"Shepard. Need me for something?"

"Have you got a minute?" she asked.

"Definitely. Part of me still thinks we're crazy for even considering…blowing off steam. But I want to try it with you. I want a few moments that are just for us before we throw ourselves into Hell for the good of the galaxy."

Shepard smiled. "I want that, too, Garrus."

"Glad to hear it. I'll do some, uh, research, and figure out how to…you know." Shepard cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, that sounded bad," he admitted.

As the two of them leaned against the crate in the corner—Shepard's usual seat—there was a pause in which they looked anywhere in the room but at each other. Suddenly Shepard blurted, "I'm nervous, too." Garrus finally looked at her, surprised at this confession. "You said last time we talked that I couldn't make you uncomfortable, just nervous. I feel the same way." A shy smile crept onto Shepard's face, and Garrus found himself smiling slightly back at her; it was so rare to see a lack of surety on Commander Shepard's face.

"Nervous, huh? Well. I'm flattered, Commander."

"'Commander'? Really, Garrus?" Shepard rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Huffing a laugh, Garrus rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. Old habits. But what are you nervous about, Shepard? This was all your crazy idea in the first place."

"So what? What's not to be nervous about? It's like you said, this could be a night to treasure or it could be a horrible, interspecies awkwardness thing." She made a face, maybe of disgust or annoyance, and went on, "You're the closest friend I have left too. What if it's, you know, the second one? Are we still going to be able to look each other in the face?"

"If it's—not what we're hoping—then we avoid eye contact for a few days until we forget about it, and we go on with our lives as usual," said Garrus, shrugging. "Or…not."

"Right. Turians aren't as…complicated about these things. That's a compliment," she added hastily.

"I told you you're my only friend in the galaxy," he reminded her, avoiding her eye. "I wouldn't throw that away because of one hypothetically bad night of sex. Besides, how badly could it possibly go?"

There was a long beat of silence before they both shuddered.

"Well, I am not letting that happen." Shepard paused again, and then she nodded resolutely and said, "Garrus."

"Shepard?" That tone of hers struck fear deep into his heart.

"What do you say to a little…recon? Why don't we just, you know, do a sort of test round? Try some things out, see what works. We're both adults; we can be respectful of each other's boundaries and talk about anything that, uh, comes up."

"You want to practice sex? That's your plan?"

"Why the hell not? Would you rather sit alone down here and jerk off to Fornax?"

"I would at least find some vids on the extranet before I looked at that rag," he deadpanned. "But you make an excellent point."

She grinned. "Is that a yes?"

Why did she look so excited? What the hell had he ever done that was worthy of this much interest from the Spectre that even death couldn't defeat? But he couldn't argue with the sparkle in her eyes, or the stutter of his heart when he felt her leg touch his and realized how close she was sitting.

"I don't think I've ever said no to you, Shepard, and this sure as hell isn't the time to start. You've got me interested now…sounds like you have a plan."

"Are you sure about this?"

She was giving him that look again as she asked, the one that reminded him that those eyes missed nothing. Garrus made sure he was looking straight back into her eyes, nerves be damned, as he answered. "I'm sure."

"Are you still nervous?"

"Yes," he admitted, knowing it was no use lying to her.

Shepard lifted her hand to his shoulder, and he noted with surprise that she was trembling slightly. "Me too." A bit of the tension melted from the air as they looked at one another, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Let's sit down," she suggested.

Leading him to the couch—not, he noted with some relief, to the bed—she slid her hand down his arm to his hand and gripped his fingers gently.

"You've seen humans holding hands before?" she asked him.

"Yeah…sometimes."

"It's just a casual display of affection," she told him, "but under the right circumstances it can hold a certain amount of intimacy."

Garrus swallowed. "Yeah, I can see what you mean." The smirk on her face told him she'd heard the quiver in his subharmonics and recognized it for what it was. Simply touching her—like this, outside of a combat situation—strange as it was, helped ease his nerves yet further. Her hand was so soft, and so tiny. He eased his fingers from her grip, instead turning her hand over in both of his. "Do you mind?" he asked. She shook her head and held her hand flat so that he could examine it.

He could feel the bones underneath that alien human skin, more delicate than he'd have thought possible, like a bird's. He traced the lines on her palms—human skin was so thin that it creased?—and ran a talon down each of her five fingers. When he finally looked up, she was smiling again.

"Your face—you look like you're concentrating on a really complicated firing algorithm," she teased him, and he laughed. "My turn?" she asked, and he obligingly removed his gloves and held his hand out to her.

"Your…talons. I read that turian talons are very sharp, but yours…"

"I file them down," he said. "I can't always wear gloves when I work on the gun, and human tech is made for human hands. I'd probably break the Normandy. What were you doing reading about turian talons? You could've just asked."

"Ah, actually, I…acquired some materials."

"'Materials'? Oh. Mordin."

She laughed. "He got to you, too, huh? Nosy little pyjak," Shepard said. "But some of those diagrams seemed…helpful." Her face suddenly flushed red, and he tentatively touched her cheek with a blunted talon.

"I've been meaning to ask you why you do that," he said.

"Do what?"

"Your face turns red sometimes…I notice it after missions, or when you're angry…." He stopped and drew his hands back into his lap, worried that she was angry with him now.

But she shook her head. "Turians express emotion mostly through subharmonics, right?" He nodded and she went on, "Human emotions mostly show through facial expression. When our faces turn red—we call it blushing—it's because blood gathers under the skin and changes the color. It usually happens because of physical exertion, anger, embarrassment…or lust," she added quietly, her eyes flicking downward as the reddish color in her cheeks intensified.

Garrus felt a twinge of guilt that he had embarrassed her and a rush of anxiety and excitement at the possibility of having aroused her so easily. "Sorry," he said hastily as the silence lengthened. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, no, Garrus," Shepard said, waving off his apology. "Don't be sorry; I don't blame you for asking. I can see why it might be a bit alarming when your commander suddenly starts changing color." They laughed, and Garrus took enough heart from her words to draw her hands back into his.

"How do turians show affection?" she asked, turning the conversation back.

"Publicly, we generally don't," he told her. "There are a few things, but most of them are a bit…intimate."

"Show me?" she asked quietly. He met her eyes again and noticed that the flush had not subsided from her cheeks. "Only if you want to, of course."

"I suppose the most basic one…well, like I said, turians aren't very physically affectionate, but this is pretty common, although it's not much—but I figure to start off with—"

"Garrus!" Shepard stopped him, laughing. "Just show me. I promise, I've got an open mind over here."

Very carefully, Garrus placed his hand on the back of her head and guided his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes as he gently nuzzled her, just the tiniest contact, and he felt her breath catch. After a few moments, her eyes opened slowly and he noticed for the first time what a vivid shade of green they were. She smiled and said nothing, but nuzzled him back.

"Your turn," he whispered when several long seconds had passed.

"My turn?"

"What other ways do humans have of showing affection?"

"Well, obviously, there's hugging, but I seem to remember you and I once had a discussion about hugging before…well, back on the original Normandy." He was glad she didn't mention the Collector attack. "So, I guess…well," she looked vaguely embarrassed and pulled away just enough to be able to see him clearly. "Looking at it objectively, it sounds a little weird, but there's kissing, too." She cleared her throat and explained, "I don't know how to describe it, exactly, but it's mouth-to-mouth contact."

"Right." Garrus, who had come across this concept in his "materials" from Mordin, very nearly asked whether or not that was dangerous—it sounded like an excellent way to spread disease—but she looked so anxious about his response that he refrained. "Yeah, I've, uh, heard of it," he said, feeling just a little apprehensive.

"Look, I know there's no way to really describe it without making it sound…well, gross. But it isn't," she added earnestly; "it's very intimate. Humans have a lot of nerve endings in and around their mouths, so it feels…nice."

Garrus pondered this for a moment, and, remembering how open-minded she'd been a few moments ago, said, "Show me?"

Very, very slowly, and giving him every chance to ask her to stop, Shepard placed a hand on his shoulder and one on his scarred mandible. She leaned in and then paused, and then their mouths met—just the tiniest bit of pressure at first. When he didn't ask her to stop, she leaned in again and he could feel her soft, slightly moist lips brushing against his mouth plates—he clumsily reciprocated her movements, though it wasn't entirely effective. After a long moment, she pulled back long enough to speak.

"Is this okay?" she asked breathlessly.

Garrus was silent for a moment, then he smiled gently. "Intimate" was an accurate word to describe kissing. And Shepard's face was flushed again, which was gratifying. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Can we…try something else?"

He nodded again, and she said, "You can tell me if you don't like it." Before he even had time to worry about what she could be planning, her mouth was on his again and he placed his hand on the side of her neck. He could feel her pulse under his fingers; it was racing. Suddenly he felt something even softer and wetter than her lips tracing the edges of his mouth plates—her tongue? He drew back, surprised, before he even had a chance to think about it.

"Garrus?" she asked anxiously. She looked so vulnerable in that moment that he could have kicked himself for hurting her feelings.

"Sorry," he said, grasping the hand that wasn't still resting on his mandible and stroking her knuckles with his thumb. "I was just…surprised. Try again?"

Shepard looked conflicted, but leaned in to kiss him again. This time, when he felt her tongue on his mouth plates, he tentatively flicked his out to meet her. They explored each other slowly; he'd never tasted another person's mouth before, but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she tasted just like she smelled, that weird, musky human scent that always lingered in the main battery. He couldn't exactly kiss her back, not the way she was kissing him; but somehow they were falling into a rhythm. He could feel her breath, warm and quick against his plates, and her pulse racing under his hand—Garrus was discovering that he, too, had some fairly sensitive spots along the edges of his mouth plates; the sensation sent sparks through all his nerves, all his senses were filling with her—

And then suddenly, it was over. Realizing he'd closed his eyes, Garrus opened them to find Shepard looking anxiously up at him, slightly out of breath, clearly waiting for him to say something.

"That was…nice," he said lamely.

Shepard chuckled under her breath. "Really?"

"Really. I—never really understood it before, but I think I do now."

"Good," she replied, the relief evident in her voice. "I've been wanting to try that for a while now; I was afraid I was going to cross some cultural boundary or something."

"Well, even if you were, I'm not a very good turian anyway, remember?"

"I think you're just fine," Shepard said, eyes softening.

"Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"Speaking of cultural boundaries we're afraid to cross…can I touch your hair?"

She let out another breathy laugh. "Sure."

He reached up tentatively and wound a lock of her reddish hair around his finger, leaning forward to examine it closely. It was made up of the tiniest fibers, each one impossibly thin, but as an entity it was strong and flexible. It was easily the strangest body part he'd ever seen, including the hanar's tentacles, and ever since he'd first met a human, there had existed a deep, dark part of him that was dying to touch their hair.

He'd never had a chance before. It was nice.

"So…you don't have any nerves in your hair?" he asked finally, to break the silence.

"No, it's made of dead cells. Well, I can feel it if you pull it—that hurts if you do it too hard—but there's no sensation anywhere but at the very roots, where it connects to my scalp."

Gaining confidence, Garrus unwound the lock of hair from his finger and instead opted to run his talons gently through her hair. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Shepard closed her eyes, letting out a little noise of pleasure, and said, "That feels nice." Only a few seconds had passed before Shepard opened her eyes. "Garrus?"

"Mm?"

"Where should I touch you?"

Garrus was taken slightly aback by the abrupt question. "Well, there's…um…ah, let's see, you could…"

Shepard interrupted him by placing her hands back into his. "Show me," she said again.

With a rush of gratitude, Garrus obliged her. "There's this," he said, guiding her hands up to the back of his neck, under his fringe.

"No plates here," she commented.

"Yeah, that's what makes it…sensitive." He swallowed hard.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Shepard asked, pausing when he drew in a sharp breath.

"No, no, that…it feels good." He was trying to control the pace of his breathing. She had so many fingers.

For the first time, he caught the flicker of a mischievous smirk on her face as her fingers continued to massage and probe under his fringe. "Is the rest of your neck sensitive, too?"

"Yes," he said, not trusting himself to say more because he thought his voice might waver. It had been a long time since anybody had touched him like this.

"Can I try something?"

Garrus swallowed again and nodded. As slowly as she had before, she brought her face in close to his—he thought for a moment that she was going to kiss him again, but she was leaning to his left…she nuzzled into the spot where his neck and carapace met, just near his shoulder—Spirits, he could feel her quickened breath against the sensitive hide between his plates—and then he felt the warmth of her mouth against his skin, then the moisture of her tongue—Spirits—and when her teeth grazed his skin, he just managed to bite back a moan of longing. "Shepard, I…"

"Is this okay?" she murmured against his skin. He could feel her lips moving with every word.

"Very okay," he gasped.

She laughed, a sultry sort of giggle that he had never heard from her before, and pulled away from him with one last nip. He felt a strange mixture of regret and relief when she stopped. "That was…familiar," he told her. "Or—more so, anyway."

It was also easily the most intimate he'd been with anyone in…well, too long. He didn't bring that part up, though. Inhaling deeply to clear the fog in his head, he cleared his throat before he attempted to speak again. "Sorry, I just-biting a partner's neck is usually reserved for—er—later on. Not that I mind, or anything. It's nice. Too nice. You know what I mean." Stop talking, Vakarian. You're making it worse.

"Oh, I know what you mean," crooned Shepard. "The infamous Archangel, paralyzed with lust by my human seduction methods. I'm humbled." The corners of her mouth twitched as she continued, "Too much too soon, Vakarian? Can't handle the heat?"

If he didn't know her so well, he would never have caught the way her poking fun at him subtly eased the sudden flare of heat and tension in the room without breaking the mood.

And since when had there been a mood?

"You have me at a disadvantage," he argued mildly. "Although I did do some research…."

Shepard grinned. "Oh? And did you find anything…interesting?"

"I did find a couple of things I'd like to explore a little further," he replied, overly casual.

"You want to show me?" Her voice dipped a little lower, almost sultry, and there was a new tilt to her eyebrows that spoke of mischief.

Now that he could touch her, he wasn't sure where to start. They were still holding hands, so he slid his fingers up her arm—it was so thin that he could easily close his fingers around it—and then rested his hand on her shoulder, letting his thumb brush her collarbone. He started to move lower, down her chest, but he hesitated. He was sure that breasts were related to sex somehow, having visited plenty of strip clubs on the Citadel during his C-Sec days, but he wasn't sure if Shepard wanted him to go quite that far yet—or, indeed, how far "that far" would be.

As always, it was like she was reading his mind. She took his hands and slid them down her chest, cupping one around each breast. "You can touch me, Garrus. I want you to," she added, looking down and blushing. "I'll stop you if I'm uncomfortable. And of course you can stop me if you're uncomfortable. Okay?"

Garrus swallowed. "Okay."

She pressed his hands to her chest, and gave a little sigh as he squeezed lightly. She showed him how to cup and massage them gently through her shirt, and then guided his thumb across the small nub in the center of her right breast; she sighed again, so he repeated the action on both sides this time. Shepard let go of his hands after a moment and closed her eyes, arching her back into his touch.

"Garrus?" she whispered breathlessly, without opening her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"There's no articulate way to say this, but I would be exceedingly happy if you took your shirt off."

Startled, Garrus laughed out loud. "You would?"

Shepard opened her eyes and pinned him with her gaze, half joking and half predatory. "I really would."

They looked at each other for a few more moments before Garrus reached up and undid the clasps of his tunic, removing it and draping it neatly over the back of the couch.

"You know I had never even seen your hands before today?" she murmured, almost to herself. Her eyes were shamelessly wandering over his carapace and his chest, and—maybe he imagined it, but they seemed to linger on his waist longer than anywhere else.

"Can I touch you?" she asked quietly.

"Of course," he rumbled, and he wondered if she could hear what his subharmonics were implying.

Her hands moved lightly over his carapace first, and then traveled downward, mapping out the lines between his plates and tracing gently over old scars. Possibly sensing his tension as her hands moved lower, she stopped and finally looked back up at his face. "Your waist, I remember…it's…?"

"Not—not as sensitive as under the fringe," he explained, "but still…you generally wouldn't touch anyone's waist in public."

"Hmm…hang on." Shepard stood, but turned around and planted herself in his lap instead, her knees braced on either side of him. His breath hitched immediately when she placed her hands on his waist, and he couldn't help it—he grabbed her by the waist, too, not nearly as gently as she was touching him, and pulled her closer so that he could nuzzle her neck.

She gave a sultry little laugh, her hands still roaming the soft, plate-less hide of his waist. "Having fun, Garrus?"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled against her neck. "Are you?"

"Yeah," she whispered, running a finger down his throat.

"This was a good idea."

"Mmm," she said, or maybe that was because his hand had found its way under her shirt. "Is this easier?" She pulled the hem of her shirt up over her head and threw it aside, and Garrus was suddenly very, very aware that he was seeing more of her skin now than he ever had before.

Heart hammering, he traced her clavicles with trembling fingers. She was just so soft…and her breasts, without the layer of fabric over them, felt even softer as he cupped them in his hands and thumbed the nubs he had noticed before. At this, Shepard arched her back and bit her lip, and he took heart from her reaction, continuing his attentions until he found himself distracted by her waist. Allowing his hands to roam as they pleased, he found himself mapping out the curve of waist to hip—so subtle, compared to the hard lines of turian females—and then his fingers were following her spine up to her shoulder blades, and he felt her shiver.

"Shepard?"

"Mm?" They hadn't spoken for what felt like a long time, and Shepard's voice was breathy with unmistakable lust.

"I want to see the rest," he whispered, tugging at her shorts.

Shepard laughed. "Okay."

So she stood up and tugged off her shorts, taking her underwear with them and baring herself completely. How strange, that expanse of uninterrupted skin. Her waist curved in a completely alien way, and everything below her hips was utterly bemusing. How could she keep her balance when her knees curved like that? And so many toes, not even to mention the all-around strange shape of her feet.

Then his eyes traveled back up her body to her face, which was holding the amused smirk he was so familiar with, even if it did include a bit of anxious anticipation at the moment. This time, when his eyes traveled back down, he saw new things.

Strange as the curve from hip to waist was, he could see the softness and the beauty of her alien body. He could see several scars marring her otherwise smooth skin, and there were darker spots here and there, just enough to remind him of a starry sky on a cloudy night. Where he was all hard angles and points, her shape was of sweeping lines and gentle curves.

And then there were her eyes. Those vividly green eyes that darkened when she was angry and positively glowed when she was excited. The eyes which had looked earnestly into his as she said, "This isn't you, either." The eyes that could see him more clearly than anyone else's before or since he'd first met them in Dr. Michel's office.

This was Shepard. And he wanted her.

Standing, Garrus walked wordlessly over to Shepard and wrapped his hands around her waist—as he'd suspected, he could very nearly encircle her with his fingers—and then he slid his hands lower to grab her by the hips and tug her toward him. She was watching his face, her expression indulgent and yet still heated somehow, as she tipped her head back to hold his gaze.

"Well?" Shepard prompted him when he didn't speak. "Too weird?"

"Definitely not too weird," he murmured. "I'm…not sure what to say. Uh, that is, I like it. You. Enough that it's making me this inarticulate." He let his hands wander to her ass, which he found was very nice to squeeze. "I'm trying to say that I think you're beautiful," he finally said, not quite courageous enough to look her in the eye. "But I've always thought that."

The red flush crept back into Shepard's cheeks. "Really?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"Really. I'd never have said I was attracted to you until recently, but I'd be lying if I said I've never…admired you. Aesthetically." He cleared his throat, wishing he were just a little better at putting words into a sentence.

She glanced down for a moment, a smile spreading slowly across her face, and then she wrapped her arms around him and stretched up to kiss his scarred mandible.

"Thanks," she whispered. "Not sure when…I don't think I've heard that in a while."

"That someone admired you aesthetically?"

"No," she said, though he'd gotten a laugh out of her. "That I was…beautiful."

Garrus wondered how it was possible that no one in the damned galaxy—the galaxy that Shepard herself had saved from complete destruction—had bothered to remind this incredible human that she was beautiful. And she was. Like he'd told her, he'd never thought of any human as a potential bedmate until recently—but especially now that he'd looked more closely, he'd formed a deep appreciation for the shape of Shepard's body; the smooth, supple skin over firm muscle; the mane of red hair that never seemed to lay neatly on her head the way Miranda's did.

"Sorry," he whispered, his arms winding around her. The hug felt surprisingly natural, although he was still amazed at the way her skin gave under his hands.

"For what?" she asked.

"For not telling you sooner."

"Damn, Garrus. Wouldn't have guessed you were such a smooth talker," she said after a long pause, muffled against his chest plates. "But there's no need to be sorry. I just wanted you to know that it means a lot." Her lips pressed against his chest, then his throat. "So…do I ever get to see the rest?" she asked, tugging at his pants.

Garrus's heart leapt into his throat. "Oh—right. Uh, one sec." Shepard released him and he deftly undid his fastenings, sliding the garment off despite the sudden onset of nerves.

Shepard looked fascinated as she looked him up and down, but he couldn't glean much else from her expression. After a moment, just when he really began to worry, she asked, "You need…stimulation, right? To, to…" she gestured vaguely, "you know."

Garrus let out a nervous chuckle. "So you did watch the vids. I'm impressed."

"Oh, shut up." Catching his anxious gaze, she smiled and stepped closer to him, and then took his hand and laced her five fingers with his three as though she were used to it.

"Garrus?"

"Yes?"

Her smile widened. "I think you're beautiful, too." Before he had a chance to do more than flutter his mandibles helplessly, she continued, "I want to touch you." She squeezed the hand she was holding; his clouded mind registered that she didn't mean his crest, carapace, or even his waist.

It took entirely too long for him to realize that she was waiting for him to respond. "Oh—well—who am I to say no?" he said finally.

"You can, you know," she pointed out, sounding almost anxious.

"I know," he assured her. How strange to think that she was worried about having to pressure him into this. "I want you to."

"Okay…if you're sure, I think I have a plan," she said, pulling away from him. Moving over to the bed, she stacked a few pillows against the headboard. "Think you can lean back on that?"

Garrus crossed the room to lower himself experimentally onto the unfamiliar surface. Human beds, as it turned out, were springy, harder than he was used to, and held their rectangular shape firmly instead of molding to the body. The pillows afforded enough support to lean back on, though, and his crest just cleared the headboard. "I think this'll work," he said.

"Good. Now…" she climbed on top of him, straddling his legs. "Damn. You look good from this angle, Vakarian." Leaning forward, she ran her hands slowly down his chest, her fingers seeking the seams between his plates and then tracing the edges of his hip spurs. "Show me what to do."

Garrus swallowed and guided her hand down to the seam between his groin plates, both their fingers brushing lightly against the sensitive flesh underneath, and it was only a second before his plates shifted and he emerged right into her waiting hands.

Shepard looked up at him, smiled in a way that meant "this is weird, but it's okay," and ran the fingers of both hands up his length and back down again. Whatever differences they had, this clearly wasn't going to be a problem. Her hands were incredibly soft, and their many fingers weren't a problem here. He couldn't restrain a groan as she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked lightly, looking nothing if not fascinated.

"Okay?" she asked, slightly breathless.

"Yeah…I like the way your hand f-feels," he panted, running his hands up her thighs. "Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to touch you, too." He could smell her arousal now; he let his talons wander to the crease of her inner thigh, fascinated still by the way her skin stretched over bone and muscle. "Show me?"

Smiling shyly, she guided his hand between her legs, placing the pad of his finger against her little nub. "Gently," she reminded him, rubbing his fingers in slow circles over her clit—she made a low humming noise and bit her lip, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Almost reluctantly, it seemed, she took his hand again and pressed his index finger against her entrance, guiding it inside of her. "Bend your finger—there's a spot just—mmm, right…." She sighed in bliss. "Bonus points if you can hit both of those spots at once," she challenged him.

Never one to miss an opportunity to show off his dexterity, he placed his palm firmly against her clit, and began to massage her. He bent the finger that was still inside her with each downward motion, and Shepard—this incredibly powerful woman that he used to idolize—let out a moan that sank deep into his ego.

After a moment, Shepard's hands found him again; she wrapped her fingers around him, her grip firmer than before, and she matched his pace with long, sure strokes that turned his vision red.

He quickened his pace in response, relishing in the way her lips parted, the way she panted and egged him on—her hips joined in the rhythm, bucking against his touch, until finally, back arching, Shepard cried out in ecstasy, and he continued his motions until she let out a long sigh of completion and stilled. Damn.

He had a moment to just stare at her as she caught her breath. Her face was even more flushed than before, just the barest hint of sweat at her brow, and her eyes were closed, savoring the aftermath. Finally, she opened her eyes, and Garrus realized that her brow was smoother, her mouth more relaxed, and her eyes brighter than he'd seen them in a long time. Spirits, she was beautiful.

Then she leaned down. "Your turn, big guy," she whispered, and her hand made its way between his legs—he could hardly think past the red haze that had taken over his brain, but her fingers wrapped around him and resumed his pace, as though the rhythm were still stuck in her head, the long strokes of her hand causing heat to pool rapidly behind his plates—he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and saw Shepard staring intently, biting her lip, eyes bright and focused, and it pushed him over the edge; waves of pleasure rolled through him as he covered her hand in cum. Her hand never faltered or slowed its pace until he was still, breathing heavily, and completely spent.

He was still lying there, trying to catch his breath, when he felt her move away from him. He looked over and saw that she was wiping her hands on a towel she'd picked out of the laundry basket next to her bed.

"Sorry," she said, "but Mordin said something about a potential reaction."

He huffed a breathless laugh. "I'll try not to be too offended."

When Shepard had thrown the towel back into the basket, she turned back to him, grinning with self-satisfaction. "So, you watched the vids, too?" she asked as she hopped back onto the bed to lie on her side next to him.

Garrus burst into laughter. "What can I say? I'm nothing if not thorough." He lay a hand at the dip of her waist and let it rest there, her skin hot and damp under his fingers. "So, can I take that as a compliment?" he asked, a hint of nerves coming back to him.

Shepard smiled softly, the fading red flush returning to her cheeks in force. "Yes," she said quietly, something new blooming behind her bright green eyes.

Garrus's heart clenched in his chest, and suddenly, he had the sensation of falling through a trap door, the ground disappearing from under his feet, air whooshing past him…Fuck.

"Shepard…."

There was a depth to his subharmonics that had not been there before, the layers of his voice becoming more distinct, and he could see in her face that, alien or not, she had heard it and knew it for what it was.

Under the surface, beneath his notice, behind the banter and the playfully snarky comments, something had developed between them. Too late to stop it, though he wasn't sure he would have even if given the chance.

"Shepard, I—"

Shepard placed a finger to his mouth, quieting him—all for the better; he wasn't sure exactly what he'd planned to say, anyway. "You don't need to say anything."

Garrus pulled her in for a kiss, felt her lips smiling against his mouth plates as she responded, shivered when she ran her fingers down his waist. She had too many fingers, her knees bent the wrong way, her skin was almost frighteningly soft and her flesh more tender than he'd ever have imagined, but she was Shepard.

"No," he whispered against her lips, "but I can show you."