Work Text:
“You know,” Shepard remarked, casually, as if she wasn’t at all trying to distract him from the problem at hand, “I was really missing the Mako, until now.”
“Speak for yourself,” Garrus said, with feeling. “No love lost between her and me, Commander.”
When he’d joined the new Normandy, he’d been surprised that Cerberus had seen fit to equip the SR-2 with this particular model of spin-balling space junk from the Alliance’s bargain-basement catalog. Its turreted 155mm mass accelerator cannon had resisted all prior attempts at calibration. To say nothing of the temperamental micro-thrusters that had gotten them into this situation in the first place.
Then again, Shepard had always had a soft spot for the old jalopy, which had seen them through a dozen mission-critical outings in 2183, as evidenced by her decision to take it out in lieu of the Kodiak on this non-priority mission to Asteria. At least, the mission had started that way. On the edge of the Hekate system with civilian traffic prohibitions in place, the mostly-arid planet was only populated near its poles, and Normandy’s stealth cloak had gotten them right on top of the main equatorial landmass without setting off any planetside alarms.
It had been just the two of them on this run. Garrus had flattered himself to think it had been deliberate, that it was because Shepard had a soft spot for this old jalopy, too.
Maybe she’d really meant what she’d said last week about wanting to start something with him - - and asking him to solo with her on this mission was her way of opening what his people would see as pre-contract discussions and hers as a first date. He’d even let himself hope. She was the only thing that made sense in this whole damn galaxy. If he was being honest with himself, he’d wanted to be with her from the moment she’d walked into his sights on the Citadel, even though he never quite believed she could want him back. So many things had gone wrong for him in the past; this was the one thing above all others that he wanted to go right.
Which, with his luck, meant everything had gone to hell in a fucking heli-cruiser.
* * *
Asteria’s equatorial atmosphere had been baking hot, even by turian standards. Its air was thick with sulfur. The Mako had dropped in half a klick away from the ruined station, and they’d driven over, suited up, and gone in to check it out - - Shepard on point, Garrus covering her six, just like old times.
The station had been empty, as their initial scans had shown. At the mercy of arid sandstorms that had had the run of the place since it had been vacated, the building had been laid open to the afternoon sky. Its shattered walls and corridors were so hollowed out by the climate that it wasn’t clear what their original function had been, let alone why the signal picked up by the SR-2 was operating on a Collector frequency, or why it was still operating at all.
“A dead loss,” Shepard had told Joker, and turned to go, their boots crunching the yellow sand underfoot.
Which was when his HUD’s proximity sensors went off.
Garrus shouted “Incoming!”, and launched himself at Shepard, just that second too slow. He covered her with his upper body, shielding her, as the galaxy’s swiftest sandstorm swept through the west side of the building in a stealth attack.
It was the greenest sandstorm, too, for some reason. Damndest thing, on a sulfur-based planet. Those particles whirled around them, the same green as Shepard’s eyes, as they lay on the sand-blasted floor, the breath knocked out of them, their limbs tangled together, his body between her and the storm.
Seconds ticked by as he stared into her face through her faceplate: the line of her jaw, her full mouth, those eyes he’d followed to hell and back. Underneath him, her body was more pliant than a turian’s, warm even through both layers of armor…
He only realized he’d taken in a lungful of the stuff when he started coughing and couldn’t stop. Shepard had to haul him behind the nearest cover. Thank the spirits, they were both intact; no damage done to anything save his pride.
“We need an evac. Joker, you copying?”
“You’re welcome,” Garrus wheezed, as they beat a tactical retreat to where they’d left the Mako. The storm was starting up again as they reached the vehicle, the temperatures and fierce winds battering them both. The Mako’s compact frame was covered in the green dust.
Garrus had to be helped aboard. For some reason, he was having difficulty catching his breath. He felt as if he was burning up from inside his armor, Shepard’s arm around his chestplate like a brand, scorching him.
“Thanks for the assist. Not that you taking the hit for me was a better plan. Hey, are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he panted, automatically. “I just need to cool off.” Damn it, what was wrong with him? It should be cooler in the climate-controlled interior of the Mako; instead, he was even hotter than he’d been in the desert’s stifling heat.
His hands never quivered in the field, but they trembled now as he pulled off his cuirass and struggled out of the rest of his armor. Removing the heavy ablative brought scant respite. His head was pounding, his throat bone-dry; when he tugged his undersuit open, the air scoured against his bare skin.
Shepard had discarded her own helmet and now moved in to help. Her gauntleted fingers were rock-steady as they always were, but now the familiar touch was both a sweet relief and at the same time a scalding torment. Her nearness was somehow excruciating - - the sheen of sweat on her cheekbones, the smell of her red hair, the tantalizing, unprotected slice of throat above her armor that he wanted to bury his mandibles against...
…oh, shit.
He’d been casual about taking suppressants on Omega, and now something in the storm’s green particles had triggered an unseasonal heat. Either some dextro-compliant enhancement native to Asteria’s equatorial flora, or an elaborate booby trap left by the Collectors - - Garrus couldn’t tell, because he’d pulled off his HUD and omnitool, and anyway was in no state to perform any detailed scans. It was all he could do to fight off the overwhelming urge to pin Shepard to the floor and prise the ablative from her body and let biology take over.
He forced himself away from her. His plates chafed against each other urgently, his cock already at attention beneath them. He needed to put some distance between them, or pretty soon he wouldn’t be able to think at all.
The one thing he wanted to go right, and now, thanks to this mission, he wasn’t going to get that chance.
“Tell me, goddamnit,” Shepard said, and he did, burning with humiliation. He’d never been able to disobey that command voice.
To her credit, she didn’t bat an eyelid. “Strap in. I’m getting you out of here,” she said, vaulting into the driver’s seat and shoving the Mako’s engine into reverse. “Joker, how’s that evac coming?” And, over her shoulder, “What happens in a heat? How long do you need to hold on?”
It was difficult to formulate words from a brain scrambled by heat lust and also Shepard’s terrible driving, but Garrus managed, “Most heats go for twelve hours at a maximum on meds. Without them, like now, it’s more like twenty-four.”
“Let’s see if we can’t get you back to the Normandy in twenty-four minutes,” Shepard said, grimly, swerving around something in their way.
Which was when the Mako chose to skew to starboard on its rear wheels, and suddenly they were dropping like a stone in a gravity sink.
Garrus experienced a moment of weightlessness against his straps - - dimly, he heard Shepard cursing, and the whine and splutter of thrusters cutting out - - then they came down so forcefully that all his teeth jolted in his head, not to mention his bones.
“Goddamnit,” Shepard said, again, her voice eerily calm.
Garrus slapped his way out of the straps and scrambled into the front seat beside her. The Mako’s screens told him the full story. They’d skidded off a cliff that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and had plunged into the bottom of a sand-covered ravine.
In the bowl of the chasm, the sandstorm was even worse.
“What a lousy piece of space junk,” he sighed.
She snorted. “You’re just jealous. Hell hath no fury like a turian scorned.”
“You mean driving us off the road was her way of scorning me? Talk about the dark underbelly of interspecies relations. Any luck at all raising the Normandy?”
Finally, the comm crackled to life. Shepard barked: “About time, Joker. You got a lock on our location?”
… Terrible solar storm…expect delays…
Tersely: “How long?”
…Twelve hours, tops…Sorry, Commander…
The rest was drowned out by static. Shepard cursed again and pounded the console, but nothing else emanated from the channel except for dead audio. They were trapped.
* * *
The feedback whine was making Garrus’ head hurt. As the adrenaline of their freefall dissipated, he abruptly realized how close he was to her, his cock still hard against his plates, his vent now starting to drip. His gaze raked over the unshielded curves of her face as she turned towards him, and, unexpectedly, raised a smile.
“You heard the man, it looks as if we’re stuck here for a bit. Which isn’t half as bad as it could have been, under the circumstances.”
Garrus’ mouth had fallen open. He took hold of himself and closed it with a snap. The heavy fog of arousal made everything so difficult. His breath heaved in his lungs; he ached to drag his tongue over her jaw, and bite into the seam between her neck and shoulder as if she were turian: an act that would kill a human woman, even one that a terrorist organization had been brought back to life.
“Are you kidding me? This is about as bad as anything gets. Worse, even. We’re stuck here for the next twelve hours, and you don’t understand what the heat’s making me want to do.”
Impossibly, she was still smiling. “I don’t understand, do I?” She laid a knowing hand on his arm, her gauntleted touch scalding: “Why don’t you set me straight, then.”
“I, I can't - -”
Moving on automatic, he flung himself convulsively out of the seat. He had to get away from her before he did something he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.
He was actually fumbling blindly for the override to the door release when she sucker-dropped him.
He ended up flat on his back on the floor of the Mako, hard enough to smack some sense back into him.
Hazily, he watched as she swung herself into a sitting position on top of him, pinning him casually down with her legs, while she drew her gloves off and started to unfasten her own hardsuit.
“Shepard, what - -?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? You’d clearly rather hurl yourself half-naked into a howling storm than ask for help, but I can’t imagine you really want to get away from me this badly.”
… She was willing to help? Impossible.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve never been with a turian.” He’d never been with a human, either: no shell or defensive exterior, all soft curves and softer skin, hot blood running so near the surface.
Their bodies pressed together as he struggled, trying to work his arms free. In an attempt to jack-knife her off of him, he only succeeded in ramming his pelvic plate into the intersection between her armored upper thighs. He’d become so hard that the impact just made him more desperate. He ground his teeth together as he felt the arousal dripping into his suit, so thick even a human ought to be able to smell it.
He panted, relenting, “And, the heat - - I’m not myself. I’m going to hurt you.”
She freed her gardebraces and tossed her breastplate aside. Garrus’ attention was seized by the lithe movement of her muscles beneath her undersuit. Shaking out her short red hair, she snorted: “You could try. Remember what happened the last time we sparred? The last ten times? I made you cry uncle.”
Which was vicious slander, of course! He’d only teared up once, and inadvertently, when she’d shoved her elbow into his lacrimal canaliculus. But it was true that she’d taken him down in the ring as easily as she just had here in this cramped vehicle, and he’d never once seen her concede even in the face of overwhelming odds.
She continued, “Give me some credit here, big guy. I’m here, eyes open. I want this.” Then, she paused, a rare look of uncertainty crossing her face. “Unless, of course, you don’t.”
His heart lurched in his chest cavity. That she could want him at all, but thought he might not want her back? It was even more agonizing than this damned heat. “I do! I do. You don't know how much I want it. But not like this, Shepard. Not like this.”
She was Commander Shepard, savior of the Citadel. She’d been brought back from the dead to save the universe; she put her body on the line every day to protect a world which didn’t deserve her. She ought to be comforted and celebrated; hell, she ought to be revered. Whatever humans prized by way of romantic activity - - candlelight and music and top-of-the-line surroundings, a partner who worshipped her and who could satisfy her - - that was what she deserved. Not being taken by a mindless animal in a confined space, on the dirty floor of an unreliable combat vehicle.
She put her bare hand on the scarred side of his face. She did it more gently than he’d ever seen her touch anything, or anyone, and it made him want to weep.
Very gently: “It’s not like we have much of a choice, Garrus. I’m not letting you deal with this alone, not when I can help. Not when I want to help.”
“You don’t have to,” he ground out, so he really wouldn’t fucking cry. Her touch was both agnonizing and an immeasurable comfort. “Heats won’t actually kill us, much as it feels like we’re about to die.”
“Twelve hours of feeling like you’re about to die? We can do better than that.”
Her soft lips quirked, which was all the warning he received before she leaned down and pressed those lips to his.
Instantly, he was lost. He hadn’t thought human kisses were particularly appealing, but the supple slide of flesh against his mandibles felt so good. She slid her short, smooth tongue along the seam of his mouth and he opened for her, hyperaware of his too-sharp teeth and her softness. His own tongue snaked out, and she drew it into her own mouth and sucked on it slowly.
He gasped, his bones turning to water. Pinned underneath her, there was nothing in his mind except the overwhelming need to come. He heard someone babbling and dimly realized it was him: “Please, I need, please…”
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” she murmured against his mouth. She pulled off, and tugged his undersuit off his shoulders down to the ridges of his elbows, wedging his arms to his sides. Then she sat back and shifted her armored weight to his lower thighs.
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” she said, grinning, and unzipped the lower half of his suit. He groaned as it peeled away damply. She reached between his pelvic plates to free his cock from its sheath, and, oh Gods, he was coming at last, in helpless spurts all over her hand and hardsuit.
“Now, isn’t that better,” she murmured, as Garrus subsided against the cool floor, panting urgently, torn between sheer relief and the monumental embarrassment of having fired off so prematurely. He’d wrecked his undersuit, like a rookie in his first heat, and Shepard hauled the mess off him, baring him entirely at last.
“Just look at you,” she breathed. If he didn’t know better, he could almost believe she sounded admiring. She ran exploratory fingers over his thorax, across the seams of his carapace, and down to his abdominal segments, leaving little trails of fire in her wake. “Strong - - rock-solid - - and, hey, this bad boy wants to say hello again - -”
As she took him once more in hand, he felt the heat building again under his skin; knew he was powerless to stop it.
Her five-fingered grip was impossibly tight around his cock. When she added her second hand and began to stroke and squeeze, he had to groan out loud. No turian would have been able to grasp him so securely, nor any ordinary human, either - - this was the Commander’s irresistible battle grip on her Hurricane, storming an impregnable enemy base, and he could do nothing but yield or be overrun.
His second orgasm in as many minutes. At least he’d lasted slightly longer this time.
He leaned back on the floor of the Mako, trying to catch his breath. When he could finally open his eyes, Shepard had risen into a kneeling position so she could remove the lower half of her armor, after which she shrugged out of her own undersuit.
He knew his mouth had fallen open again; he’d never seen a human in any state of undress. Soft lines, so much skin, so different from a turian - - hell, so different from Commander Shepard, invulnerable in the field, weapons laying down covering fire, helmet and N-7 hardsuit covering all this up. Now here she was, making herself vulnerable to him. Under this inadequate lighting, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Look at you,” he groaned. Now that his arms were free, he brought his hands up, desperate to touch her. She wore a harness around her voluptuous upper half - - curves, breasts - - and before he could stop himself, he’d torn the fabric away with his talons, baring the soft, heavy flesh beneath.
Instantly he pulled back, but Shepard didn’t seem displeased. She drew the pads of his opposable digits over the darker buds of skin at the tip of each breast, not gently. He rubbed, experimentally, and she hissed with pleasure. “That’s good,” she murmured; “now, here,” and she took his wrist and led his fingers between her uncovered thighs.
She wore another harness there, too, which covered a thatch of auburn hair and labial folds, already wet with runnier, colorless arousal fluids that mirrored his own. The scent of her sex was intoxicating; he knew he was getting hard once again. He followed her lead and massaged the nub at the crown of her vulva, trying to keep the edged talons to himself; she made another pleased sound and began to grind against the heel of his hand.
“Yeah,” she muttered, “just like that,” and he rubbed her faster, his cock now fully erect, wondering a little despairingly if he could penetrate her with his fingers, or if he'd just cut the soft flesh to ribbons, when without warning she made a deep, guttural noise and shuddered against him as if she was going to fly apart.
Watching her ascend her peak stripped him of the last of his self-control. He surged up and caught his arms around her supportive waist, and flipped their positions so she was underneath him, wedging her against the floor and the seat capsule, pitting his superior weight and reach against her at last.
Another female might have struggled, but not Shepard. She laughed, deep in her throat, wound her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He buried his face against her, laving his tongue against her collarbones and the hollow between her breasts, tasting tangy sweat and rifle blowback; trying to come to a consensus of limbs, his legs and hers, as well as the hungry, now-painful pulse of his erection that strained towards dock.
“Shepard - - oh Gods, please - -”
The coiled agony in him was unbearable. He heaved Shepard’s hips upwards, hiking her knees over his elbows, no finesse about it, angling her roughly as if he was lining her up in his Viper’s sights. She made a muffled sound and hooked her legs around his carapace; her hands found the ridge at the base of his cowl and hung on tight.
Huskily, she murmured, “Take the shot, Archangel,” and, spirits help him, he did, his cock sinking deep into her at last.
She was so soft, so warm, so tight and wet. It was completely unlike being with another turian, and at the same time it was like coming home: her sex hot and supple, welcoming him even though he’d gone in with all guns blazing and couldn’t stop, drawing him into safe harbor of her body.
“I can't, I’m going to - -”
He couldn’t have stopped, but she could have stopped him. Could have, and didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her limbs as tightly around him as she could, and he came a third time, muffling his shouts against her shoulder.
This time, it took even longer to come back to himself. When he did, he went rigid all over, not just that traitorous member that was even now still buried inside her. “Oh, shit.” He suddenly remembered levo-amino fluids could cause anaphylaxis in dextro partners, and vice versa, and he’d just shot off inside her without thinking.
“Worried about turian-human babies?” Shepard snorted, amused, and when he blurted out the real reason, she added, “I took medical advice. Seems we’re good as long as we don’t ingest.”
Disbelievingly, he let out a huff of laughter. “You asked our salarian doctor?”
“Actually, he volunteered. Said he could tell how hot I was for you, in paraphrase. Now, then.” She shifted against him, her softness sliding enticingly against him: “How long before you need to go again?”
“…about ten seconds ago?” He tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but didn’t succeed. He was always a needy, begging mess even during his medicated heats, but this was so much worse. It seemed as if, the closer he got to Shepard, the more he wanted her; as if only one thing could satisfy him: nothing but her.
He felt the low harmonics of her chuckle through her sternum as she murmured, “Yeah, I can feel that. Okay, let’s change it up - - Mordin was right, there's some chafing in that position.”
Shame scalded him as she twisted out from underneath him and got onto her haunches. “Damn, Shepard, I am so, so sor- -”
“Don’t be, idiot.” She kissed him, quickly, and then bent her body forward across the shock-absorbing seats, presenting her rump to him. “Here, try it like this. Less friction, and we have our hands free.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Turians didn’t have padding on their rears in the same way humans did, and Shepard’s was tantalizing: solid muscle and curvature, just made to be clasped by turian hands. He moved into position on his knees behind her and palmed her close. His cock, slippery from both their fluids, slid along the cleft between her asscheeks, and ploughed into her once more.
It was even deeper like this; the fit impossibly tighter. Both of them moaned aloud as they began to move together: Gods, he wasn’t going to last very long, or survive this. The inferno took hold of him again, and he found himself pounding desperately into her, hard enough to shatter bones that hadn’t been reinforced by Cerberus, and impossibly, she was giving as good as she got, groaning as her body rode each ridge of his shaft.
"Yes. Harder," she muttered. He complied, slamming into her, fucking her against the dirty seats, his hands digging bruises into her hips, mounting tension building in every particle of his body. "Give it to me, Garrus."
He tried to answer, folding his body against her sweating back, his septum buried in her hair. The urge to hold her won out over the urge to finish himself; he wrapped his arms around her, and Shepard snagged hold of his right hand and pressed his trigger finger to her clit.
He squeezed the trigger and felt her go off like a rocket. Her convulsions sent him over the edge as well, cries ripping from his lungs as he emptied himself into her in wave after wave of pleasure that was indistinguishable from pain.
It took forever to regain his strength. He collapsed against the seats beside her and leaned his head on her shoulder. She drew a hand under his fringe, affectionately, mimicking his carding stroke through her short red hair.
“This is nice,” she murmured, sliding closer. It was nice; too nice. Although Garrus was now completely wrung out, weak as a newborn, her proximity was setting him off once again. They both looked down at his filling cock, heavy with lymphatic fluid, pressing against her hip; now his nether plates were unfurling, and his cloaca had started to swell insistently.
Tentatively: "So, is this usual for turians in heat? For you?"
Her voice was mild, gentler than he deserved. Under the shitty emergency lights he could see the bruises and scrapes he’d left on her face and body, as if sex with him had been just one more fistfight to the death.
He tried to keep his tone clinical. It wasn’t easy while he was this dispirited and ashamed and miserable with desire. “I’m sorry. It’s worse this time. The lack of meds - - or something in the pollen - - it’s making me crazier than usual.”
“Don’t be sorry. Gotta say, this is definitely the craziest first time I’ve ever had, and this isn't my first rodeo.”
He laughed, so that he wouldn’t cry, or threaten to break the legs off all of Shepard’s previous lovers. A huge solar wave of jealousy rose through him, together with the burgeoning arousal, and he was so damn useless he couldn’t do much about it. Instead, he let Shepard lean him back and run reconnaissance between his thighs, a look of bemused affection on her face.
“Does this work like the thing lady turians presumably have?”
Garrus sucked in a breath as she rubbed circles against his swollen cloacal folds. For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to taste him, anaphylaxis risk be damned, and the thought of her hot mouth sucking there made him groan out loud.
“N-not exactly. In males, it isn’t primarily designed for pleasure, as it isn’t for human males.”
He recognized that experimental gleam in her eye. “Actually,” she said, “with the right equipment, human males find this can give them pleasure as well. I wonder …”
She ran her blunt-nailed finger around the puckered ring of muscle, and his cock jerked in response.
“Oh, fuck - -!”
Her bruised lips curved up, delightedly. “Looks like some things are universal,” she murmured, and reached for her discarded omnitool.
Garrus had never been on the receiving end of what was certainly an unauthorized use of Cerberus tech. Then again, neither he nor Cerberus had reckoned with Commander Shepard. Red hair falling in her eyes, battle smile on her lips, she lubed him up and spread him wide and teased him until every inch of his body was on fire and he was begging for her.
Finally, she slid the projected phallus inside him, blunt-headed and massive. She worked it in and out, patiently, delving deeply into him. He had never done this before; he’d never had it done to him before. The feeling of being stretched, being filled up, was like nothing else. He found himself panting and writhing and cursing under her, about to burst out of his exoskeleton and his skin.
Then she found a knot of nerves in his inner passage. Sensation exploded through him, and out of him - - he went off like a concussive grenade that leveled everything in its path, and brought the ship down around him.
* * *
When Garrus opened his eyes, he knew he was fully himself once more. His carapace was cool, his blood was its usual temperature. His drugged heat had worked its way through his system at last.
No, that wasn’t right. He’d had the heat fucked right out of him, relentlessly, systematically, with the fierce grin that Shepard always reserved for him before she pitched into a firefight or up against him in the combat ring.
The same grin that she raised to him now from her position against his shoulder, when she saw he was awake.
“Hey, sleeping beauty. How d’you feel?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a tank,” Garrus quipped, and then, even more honestly: “And even more, like I wish we could do it all over again. And again.”
It made him sound like an idiot, and still somehow it was the right thing to say. She made a scoffing noise, but her eyes shone all the same. “Me too,” she said. “I mean, I didn’t expect our first time to be this epic marathon. But, hey, after chasing you around the galaxy, having some evil spores conveniently fling you into my arms? How could a girl say no to that.”
Chasing him around the galaxy? He’d never realized. Thought it was all on him. Thought he’d made hell’s own mess of both of them; thought that anyone in their right mind would want to keep clear.
And yet, here she was, curled up in his arms as if she wanted to stay. It made an ex-vigilante want to believe in miracles after all, that they could go up against the Collectors and the Reapers and come out alive. Even if they didn’t, even if they failed, he knew there was no other place for him but at her side.
“Epic, huh?” he said, when he could trust his voice. “You know, I could get used to that.”