Commander Shepard knew very well the prickle of unease that comes from being in someone's crosshairs. It happened enough in battle and happened enough metaphorically as she waded into political waters as a Spectre.
She just didn't particularly expect that warning ping to go off in her mind in the privacy of her cabin on the Normandy.
She swiveled her chair a little at her desk and peered at Garrus over the top of her datapad.
And there it was.
He was simply sitting on her couch while off shift.
Not relaxed, propping his carapace up against the corner pocket formed by the back and arm.
Nope, he was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and his fingers entwined.
Staring at her.
She adjusted her position a little, holding her datapad higher, so that she could continue to look like she was reading, when she was actually watching Garrus watch her through the transparent orange screen.
She actually timed it. He hadn't blinked in five. Full. Minutes.
She hadn't actually seen what he looked like in actual sniper mode; she saw the end results on the battlefield. But not him, not after he found a good perch.
It was actually starting to creep her out.
She put the datapad down.
When she didn't pick another up, Garrus finally blinked.
"You've stopped early," his tone was hopeful.
"Yes," Garrus nodded decisively. "You usually go on until 2130 at the earliest and sometimes all the way until 2230. It's just 2045 now."
Huh. Okay, that little spiel about her work habits was also creepy.
"Um. I don't know how else to say this. But why do you know all that?" she raises an eyebrow.
She watches his mandibles twitch once, twice, before he stands up, walks over and wordlessly reaches out for her hand, lightly tugging at it.
"Come on," he purrs, changing the subject. "Let's go."
Oh, okay, Shepard thinks. Just a man, being a man, then.
She gives him a smile, moves to get out of her seat, but he's right there; kneeling, nuzzling and licking at her neck, thrumming low and breathing hot. He's unfastening, unzipping, pulling her jacket open and pushing her shirt up out of the way and he simply hikes her bra up over her breasts before cupping them and swiping his tongue over them.
"Oh," Shepard leans back into her chair.
It's good, he's become very good, and just as she starts to reach for him, to caress his neck, he's pulling her zipper down and sticks his hand down her pants. She arches and squirms; he's rubbing his fingers over her underwear lest he catch her with his claws and it's just as good, just as intense, more than just enough- She exhales and nearly tips all the way backward in the chair as he pulls an orgasm right out of her.
"Mmm," she says, and Garrus is lifting her up out of her chair, kissing her, picking her up with a hold around her waist and half-carrying her all the way to her bed.
Well, he's in a hurry, Shepard thinks, as he shucks her out of her pants (it's a very lucky thing that she took her boots off already) and he doesn't even take his own off; he's just unfastened enough and he's on her, in her.
He is actually going to fuck her with all of his clothes on.
She only has time to think that before he starts to move and she moves with him.
He thrums and gasps, chants her name, a mandible tangling in her hair, his grip desperate on her. Shepard hasn't known such urgency from him outside of their bouts immediately after a field op; it's heady.
Yeah, come on- yeah, yeah, like that- FUCK-
Shepard cries out once more while Garrus hisses and chases that high, snatching it by his teeth after her.
She huffs out a breath, rubbing his shoulders. His head is down; he's still tangled in her hair and she can feel that he's still breathing hard. He thrums again, this time the sound edges into a whine and he makes another hitch of his hips while retracting, not done in spite of himself.
They move cautiously; he lifts his head a little so that she can reach in between and start working her locks free.
"Sorry," he murmurs.
And the way his mandibles flinch once tells here that it isn't entirely so. They are laying side by side now, facing each other. She pulls her bra and shirt down back into place.
She only has to say his name in that tone once.
"... It's that time of year for me."
And he only has to see how she's not saying anything that she simply doesn't know what he means and that she's giving him the space and time to make it clearer to her.
"Humans don't seem to have it at all. Turian men have a time of year when all the breeding hormones rush up at once. It makes us pretty singleminded."
"Doesn't that affect combat readiness?"
"I can still do my duty."
He's immediately defensive.
"I'm not- Sorry. Rephrasing. How long does this last and how is it usually dealt with?"
"Two weeks, because you can't guarantee synchronization with a female turian's cycle. And. Scheduling leave."
"I can still-"
"Our block leave is coming up. I could push it up. Make it happen."
There's still unease in his posture, though.
"What else, Garrus?"
"Uh. There's also the issue with frequency."
"... Ten? Nine. Um. You're freaking out. Uh-"
"For two weeks, Garrus. Two. There's chafing and then there's CHAFING, you know-"
"You don't have to-"
She tightens her hold on his shoulder and he sees that set in her jaw and the narrowing of her eyes and he knows that she's taken on a whole new mission in her mind and Commander Shepard isn't going to fail. It's all kinds of ridiculous. And hot.
"We're starting now."'
"Now," she nods. "Taking into account morning wood and meal times, we're going to have to allot-"
"Oh, that's good. Logistics. Talk dirty to me some more."
Shepard laughs and reaches down, kneading her fingers at his waist.
It's easier this time, when she starts to kiss him. They get properly all the way out of their clothes and she throws her leg over his hip and he enters her, the both of them still on their sides. He holds onto her and it's a slow sway and grind, he loves the way she rolls her hips on him. He didn't think he'd even get so that he could enjoy going slow during his time. He does, he feels her, hears her, smells her, knows her and he's glad.
"I'll become a compete pest," he murmurs afterwards. "And you need to concentrate."
"Hey, you're my pest. It's worth it."