I had thought this fic was done before, but then a couple more ideas wanted to come out. I'm confident that it's actually done at this point.

The thing was, everything was still so new. Shepard was still getting used to... this. Whatever this was. The giddy sense that the partnership they'd forged was becoming something more, new layers unfolding. And Nos Astra wasn't the kind of place she wanted to walk around oblivious, drunk on another person. So they walked back to the dock hand in hand, as they'd left; and she paused at a quiet corner to pull Garrus close for a kiss. Still getting used to the how of that, and still marveling at how he tasted, how he felt, how their heights matched up together. She'd seldom dated anyone that much taller than herself, and somehow she felt herself fixating on that, the unaccustomed angle, her head tilted back instead of down or sideways, even though everything else was new, too.

She smiled at him when they broke the kiss and wondered if he was entranced by the newness of it all, too. He might be; he had something of a look in his eyes that she didn't think she'd seen before when he returned the smile, mandibles flaring out and blue eyes locked on hers. It was Nos Astra, though, so they only passed a few moments in smiling at each other before continuing on.

She felt herself practically humming with anticipation as they reached the dock and walked through the CIC. (Decorously, given the skeleton crew present.) She barely waited for the elevator doors to close behind them before turning to him, but Garrus caught her hand first, planting another kiss on the back, and then working his way up her bared arm. Not quite like a human kiss, maybe—somewhere between a kiss and a nip, almost—but the peculiarity of it was more than made up for by the fact that it was his breath puffing warm against her skin, his mouth and tongue flicking its way up. By the time he got to her shoulder, her breath was coming faster and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears.

"Garrus," she said. Her voice came out husky.

"Mm?"

When he lifted his head she kissed him fiercely, pressing her whole body against him, taking in every detail: the soft coarse fabric of his clothes, the warmth and solidity beneath, the strength of his arms going around her.

The elevator beeped. Once, then twice, insistently. Shepard broke off, a little dazed. The doors had opened. They half-stumbled out.

"So," said Garrus, returning his attention to the side of her neck, "still interested in doing what I want?"

It took her a moment to remember and key in the access code for her quarters. "Depends on what you want."

"I want," he murmured, "to go slow. Touch all of you."

"Oh," she said, a certain expectant throb rising in her body.

Their first time had been charged with the nervousness of whether anything would work at all, everything a bit awkward. Their second time had been about affirming they were both alive, ginger and careful around their recent wounds.

This time was different. This time was about her back against the fishtank while Garrus nibbled at her collarbone, lifting herself up to press her thigh against his hip while his fingers traveled up from knee to hip, sliding under her skirt. It was about his curiosity, when they finally got the dress off, about the never-before-worn lacy underwear she'd tried out this evening. It was about the plain truth that yes, he meant to touch and feel and taste everything until every inch of her skin seemed to be on fire and she gave delirious thanks that neither of them had allergies.

"Garrus," she said—fine, pleaded—at length. "Finish the job."

He chuckled, an absolutely maddening vibration. "But you make such interesting noises."

She surged up at that, and a moment's grappling reversed their positions, pressing him into the mattress with her hands on his shoulders. She leaned her hips against his and his eyes fluttered shut, with a rough, low-pitched noise. "Like that?" she inquired, grinning.

Once upon a time, she'd assumed, like a lot of humans, that turians didn't have much feeling: all armored shell, tough, insensitive plates. Not true, she knew that by now, though she still took great pleasure in finding the most sensitive spots, in playing with his waist and the soft skin of his throat, before they finally came together, breathless and clutching each other, surging together until they both came apart.

Afterward, she turned on her side to look at him. Eyes closed, breathing softly, but not asleep, she didn't think. Still getting used to the sight of him without armor and the extra bulk it added to his frame. Still fascinated by the subtle shift of long ridges on his chest as he breathed. Naked Garrus, in her bed: a thought that still gave her an extravagant kind of glee. She'd be tempted to just keep him here if she didn't need him in the field, too.

"So this," he said, without opening his eyes, "is a dating thing."

She felt a little prickle of worry, but said, "Right."

"Not a blowing-off-steam thing."

"Well, that, too."

He opened his eyes, started to say something, seemed to change his mind, and then did say, "Just getting things clear."

There was something lingering in his eyes that she thought she recognized, a shadow of insecurity, maybe. She thought perhaps that first thing he'd been about to say was along the lines of why or possibly why me, and she couldn't take it. "Good," she said, curling up against his chest and slinging an arm over him. "As long as you're clear that you're not getting rid of me easily."

She could feel the puff of laughter that followed as he wrapped his arms around her, but there was a moment of hesitation before he said, in a voice thick with... something, "Good. I—well, I wouldn't want to."

There were things unsaid, but for now—for now the room was still and quiet, and she had him here, warm and solid and holding onto her, and she wanted nothing more for the moment.