Hours passed as Garrus and Shepard slept with their bodies entwined. Then the Commander stirred. She stretched herself out and opened her violet-blue eyes that were still edged with exhaustion. She blinked a few times to help ward off the urge to fall back to sleep as she forced herself into a state of awareness. The Commander wriggled backward so she could watch Garrus still fast asleep. A sleeping turian, Shepard thought, would have been a hysterical image. However, watching Garrus sleep had turned into part of her morning routine. It was one of the only times that he didn’t appear serious or seem troubled by something. When the turian slept, he seemed at ease with the galaxy; a genuine image of beauty and peace.
She grabbed the three-fingered hand that was draped loosely over her shoulder and moved out of his hold. Shepard smiled at the thought of the night before. They hadn’t made love, nor was it on their agenda to do so. They just laid with one another, bare skinned, enveloped in the customary white military sheets. With this thought in mind, her smile became shy and intimate, her eyes soft and adoring. Out of her small collection of lovers, Garrus had been the only one successful in completely disarming her and making her feel whole. He was her safe haven, her place of reassurance and security; the only one who could make her feel okay when everything around her was in the throes of chaos and disaster. He was her peace, her rock, her foundation. It was one of the easiest things to love about him.
And the feeling was mutual. Had it not been for Shepard recovering him, Garrus would have died on Omega. Had it not been for her, he wouldn’t be the man he was now. He would still be a stubborn, close-minded turian working for C-Sec and getting nowhere with it. Shepard was Garrus’ salvation. Without her, he would be nothing and he knew it.
The Commander studied the contours and designs of Garrus’ torso as she traced her ivory hand over the turian’s chest. Her brow raised with slight surprise when Garrus rolled onto his back. The sound of a punctured pillow rang in her ears and Shepard stifled a giggle. It wouldn’t be the first time that has happened, and it definitely wasn’t to be the last. Since taking up a relationship with the turian, she had gone through at least ten sets of pillows and pillowcases. The requisitions officer and drop-shuttle pilot, Steve Cortez, never asked when she ordered new ones, but innocently commented on how much of a rough sleeper that she must be, though he had a generally accurate idea as to what was actually going on.
Shepard saw an opportunity in his action and smirked. “Alright, Vakarian, time to get up,” she muttered under her breath as she moved under the sheets and crawled atop of him. She placed each of her legs on either side of his body and lightly ran her hand from the base of torso, over the ridge of chest and up the exposed flesh of his neck. As her hand traveled forward her body lowered until she hovered above Garrus’ mouth. She bit her bottom lip when a small pang of reservation that told her not to wake him. But her eyes and mind danced with mischief and the urge was overpowering.
With her head only inches above the Turian’s, the Commander removed her hand from his neck and placed it on the now ruined pillow and her smirk grew. “Wake up,” she purred amorously with hints of deviousness before kissing him.
He stirred slightly but didn’t awaken, so Shepard continued to kiss him. She started with his hardened lips, then moved over his scarred mandible, down the scarred side of neck and remained there. “Garrus,” she called in an almost sultry tone.
Garrus said not a word. The enticing way that Shepard had used to wake him up was too pleasurable for him not to be selfish with. He laid there, feigned sleep as best he could and tried to keep his mandibles as they were. The feeling of her tender lips caressing his scarred flesh was too comforting, too desirable for him to do anything to stop her. But how long could he receive without giving her anything in return? Maybe he would respond the next time that she tried to elicit a response from him by calling his name? That seemed fair enough in the Turian’s mind.
But it all came too soon in Garrus’ opinion. No sooner had he thought it did Shepard coo his name. “Vakarian,” her call was slow and dictated.
Instead of verbally responding, he brought his hand to the glabrous flesh of her cheek and guided her lips to his and kissed her. It was a slow, deliberate kiss, that made his mandibles fan into a wide grin and he felt her lips do the same against his hardened mouth. With his only hand now planted firmly on her back, Garrus rolled their bodies so that Shepard was laying on the snowy under-sheet of the mattress. Her auburn locks were messily spread out on the pillow and her violet-blue eyes looked up at him with affection and mischief.
“Thanks for the ruined pillow,” she scolded playfully with a smirk and raised brow.
“You can always buy more. It’s not the like the Reapers have a grudge against soft white things. Not yet anyway,” he commented in a light tone before dipping down to kiss her jaw.
Shepard chuckled and placed her hand on the scarred side of his face. He studied her features with affection and adoration. Garrus watched as she tucked her supple lower lip under the pearly white of her teeth and softened her gaze.
“I don’t feel like getting out of bed just yet,” she admitted slowly, her voice soft and sounding more like a confession than a statement.
He pretended to give her statement a moment of thought as a low hum rumbled in his chest. “I guess I can live without running some diagnostics for a bit longer,” the Turian commented with his mandibles fixed in a grin. Garrus leaned down and kissed his commander once more, this time with more passion than tenderness.