses. He's apparently considered handsome by turian standards: nice straight mandibles, a long crest, bright blue eyes that shimmer like sapphire.
"I think you've seen some shit.” She tells him. “I know your military service starts at 15, so... you'd be in your early twenties on Palaven. You're a bit younger than me, maybe."
"Good deduction there, Commander. I'm, uh," a quick mental calculation forces a pause, "26, in human years." That puts him around 22 according to his homeworld calendar, so they had started their careers at about the same relative age.
It explains his naive idealism; he's still immature in a lot of ways. His combat skills aren't to be questioned, but there are times he makes rash decisions.
Shepard always tries to save lives. Make arrests. Talk people down instead of killing them. But she also knows he's right, in that some things can't be forgiven. That's why he'll be at her side when they confront Saren: he can't be allowed to continue.
Things are... getting complicated. Alenko keeps trying to flirt, which isn't unwelcome, but there's no time for distractions. Liara keeps talking about the intriguing possibility of a union, but that sounds altogether too serious with someone she's just met. Although she's only known Garrus for a couple of weeks longer, she has to remind herself. It feels like they've known each other forever.
...And he is weirdly attractive, though Shepard suspects that's more to do with their mutual trust than anything physical. She tries not to stare too much.
Oh, damn.
She flashes him a grin and says goodnight before she does something she'll regret. At the tender age of 29, Shepard has a teenage crush on an alien ex-cop with a sexy voice. Not only has Garrus quit C-Sec to follow a human commander, and a Spectre at that, now she's seriously considering seducing him.
To Garrus, however, it won't be a surprise. He's flattered the human female finds his alien physique attractive. Lucky for him there aren't other turians aboard, because her chemo signals are clear: she'd likely be receptive to his advances, if only he could find the courage to do something about it. His olfactory system can pick up on her subtle hormonal changes, the slight change in her scent when he gets close.
Garrus isn't often attracted to xenomorphs, but Shepard is tall and muscular, tougher and stronger than he'd first assumed from her slender frame. His tastes have never leaned much toward the exotic, but he finds her softness and warmth intriguing, enough that he's even considered the possibility of something physical – though isn't totally certain about how it works mechanically with humans. He assumes it's similar enough.
Shepard is a born survivor, a no-nonsense soldier from a slum on her homeworld. She earned her stripes the old fashioned way; no nepotism, just hard work and fire and determination. She's a great shot, takes no shit, isn't afraid to throw a fist if she needs to. A commander he can get behind. (Not like that, he has to chide his hopeful libido)
He likes the contrasting colours of her reddish hair, her green eyes. A glimpse of white teeth behind soft lips, often pulled into a wry grin. He especially likes the scent of her; skin, sweat, blood, all of it. And sometimes, if she hasn't bathed for a day or two, the alluring tang of something feminine and oddly arousing.
They've become friends, built an unshakeable trust on dozens of missions together. Their age gap is as meaningless as the fact she's a completely different species: he is attracted to her too. She's brave and fierce and incredibly principled, and he loves it when she orders him around. Something about turian discipline compels him to obey.
He scrubs a hand over his crest and lets out a low, frustrated hum. Okay, so he wants her. But it isn't important. The mission comes first. Maybe, if they both get out of this hunt more-or-less in one piece, he can tell her that.
One leathery palm slides down his carapace. His plates are itchy, fatigues too tight, the softer planes of his hide sticky with sweat. He could get some work done in engineering, maybe. Spar a little. Or just give in, and get himself off in the shower to the thought of Shepard's fascinating curves.
He's not very experienced with women. A short fling with a fellow recruit in his teens. Letting off steam as expected during his military service, though that was purely physical and meaningless. An occasional brief and awkward encounter after too many brandies in the Citadel clubs. Nothing outside his own species, and always a bit disappointing. The women he has been with expected dominance and force. He prefers... well, he's not even sure, but something different than bending a female over on all fours. He spent his days mostly focussed on his job and frustrated by the red tape and boredom. He spent his nights alone.
That all changed when he quit C-Sec to follow Shepard to the Normandy. Closer friendships than he's had in years. Excitement and action. Maybe more than one sort, if he's lucky. It isn't appropriate. But he's finding himself grinding his mandibles when Shepard gets too close. Turians don't blush, but he feels the thump of his pulse in his throat, the instinctive twitch of his slitted lower plates when he catches wind of his commander's scent.
Resigned, he heads back to his bunk for a shower and... probably some, hm, self care. But curiosity gets the better of him, and he does a quick incognito search of the extranet for Human female/Turian male pairing.
Researching the mechanics of such a cross-species liaison is embarrassing, of course. He realises the porn is exaggerated and unrealistic. It seems a niche genre, from the lack of hits. What he does find is mostly degrading, non-consensual and xenophobic. He settles for medical information, and then frightens himself at the prospect of anaphylaxis possibly killing them both.
Garrus shrugs out of his armour and groans, ashamed at the mess between his thighs, seeping through his undersuit. He's leaking slick, amped up having watched with growing intrigue some low-budget, poorly made porn and then imagining the silicone-enhanced human actress as his commander. He hisses despairingly, subvocals echoing an uncomfortable hum. He gets into the shower, forehead pressed to the wall, desperately frustrated, running a taloned finger along his twitching slit.
He's about to give into his need when Shepard's frequency pings at the door.
Oh, fuck.
Garrus' hurried "Just a minute!" is muffled by the inadequate soundproofing.
"I can come back, it's not urgent." She calls.
"Commander, no, it's..."
He waves open the door, composing himself. Shepard is pleasantly surprised to find him wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, which she finds hilarious. Turians have internal anatomy, so there's nothing really to hide, right?
"Vakarian?" She tips her head, notes his dilated pupils and quickened breathing. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He says too dismissively. He clears his throat. "Can I... help you with something?"
He steps back, lets her into the room, which she takes in with military precision and a Spectre's intuition. A narrow bunk, a few belongings. A well-used but perfectly maintained sniper rifle in pieces on the desk.
Shepard turns her attention back to her friend - who may become a bit more than a friend, if she plays this right. Water droplets cling to his plates like a constellation, reflecting the low striplights. He doesn't really smile; he can't, but she has learned to read the shape of his orbital muscles, the subtle inflections in his subvocals and piercing blue eyes. He seems nervous, but she can't be sure.
"I just wanted to talk. To apologise for skipping out at dinner. I feel... like we've been avoiding each other lately."
It hasn't been very mature of them. She needs to confront whatever is going on between them.
"Not... not intentionally, Commander." His jaw, or the outer mandibles that are the nearest homologue, twitch imperceptibly. He has, in fact, being trying to put some professional distance between them. Doesn't want to ruin a good friendship by spilling his aching heart all over the cargo deck.
"Oh, well... good. Because we make a great team." She manages, awkwardly, attention fixed on his face and not the rippled muscles and smooth tan hide of his abdomen beneath the broad, plated carapace.
He stands to attention, hands at his sides, clutching into the fabric of the towel slung low around his hip spurs. Garrus is well-built by any standard, intimidatingly tall, though on the leaner side for a turian. Broad chest, tapering to a slender, almost corseted waist. His anatomy has been intriguing to Shepard lately, and there's not too much left to the imagination in his current state of undress.
"At ease." She murmurs, almost a whisper.
He relaxes, just a fraction. There's a moment where he hesitates, but then stumbles into a half-honest confession. "I think so too. ...It's not easy finding someone to trust. But I trust you. And I will always have your back."
Her smile is a brief, glittering reward. "Thanks, Vakarian."
"Garrus." He says firmly. "That's what my friends call me."
"You have friends?" She needles him, without malice, and he takes it good-naturedly.
His mandibles click and tense before he replies: "Tali's nice. It helps having another dextro on board. A-and you, of course, Shepard."
"You could call me Jane, since we're friends?" She offers.
"Not appropriate, Commander." He mutters, his too-blue eyes flashing with something fierce.
"No. I guess not." Then she adds, quietly, "Want to make it wildly inappropriate, instead?"
She steps closer and reaches up to touch his throat with one gauntlet-free finger. It's one of the few places a turian is truly vulnerable, and her skin is so hot it feels like it burns him.
"Uh... I..." He feels his heart jump in his chest, sending blood rushing straight to his groin. It's all he can do to suppress his wanton groan; it escapes him as an uncertain gasp.
She steps back. "Sorry. Forget that." She must've been mistaken. All the banter that was close to flirting. All the hard stares.
"...What's considered inappropriate on a human ship?" He asks, voice steady, though his subvocals warble with emotional confusion. A native ear would know he's anxious and excited and turned on to all hells. He hopes Shepard doesn't pick up on that.
She chuckles lowly. "I like you." She admits. "I've never been with a turian, though."
Garrus glances down at his translator as if it's been hacked. He can't believe what he's hearing. "I haven't either. With a human, I mean, not - of course I've..."
She's not deterred by his fumbling response, and tilts her head, exposing her throat. "You're interested?"
"I'm willing to try." He says, wincing. Why is he hesitating? She's offering sex, it's nothing out of the ordinary. Even with his superior, who's not the same species, who also happens to be a Spectre and his best friend on the ship... This is a bad idea. Isn't it?
The commander doesn't care, she's direct and practical. She locks the door and steps in close to him.
"So can I kiss you?"
Uncertainly, he nods. "Just be careful."
Because his mandibles are razor sharp and unyielding, she settles for kissing the slope of his cheek plate, then the soft hide beneath his aural canal, running her fingers along the crest of his head. His scent, an unknown spicy musk from a distant world, fills her senses with heady need. She explores the planes of his armoured chest and back with searching hands, finding it pliant and cool to the touch, textured like fine sandpaper, or sharkskin. His curving cowl is the most unfamiliar part of him; ringing his upper chest and protecting the unplated back of his neck.
Shepard puts one hand on his shoulder, pulling him down for a hungrier kiss, and uses her other hand to grip tight to the jut of his hip. She doesn't know how good that feels for him until he growls approvingly and puts his huge hands on her waist, spanning her wide hips with his long digits.
Garrus has never been kissed; not like this. Not with such care and reverence. Not with the soft, heated lips of a human. She even attempts to put her mouth to his: his teeth are dangerously sharp, there's no way she can...
Yet she insists, and he is helpless to resist. Her saliva is sweet, with a hint of the bitter coffee she likes. His mouthparts are almost tasteless, but tingle like sherbet. Their biochemistry is alien, but fortunately convergent evolution has made their anatomy more or less compatible. Her tongue touches his in a slow, careful exploration. The sensation is strange, but his plates are shifting, and he's already hard beneath the leaking slit.
He pulls back, heart hammering.
"If you keep doing that, this is going all the way." He keens, pressing his solid body into her softness. She's so warm.
"Would that be a bad thing?" She teases, but checks with him, "Too fast?"
Garrus shakes his head. He turns up the music, some techno club throwbacks from a decade ago. The pounding beat matches his racing pulse.
"Not nearly enough."
She looks him in the eye, gives him the filthiest grin he has ever seen and starts unzipping her suit. His towel lies forgotten on the floor.
Shepard is toned and battle scarred, her olive skin mottled by healing bruises. Garrus' carapace bears a couple of pits and a cracked edge near his shoulder. They've both seen their share of fights over the last few weeks. He tries to be gentle with her; he's all tough plating and sharp edges, but she isn't worried.
She lies back on the bunk; it creaks with strain as he joins her. It feels so intimate, face to face, and something in him wakes: this. This is what he wants.
They kiss again as he balances his weight on his knees, still careful, still unsure, excited and aching for one another. He's painfully aware of his taloned toes and the sharp claws of his fingers, running them lightly down her side, bringing one rough palm over her breast. Shepard hums and helps him find the right kind of pressure with her hands over his.
Her scent is sweet and floral, and he breathes her in with his nose plates pressed into her throat. Saliva floods his mouth, needing to taste her. His tongue is long, cold, and thrilling on her skin as he lavishes attention to her collarbones and the peaks of her breasts.
As he is occupied with her soft curves, she turns her attention to his intimates. It's not a total shock; she was always interested in alien biology. He's clearly aroused; his pelvic plates are parted and leaking a viscous, clear fluid. She reaches between them and drags her many fingers through his oddly familiar folds, making him shudder. Such care and affection and desire in her glittering eyes.
“Sprits, Shepard.” He grunts. “Are you sure this is your first time?”
“It's not so different from what I've got. At the moment, at least.” She grins, peppering his carapace with kisses, tugging him closer with her free hand on his sensitive waist. He jolts and adjusts his position to bring them into contact.
“...This okay?” He checks. “Not too heavy?”
She shakes her head. His solid, muscular weight feels amazing, their hips pressing together. It takes a long time for male turians to be fully aroused, and she's happy to take her time with him.
It starts a little awkward, but they soon find a satisfying grind against one another. He drags his still-sheathed cock over her mound, catching her clit with his plates. Shepard hisses in pleasure, and he takes that as permission to keep going. He moves slow, eyes narrowed, focussed on her reactions.
Shepard is by no means a small woman, but she's dwarfed by Garrus' hulking frame. It's so unfamiliar and she should be frightened - he's a dangerous predator, and she's so fragile - but she feels completely safe, trusting him not to hurt her.
She's panting and sweating beneath him and her skin is like fire. He looks into her emerald eyes and knows he's in trouble... it's only been a few minutes and he's so hard beneath his plates it hurts. There's already enough of their combined fluids to negate the friction of his hide, and the sensation sends a shudder down Garrus' arching spine.
With a groan, his cock slides free and coats Shepard's folds with more slick. It's tapered and textured, rigid angles that shouldn't be comfortable but feel incredible as he slides against her, working to bring her to climax before he tries anything further. Shepard gasps at the ample size, well aware he's bigger than anything she's had before, and tips right over the edge with a startled cry.
Garrus is shocked to learn that this human female comes loudly. She moans against his chest, somewhere between blissful release and absolute embarrassment.
"All right?" Garrus whispers as he stills above her, fairly sure those are good noises, and meets her gaze for assurance.
She nods, grinning, nipping at his plates with blunt teeth. "Mm, yeah. I'm ready, if you are."
He parts her legs and they both gasp as his tip breaches her entrance. Turian anatomy is chitinous, rigid, engorged by his blue blood. He sinks into her fiery heat and shudders at the tight fit. Shepard moans at the ungodly stretch, and he's too far gone. What follows is a blur of teeth and talons, heat and life in the vast uncaring void of space.
He lasts just shy of twelve minutes inside her. She's surprisingly submissive, allowing him full control, excited and delighted by his exotic anatomy. Every movement is deliberately gentle and reverent as he rocks into her, but there's force and strength there, held in check.
He finishes with a vocal grunt; his release is wet and cool; a bluish, silky substance that coats her insides. Garrus pants for breath, his huge frame spread over her trembling body.
Her second orgasm follows almost immediately, tensing and rippling through her.
Shepard wraps her arms around the tough plates of his broad shoulders. He presses his face into her floral hair and purrs. Everything about her is strange and new and overwhelming.
"Oh, Spirits. I needed that." He laps her skin with affection as he comes down, heartrate slowing back to normal. She's bleeding from several claw marks, grazed by his rough hide, and his subvocals whine in regret and concern.
"Mm. Me too, big guy."
He pushes up onto his knees, withdrawing from her, and gingerly cups his dripping, softening cock behind his hands. Everything is raw and trembling, and even his vision is blurry. He looks down and focusses on his bedmate. The sight of Shepard, naked and spread open, with his come between her thighs... isn't something he's ever going to forget. He's tired, but absolutely could go again if she's not satisfied.
He brings her a fresh towel from the bathroom, toe talons clicking against the tiles. He sits on the edge of the bunk, gaze down, uncharacteristically quiet. He hopes she isn't allergic, because he hadn't intended to finish inside her.
Shepard isn't shy, cleaning herself with a cursory swipe and a cocked eyebrow at the colour. She moves towards him, cleaning her slick from his thighs and the watery come still seeping from his slit. He's mostly withdrawn back inside now. "You good?"
He nods. "I'm good."
But he's afraid to ask the reciprocal.
Shepard looks properly at his muscled thighs, the short mid limb, and the long shins that seem to angle the wrong way. Not wrong, just alien, like the jutting spurs at the top of his calves. Only they're not calves, they're his ankles, elongated to accommodate his digitigrade toes. He notes her curiosity and swings his legs onto the bed. Bird-like and taloned.
"I must be strange to you." He says, feeling exposed, naked next to her, still shuddering with the aftershocks of their pairing.
"I think you're beautiful." She whispers in the low light.
Garrus gives his best approximation of a smile. It's quite terrifying, all pointed teeth and jagged chitin.
"I suppose you knew that." She hums amusedly.
"I do now." He murmurs. "I'm sorry, I... It was a risk. I shouldn't have... uh..."
"If I die from toxic shock, at least I'll die happy." She laughs lightly. The sound does something to his heart he can't describe.
He doesn't find it funny, but that must mean she'd... had she done some research too?
She senses his reluctance. "Look, this can be a one time thing. I was curious and horny. If you don't want to... be involved with me..."
"I do, Shepard." He hurries out. "I just... don't want to disappoint you."
She leans back and stretches long, inviting him close. He lays his head next to hers, looking into her pretty eyes, and curls his broad frame around her. The bunk isn't designed for two, but they make it work.
"You've never let me down." Shepard whispers.
"I... it was... okay?"
"Well..." She takes a breath, breaking eye contact.
Shit, has he screwed this up already? He steels his nerve against the criticism.
She kisses his mandible. "It was everything I wanted. Slow and sensual. Really, really good. But you didn't have to hold back for my sake."
"Well the bed's a little small..." He uses as an excuse. His species has a reputation of being dominant and demanding in bed, but Garrus has never been a good turian.
"Next time, we use mine." She sighs, fingers in his crest ridges. It's a new experience, but he likes it.
"All right." He whispers in the quiet.
Garrus doesn't sleep much that night. Shepard might be the first woman he's really, truly fallen for. And that's terrifying.
The night passes too fast. They're still wrapped in each other the next morning.
Shepard likes the texture of his hide beneath her fingers. His comforting bulk radiates a slight warmth, though his core temperature is lower than hers. His hands skirt her hip and thigh, returning to cup her breast.
"Didn't think you'd be interested in those." She mutters sleepily, lips curved in a contented smile.
He hums. "There are no mammals on Palaven." He offers as an explanation, then begins to prattle gently.
She reaches over to her omnitool and switches off the translator to listen. His language sounds like a rainforest night back on Earth: chirps, clicks and trills woven with multilayered whistles. Impossible to decipher. But the tone speaks of his awe and his affection. Shepard doesn't have to understand his words: all he needs is someone to listen.
What he says is:
"You can't understand a word of this, right?"
No response, she just settles into his embrace.
"Just as well. I'm not poet, Commander. Words often fail me. But I know the importance of being honest. So, even though I know you can't understand, it doesn't make this less important. Thanks. For being my friend. For being my mate, even if... you don't feel the same as I do."
He falls quiet.
They evolved half a galaxy apart, but their species are surprisingly alike. Bipedal gait, oxygen and glucose metabolism, warm blooded, live birthed. Their DNA is similar, despite the chirality, though meiosis is more complicated in turians due to cellular tetraploidy; efficient on a planet with high radiation. A triple redundancy means fewer hereditary disorders.
They form close monogamous relationships, they feel the same emotions. Hormones and chemical signals in their brains, feedback loops of dopamine and serotonin. They have much more in common than they have differences.
So it's not a shock to Shepard that she's fallen for him. It doesn't matter how they're different.
"Garrus?" She whispers.
He trills a querying response.
"I love you too."
He sighs. That's what he's afraid of. Putting the word to the thing only makes it harder. He knows they won't come out of this unscathed. His heart is already broken for what they both know: the war has barely begun.
As the day cycle begins, Shepard heads to the mess. She's sore in more than a few places; grazed skin, stretched muscle, tender insides – but it's a really good ache. Her core tenses with the memory of Garrus' hard body over hers – in hers – every ridge and spur and angle of his beautiful anatomy.
They share a shy, secret sort of smile across the room.
Tali, cross-legged at the table, hums smugly. "Commander. Good night?"
Shepard stiffens. "What do you mean?"
Her goading is all in good natured fun. "Garrus is unusually buoyant this morning. Also... our bunks share a wall. I inferred, from the noise, that you both enjoyed yourselves."
"Oh."
"He's been pining for you for weeks." The quarian observes, but keeps the register low enough not to be overhead. "Seems it was mutual?"
Shepard likes Tali. She's bright and empathetic. Her veil glows faintly as she chuckles at Shepard's discomfort.
"Uh, yeah. Blowing off steam seemed a good idea." She murmurs.
"You don't have to act so casual. The whole crew know how much you rely on each other." Tali reaches over the table and lays her three fingers over Shepard's five.
Busted.
Shepard takes a breath and admits, "...He makes me feel safe. In this dangerous, chaotic galaxy, it's one thing that makes sense."
"Permission to intrude on your personal feelings, Commander."
As if she has a choice? Shepard doesn't object, and waves her free hand for Tali to go ahead.
"Love and hope are necessary. I care a great deal about you and him both. So I hope you'll be happy, for as long as we have."
The commander smiles grimly. They still have a galaxy to save. She just hopes the crew are prepared for what's coming.