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"-- I just want something to go right for once," Garrus finishes.
Shepard nods, reaching up to lay her hand across his cheek -- where that scar from Tarak's gunship will probably never fade. She leans into him. He feels amazingly solid, despite how wiry his limbs are -- the effect of the exoskeleton, probably; maybe that should seem weird, and she supposes on one level it is, but mostly it's reassuring: Garrus is tough. He's not going down. And he's on her side.
"As far as I'm concerned," Shepard says, "this has already gone right." She smiles. "I hope you don't think it was easy, asking you to do this with me."
Garrus laughs a little, blinking like she's surprised him. "Fair enough," he says. "I'll, ah, try not to worry too much about being a terrible disappointment, then."
"You won't," Shepard says. "So don't worry at all." She reaches for the seals on her bodysuit -- probably easiest to just deal with their own clothing, isn't it? She's not sure where to start with turian costume.
It seems like she should be at least a little self conscious; she hasn't stripped in front of anyone since Cerberus put her back together. But once she actually starts moving it's easy. She's a little distracted wtaching Garrus anyway.
Underneath his armor he's even more whipcord lean than she's used to, long spare limbs and near smooth plates keeping him well protected. Turians are clearly a predator race in a way humans never were, built to run down prey with no wasted effort.
"You like what you see," he says. He sounds surprised.
"It's impressive," Shepard says. There's a pause, then, while they watch each other. "I...didn't watch the vids either," she admits. "So I guess we're going to have to improvise."
"Among turians," Garrus suggests, "a little friendly sparring is often a good place to start. Not to the extreme you'd see with krogan, I expect, but...."
Shepard smirks.
She throws the punch like she means it -- she wouldn't want to insult him by holding back, and turians aren't the only ones who like a good fight. He hisses, the plates of his jaw working in surprise as he blocks.
"Fair enough," he says, grappling for her arm. She lets him have the hold, uses it to brace as she kicks high.
"Reach versus flexibility, wasn't it?" Shepard says.
"Yes," Garrus says, with a little hiss in his voice that sounds like excitement.
They trade a few blows before they close with each other to grapple, and Shepard is pretty sure she's going to have bruises but she doesn't care. It's good, exhilarating, her heart pounding and all her senses sharp by the time they hit the floor. They roll, struggling to pin each other, and his reach might almost give him a clear advantage except that she has an easier time getting leverage against the floor. They hit the wall of her cabin with a thud that jars a sharp laugh from Shepard's throat.
She nods to her left. "Rubbers on the bedside table," she says.
"Right," Garrus says. He doesn't quite have to let go of her to reach them. Shepard takes the packet from his hand when he hesitates, tears it open and reaches down between them.
He doesn't feel quite like a human, but it's not so strange. His cock slides out of an opening set low between his hips, smooth, firm but not inflexible. He shudders as Shepard works the condom over his length, and slides his hands down under her thighs. For a second he pauses there, like he's giving her a chance to tell him what she wants.
"Do it," Shepard says.
Garrus lifts her, a flex of smooth muscle, and pins her to the wall. Shepard locks her legs around the curve of his waist -- his hips make it so easy -- and pulls him close. She's slick from the fight, and he sinks into her easily, sliding deep. He makes a low, stunned noise, and his hands tighten. "So hot," he says.
Shepard laughs breathlessly. "Not complaining, I hope."
"No," Garrus says, shaking his head. "Far from it."
She curls her fingers around the edge of his carapace for leverage and pushes toward him. "Come on, then," she says. "Move."
He doesn't need to be told twice, bracing himself and rocking forward. The ridges of his hipbones are going to bruise her thighs, and the pace he sets is fast, rough -- just what she's looking for, and she cants her hips to get that pressure and friction just where she wants it, riding him hard. All the tension of waiting, all the stress of this damn mission, burns off in the urgency of this moment, moving together, striving. Pleasure ripples through her in waves, and his breath stutters like he can feel it, his hands tightening on her thighs. It's not long before he's shuddering, too, buried deep and pulsing inside her.
They disentangle themselves, both shaky, laughing a little when Garrus loses his grip and Shepard lands harder than she meant to. She leans against his chest, comfortable, relaxed. He wraps his arms around her carefully, gently, and she hums with contentment.
"Not a disaster after all, then," Garrus says.
"Not even close," Shepard says. She's a little stiff, a little sore, but it's nothing a quick application of medi-gel won't fix -- and she feels better, clear-headed and less keyed up, much more able to focus. "After we take care of the Collectors," she says, "maybe we can do this again sometime."
Garrus doesn't hesitate before he nods. "I'd like that," he says. "I'll look forward to it."
Shepard smiles. "Me too. Let's get this done."