Title: Domesticity
Author: skybound2
Rating: T (Despite being a kinkmene fill, this story is kink/smut free!)
Characters: F!Shepard/Garrus
Word Count: ~3700
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for the whole game including the Citadel DLC.
Summary: "This close, the fatigue in her eyes, in the darker patches of skin that decorate the space beneath them, is obvious...She's still the most beautiful sight in the universe."
Author Notes: I'm dedicating this story to silentstephi and girl_undone, as a long, long, LONG time ago, I offered up birthday presents and never delivered, as my muse was AWOL. Slowly, but surely, she is returning to me. This story is the first story that I have been able to write from start to finish in the last ten months. Turns out, I needed a kick in the pants from the kinkmeme. (Of course.) Many thanks to the prompt OP for the kick. The KM prompt was looking for a 'reading in bed' scene, where they are just sort of happy and together and domestic. This is unabashed romantic fluff taking place in some amorphous happy post-war galaxy. (I wasn't up to dealing with the plot surrounding the WHY, so feel free to insert your preferred method of Happy Ending here.) I hope you enjoy!

Domesticity

"Spirits, Shepard! Were you soaking your feet in ice?!" Garrus instinctively jerks away from the sudden glacial temperature burrowing against his hide, dropping the datapad he was reading onto his chest in the commotion. But trying to escape from her rooting feet while staying within the confines of the bed is impossible.

Shepard gives a full-body shudder as she fidgets beneath the covers, trying to get comfortable. He doesn't know if it is feigned, or if she is genuinely as cold as the shivering implies, but based on the impish smile dancing on her lips, he's willing to put his credits on the former. He grumbles at the discomfort the contact causes, jostling her a little with his leg. "Don't you humans have those sleeves you wear on your feet during the day? Why can't you wear some of those to bed for once?"

Shepard lets go of a light-hearted chuckle, one that is too throaty to be called a giggle, but still too childlike to be a proper laugh. One that he rarely hears outside of the confines of their room. The sound of it causes the exasperation he feels to dissipate. "You mean socks? Don't like wearing them at night, make me feel like my feet are choking. And besides, what good is having a nice, hot turian in my bed, if he doesn't warm me up when I'm cold?"

"When exactly did 'Personal Foot Warmer for Commander Shepard' get added to my job description?"

"Right around when you moved in, Big Guy. Now stop squirming around, and let me thaw the suckers out."

"Fine, but you're explaining to the Primarch why his top advisor died from hypothermia."

"Deal." She strokes a hand down his fringe, rubbing the sensitive skin at the base for a few too-brief seconds, before pulling away and setting herself up on her side of the bed. He shakes off the disappointment at her withdrawal and picks his datapad up once more, scrolling to the top of the article he was reading and starting it anew.

Minutes tick away and by the time he has moved on from the first article to the second, Shepard's feet have warmed to a tolerable temperature against his. And as always, the way that they have wrapped around him leaves him in awe, snug against his side in a position that would never be comfortable for a turian. Her one foot is wrapped over his ankle, while the other is tucked beneath it, so that she is holding the appendage trapped between her lower legs, her knees bent to accommodate his spur. Stubby, human toes flex and knead against his hide in a rhythmic fashion that is, in some ways, too reminiscent of a cuterebra digging at the vulnerable flesh between his plates to be enjoyable. But the subtle way that they clasp at him, accompanied by the little sighs of bliss that she releases as she settles into her pre-sleep ritual is endearing. Its learned familiarity overcoming its innate alienness.

The rest of her body twists at the hips so that she is laying mostly on her back; close enough to him that he can feel each time her lungs expand and contract. The fabric of her shirt brushing softly against the exposed side of his upper torso. Her head and neck are propped up by a pillow; one that is folded in half to allow her a better view of the projected screen of her omni-tool. A game that involves oddly shaped bricks falling from the sky and being maneuvered into strange configurations dominates the screen, and every few seconds Shepard's facial features contort from gratification to annoyance and then back again.

He watches her play the game for a minute, the datapad in his hand all but forgotten, knowing by the way that the blocks have begun to speed up as they fall, that the game is all but lost. And if that hadn't been clue enough, the way that Shepard's mouth presses into a thin line - a look that has been many a dead man's last sight - would have given it all away.

There's an explosion of color on the screen, and then the words 'Game Over' flash in brilliant white. She heaves a low growl as she flicks her tool off, the screen disappearing from view and taking all the colors with it. Shepard flops back on the pillow, her arms dropping to the side at the same time, prompting Garrus to lower one of his own hands down to meet hers, twining their fingers together. "Stupid game. Why can I never beat that level?"

"What? It's not enough that you broke the charts at Armax, or that you regularly shame poor Vega at Shattered Eezo? And I may be mistaken, but didn't you completely wipe out the entire stock from that claw game at the Castle Arcade the last time we were there? In fact - I seem to remember us being politely escorted from the premises with a request that we not return for at least another galactic month so that they would have time to restock."

"Your point, Garrus?"

Garrus shuffles his shoulders in a shrug, employing every ounce of willpower he has to keep from laughing at the fire lighting her eyes. "My point, Shepard, is that it's good for the ego to lose a game every now and then. Not that I'd know anything about that, of course, being the epitome of turian perfection that I am and all."

"I'm sorry. I don't think I know that word that you just used. Luh-oze? Looz? Lose?" Garrus struggles to keep the smile from his face as Shepard taps a finger to her lips, shaking her head once, the loose strands of her hair making a sweeping noise against the pillow as she moves. "Nope. Not a clue."

"Mmm, that right? Because, I seem to remember someone in this bed losing the last three rounds of bottle shooting. And that someone wasn't me."

"Uh-huh. How could I forget Garrus Vakarian being crowned King of the Bottle Shooters."

"King and Undefeated Champion."

"Of course. Very important title you've earned. I should respect that."

"Thank you."

"But now, if we're going to brag about our titles and accomplishments, remind me, while you were busy preparing for your reign as the bottle monarch, who took down a Reaper on foot? Was that you? Because I'm pretty sure it was me." Shepard taps her lips again, drawing his attention to how the corners of them are tugging upwards despite her efforts to keep them down. Beneath the covers, her toes push against his ankle from both sides, the upper one rubbing up along the length of his shin and back down again. "Yup, that was definitely me."

He gives a half shrug again, stretching out his leg beneath the covers to give her foot better access, the massaging action feeling nice now that she's warmed up. "Sure, you took down a Reaper on foot. With the help of an orbital strike. I could have done that. Hell, if you think about it, Joker was really the one that took down the Reaper. You were just the bait."

The massaging at his ankle stops, to be replaced by the sensation of her dull toenails digging into his hide. "Ohh, you're asking for it, Vakarian."

"Just calling it like it is, Shepard. And besides, you've been riding on the coattails of that one for a while. What have you done lately?"

He finally loses his internal battle of wills and laughs at her indignant expression, ducking his head so that the playful smack she aims at his shoulder hits the back of his cowl instead, laughing harder at the annoyed squawk she makes when she misses. The datapad falls between them as he catches her hand before it can make contact again, their feet becoming more tangled for a minute as he rolls his chest towards her so that he can nuzzle the top of her head, laughter dying down into a happy murmur at the contact.

"Or maybe you can never beat that level because you only play it when you're tired and need to get some sleep. You can't run at full steam forever, Shepard."

Her breath coasts in a warm wave against the skin of his throat as she leans in towards him. Close enough that her lips tickle him when she speaks. "I know. Still a stupid game." She crosses the remaining space between them to press her lips flush against his neck, his subvocals trill out in contentment.

With some reluctance, he rolls back, the position he put himself in too unnatural to be sustained for any length of time. Instead he settles back onto the pillow that was previously supporting the back of his cowl, and squeezes the hand still held in his. His thumb stroking the soft pad of hers without any real thought. Their feet falling back into their original positions as he picks the datapad up again with his free hand. "Then why do you play it every night?

Shepard closes her eyes tight for a few seconds. There is a rumble of frustration in her throat when she fixes them on him again. "You know how it is, I need something to help my brain transition from the day. It was easier when I got to kill a few hundred things every day." She rolls her neck, releasing the built up pressure with a muted popping noise. "I could always count on the combined impact of two or three days of wakefulness adding up to a mind-numbing exhaustion that would make me black out. It's harder now that we spend so much time farriering supplies from one sector to another and playing around at diplomacy." She squeezes his ankle between her feet in time with a little extra pressure exerted upon his hand. "Give me something to shoot - and target practice doesn't count - and I'm good. But this..." She shrugs, her gaze sliding off of his and to the side. "It's harder."

"Hmm, I get that. But I'm not sure that playing a high intensity game is the best option for a cooldown." He gestures with the datapad in his hand. "You might want to try reading instead. Tends to be a little less stress inducing."

She sticks her lower lip out in another gesture he never sees outside their room. "But I like playing."

His laugh this time is gentle as he rests the datapad on his chest in order to free up a hand to slip through the loose strands of hair that have fallen over her face. He smooths them back behind her ear, and gives into the momentary discomfort the change in position requires in favor of pressing his forehead against hers. This close, the fatigue in her eyes, in the darker patches of skin that decorate the space beneath them, is obvious.

She's still the most beautiful sight in the universe.

His subvocals are so thick with tenderness when he speaks, that he knows Shepard must catch it. He hopes that she does. "Then close your eyes and try to rest."

To his relief, her eyes slip shut and she nods her assent. He takes a moment to press his mouth against hers. Closed lipped like this, the gesture doesn't do much for him physically, but the intimacy of it, being this close to her, and the way that she always relaxes into him when they meet, is more than enough.

He pulls back from the kiss far enough to ease the stress on his muscles caused from holding the awkward position and finds himself at peace just looking at her for several long moments, watching as she unfolds the pillow and settles down. She pulls her hand from his grip, leaving him feeling bereft at the loss, so that she can maneuver it under her head as she pulls her body fully onto its side, facing him. The leg on top of his slides up over his knee, while the one beneath stays tucked up close to his foot, her too-many toes tickling him as they wiggle. He pushes the bottom of his foot against the digits, both to still them and to increase the surface area where they touch.

It isn't until he is certain that she is asleep - or damn close to - that he allows his attention to be drawn back to the article he'd been about to read. He's no more than two lines into it when her sleep-addled voice breeches the silence.

"What are you reading?"

"It's...ahh...an article on the recent modifications that Armax has been experimenting with to make their own version of the Widow."

"Mmm, sounds enthralling."

"Heh, it's, uh, informative."

"Can you read it to me?"

A glance in her direction confirms that her eyes are still closed, but even still, he raises a brow plate at the request. "You want me to read an experimental rifle modification log to you?"

"Hell, Vakarian, you could read the transcripts from the Citadel Convention to me, and I'd love every second of it."

A pleased sound reverberates in his throat at the compliment. But as flattering as that is, he knows that she needs her sleep. "While it's good to know that your taste is still outstanding. It's late, and-"

"Please, Garrus?"

"I -" She's looking at him now with intentionally large, rounded eyes, and damn it all, he can never deny her anything, can he? "Okay." The smile that takes over her face is blinding in its brilliance, making him wish that he hadn't already placed his visor on the side table. He'd love to have an image of her saved like that to look at whenever he'd like.

But hell, he could always try for one tomorrow. Now that the war is over they have a long line of those stretched out in the distance in front of them.

At least, they better. He's not willing to even entertain thoughts of the alternative.

As he begins reading, she stretches her arms over her head, arching her back in a way that presses her more firmly against his side, making him stutter mid-sentence and her chuckle at his distraction, like she knows exactly what that does to him (she must, she's done it often enough and gotten just that sort of reaction in the past), before she straightens. She rests one hand on his keel bone, while she reaches out to drape the arm that was previously trapped beneath her head along his cowl, nimble fingers dancing over the plates there in asymmetrical patterns that make him hum with pleasure. It's not so much that it feels good, the nerves in that part of his body aren't particularly sensitive, it's just that she's touching him. And he'll take as much of that as he can get, anytime that he can.

They continue on like that - him reading out loud about the provisional production plans for the 'Blue Widow,' adjusting the timber of his voice to a lower register that he hopes is as soothing to her as her touch is to him, while her fingers slow in their movements, but never stop - until he reaches the end. He lets the quiet creep over them for several measured breaths, basking in the calm that he only ever feels with her.

"Do you want me to read the next one to you?"

"Mmm, I won't make you, I know you're tired too. Really, I want something to drink more than anything right now."

"I have water."

She cracks an eye open, giving him a hooded look that makes his heart thrum faster. "Have I told you lately that I love you, Vakarian?"

"Not in the last hour or so. And to be honest, your indifference was really starting to hurt."

"That right? Well we can't have you in pain now can we?" She braces her palm against his chest to lever herself over him as she reaches beyond him and towards the water tumbler on the side table. He growls in appreciation as the soft skin of her abdomen slides against him, her shirt riding up to expose the delicious curve of her waist. The datapad clatters to the floor as he grips her hips in his hands. Scratching a talon along the elastic trim of her pants he shifts her body until she's straddling him. She grunts out an indelicate laugh around the water she's guzzling, but doesn't resist the the change in position..

When she's drunk her fill, she releases the cup with a loud lip smack and a smile, the smile morphs into a smirk as she leans over him again to place the cup back where she found it. He tightens the grip on her hips when the movement puts her clavicle and upper chest almost within reach of his mouth. Not to be deterred by her teasing, he bridges the gap by lifting his head up and darts his tongue out to taste the skin on display, reveling in the way that she gasps and shifts closer, both her hands coming up to grip where his cowl meets his chest.

He slides his hands around her, one slipping up under her shirt to stroke the smooth skin of her back, while the other moves south, grasping at the fleshy globe of her ass and tugging her closer so that he can press his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder. He inhales deep, dragging the scent of her into his lungs: ozone and spent heatsinks. But underneath that is something softer that lays sweet on his tongue. He laps at the dip at the base of her throat, dragging his tongue up to curl at the lobe of her ear, pulling it between his mouth plates with a gentle tug. She groans when he does that, that sweet scent of hers growing stronger by the second.

"What happened to sleeping?"

He grins, mandibles flaring out wide as he moves to rub them across her cheek, enjoying how she rubs back. "More than one way to relieve stress. And besides, you did that on purpose."

One of her hands dances up along his throat to the back of his neck, while the other starts a slow trek down along his waist to his hip. Both of them wreaking havoc on his nerves, but in a way that he adores. Her voice is imitated innocence, layered with retreating drowsiness and a hint of mischief. "Did what?"

"Oh, I think you know what. The stretching." He punctuates the statement with a lick at the curve of her jaw. "And the leaning." Another lick, this time to the space beneath her chin. "Crawling all over me." His mouth meets hers in a languid kiss, their tongues wrapping together in a slow motion dance. The intimate act one of the many things that he has learned to love in their time together.

It's a considerable list.

He catches her sigh on an inhale as their mouths pull apart. She rests her forehead against his, both of her hands framing his face, her multitude of fingers caressing him in tender strokes that make him purr with happiness. "I do, you know." Her words are barely a whisper, but this close they would be impossible for him to miss.

With one hand, he cups the back of her head, not willing to let this moment pass just yet, while the other toys with the hem of her shirt. When he speaks, he keeps the pitch of his voice equally low. Subvocals vibrating with a mixture of deep affection and restrained arousal. "Do what?"

"Love you."

The words, simple, direct and oft-repeated as they are, never fail to cause warmth to spread through his body. "And with good reason. I'm a hell of a catch."

"That right?"

"Mmm-hmm. I'm a highly decorated former vigilante turned respectable turian advisor, who just so happens to be the best sniper in the galaxy. And I have it on good authority that I'm excellent in bed."

Pressed as close together as they are, he can feel, more than see, her lips twitch up in an easy smile. "Oh yeah? And whose authority would that be?"

"I think you may know her. She's a highly decorated Alliance soldier and Council Spectre. They call her the Savior of the Galaxy - which makes her the perfect partner for the King of the Bottle Shooters - but I just call her the love of my life. She also happens to be straddling me right now, which is a big point in her favor."

Her smile pulls wider in time with the leisurely rocking of her hips into his, his talons clench on her hair and at her waist in response as he groans out his appreciation for the movements. "She sounds like a trustworthy individual, I'm almost inclined to take her word for it, but..." She kisses him again, a brief press of lips to plates, with just the barest swipe of her tongue along his. "I think it'd be best if I do a thorough evaluation myself. Just to be sure. And who knows, if you're lucky, maybe you'll beat your own high score."

Garrus tightens his hold on her before he rolls them so that he is laying on top, turning the covers into a disordered mess, not that he cares. Not when he's focused on how beautiful she looks with her cheeks flushing pink, her lips parted in a surprised gasp, and her ankles linked behind his back in an effort to hold on. He smooths a talon along the skin beneath her eye, the dark patches still present, but dimmer now. He follows them to the crease at the corner, where her lashes thin out, tracing the little lines there with care.

He dips his head for another kiss, this one designed to leave her panting, and smiles wide. "I won't need luck."

~End