Inappropriate Thoughts

CONTENT WARNING

This story includes explicit depictions of sex between a male and a female character. It is intended for adult audiences only.


Garrus steals a glance at her as she fires the shot, and when the tactical overlay on his visor tells him she’s sniped another, he can’t help the sharp hiss of appreciation. “Perfect!”

They’re both wearing helmets so he can’t see if she grinned at that or not, but it is enough to imagine her lips curling just so, telling him that the way he’s looking at her, the way he’s yearning for her, never fails to turn her on.

The rest of the team is down in the basin, playing hide and seek with the Eclipse. The crazy motherfuckers seem to be willing to die down to the last one defending a shipment of minogen, and sure thing, Shepard will deliver. The two of them have taken this elevated position behind a rocky formation, and the others barely need to do anything other than lure the stupid fucks out for them to take down, one after another.

She takes another shot, and he can almost see the wave of recoil ripple through her body, making her breasts bounce the way he can, sometimes, when he slams into her the way she likes. Shepard likes it rough, and Garrus is ever so happy to oblige. But there are limits, or at least he assumes so, and although he has yet to hear her complain in words or action, some ideas seem better left for the privacy of his solitary sessions.

Like this idea he’s having right now, watching her lying face down in the dirt, holding her Widow in the firm yet gentle embrace of a confident, experienced lover. The idea is to fill both her first and second aperture with his fingers and lie in wait for the next shot, which would slam her into his hand. It’s not a new idea; he’s revisited it many times and developed it into an elaborate fantasy:

First he’d rip her armor off and shred through her undersuit to expose her plump, pink bottom, probably hot and flushed now because fighting always puts Shepard in the mood. He’d take his combat gloves off, pull her hips up just a bit, for better access, and gently push a finger into the slickness between her folds, to wet it well with her sweet juices. He’d pluck it out then, and she’d moan in protest, but he’d tell her not to worry, because he’d come right back in with his other finger, while worming the first, now properly coated, into her tight little ass. Millimeter by millimeter, he’d take it slow to make her squirm, but he’d say, stay still, Shepard, and by Spirits, so she would. Finally, with both fingers lodged firmly inside her, he’d graze over her swollen folds with his thumb, and let it rest on her clit.

Garrus inhales deeply, trying to adjust his position; having a huge erection inside the hard-suit isn’t the most comfortable thing, but he can manage. It certainly isn’t the first time. A merc pops up into his scope and he holds his breath, waits for the ground team to take cover, then shoots, ending a life with a twitch of his finger. The recoil travels through his body from shoulder to the tip of his cock and he lets out a grunt that everyone can hear. He doesn’t care; it’s not like any of them would dare ask questions even if they could tell it was more than plain excitement.

“Nice,” Shepard says, and he can’t decide if her voice is really as husky as he wants it to be or it’s a part of the ongoing fantasy. In it, Shepard is writhing, trying to get him to fucking do something with those fingers already but he’s a mean son of a bitch and doesn’t move a single muscle until she drops another one and the shot pushes her into his hand with a delicious smacking sound. She gives a tantalized moan that makes his cock pulse in time with his frenetic heartbeat so he rewards the clean kill by wriggling his thumb just a little over her clit, and to that, she responds with a ragged, uncontainable nnnggghhh that makes him want to end the fantasy right then and there by just fucking her hard against the cold rock in front of everyone.

Meanwhile, his arousal has become almost painful and he has to shift again, clenching his teeth to hold in a groan. Shepard’s shiny, round helmet moves a little and now he knows she’s watching him. He wonders if she knows his body language well enough to tell what’s going on. He wonders if she’d be disgusted if he told her about these battlefield reveries. Or if she’d get hot and slick and push a hand inside her undersuit, making him guess what she’s doing from the motions under the fabric. Or push a hand inside his undersuit and proceed to pump him with her quick, strong hand.

But that’s a whole other fantasy, he reprimands himself. So he’s back to holding her, impaled on his fingers, and every time she snipes one, she gets stroked by his thumb and maybe now he gives her something a bit more substantial, plunging in and pulling out. Yeah: maybe he’d hold his fingers just so that, as he pushes in and out, his thumb rubs her clit up and down and she likes that, yes she does, she likes it so much she has to cry out in sweet agony.

He wouldn’t let her come until all the hostiles were down, though. Then he’d say, you may turn around now. She’d sit, facing him, and spread her legs wide, treating him to the sight of her swollen, glistening folds. She’d lick her lips and her eyes would be pleading. Garrus would take pity then, and tell her she may use her rifle.

“What?” she says, in real life, and Garrus bites his tongue. Did he speak? Damn, this shit is getting out of hand.

“Nothing,” he replies, wondering if she knows his voice well enough to tell that he’s burning up like a fucking nova. He wonders if she’d be shocked if he were to tell her how bad he wants her right now – not later, not on the ship, not even on the shuttle – right now. Or if she’d jump him with the same passion that he’s feeling, that he wants her to feel.

But that too is another fantasy. Hard to keep it all straight. In real life, he takes another shot, flawless, and then she does too and the number of mercs is dwindling so he’d better hurry up and conjure up some closure. He’s let her use her rifle, right? Some would say it’s an unwieldy instrument when applied as a sex toy, but Garrus knows better. His fantasy Shepard plants the butt of the rifle firmly into the rocky floor between her legs, positioning it just so that she can glide along the scope. Not enough room for high amplitude motion, but she makes up for it in intensity. Garrus starts panting as he watches her grind against the scope of the sniper rifle and in real life, he feels like exploding. He can see her clit, sliding up and down and up and down and he has the brilliant idea that the scope is actually the clit of the sniper rifle.

At that, he has to chuckle and Shepard’s helm moves towards him again. “Eh,” he says vaguely, dismissing her unspoken question. One more merc pops up but she takes him; which is just as well. Another good rub inside his suit and he’d spasm right there, like a damn teenager. Not that he’d mind, really. But he wouldn’t want her to think this is affecting his performance in combat. And it probably is. For a moment, there’s doubt. Then he shakes it away. He only indulges in this sort of entertainment on straight up, boring assignments such as this one, and in the end, saves most of his brilliant ideas for the loft and her bed.

Half an hour later, the two of them have ended up alone in the cockpit of the shuttle. He didn’t have the time to finish the fantasy, and his cock is still uncomfortably hard. The shuttle VI reports all doors sealed and optimal pressure and they both pull their helmets off. They fly in companionable silence until the barren landscape is replaced with a uniform cloudscape and after that, the starry sky.

“Garrus,” Shepard says.

“Hm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Go on.”

“It might insult or embarrass you.”

He shifts in his chair, bracing for impact. Shepard rarely gives such warnings in vain. “Shoot.”

She turns to look him straight in the eye. “All right. Here goes. Do you… do you get off on killing people with your sniper rifle?”

“Would that be better or worse than getting off on killing them with my bare hands?”

Shepard’s face darkens and he realizes it’s a big thing for her, for some reason. So he takes the asshole grin off and leans closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Shepard. I suppose it’s not a thing to joke about.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He sits back, fighting the urge to put on his C-Sec act. A good evasive maneuver for situations like this is to answer with a question of his own: do you get off on killing people with your sniper rifle, Shepard? But that would be cowardly, and she deserves better than that. So he just shrugs. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

A devilish smile slowly curls her lips up and Garrus exhales with relief. “You too?”

She nods, then laughs a little, and there’s a nervous edge to it he’s not quite used to hearing. The humor wares off quickly, though, and she gives him another piercing look. “Do you think that’s sick?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, you know…” and she shrugs.

But he doesn’t know. What could be more normal, more natural, than getting horny after a life-threatening situation? Perhaps the fact that he can comfortably get horny during a life-threatening situation is a bit unusual, but that’s beside the point. The thrill of the hunt, the joy of victory, it all translates very well, almost obviously, into sexual arousal. But perhaps it doesn’t translate across cultural barriers.

“Maybe it’s a cultural thing,” she says, reading his mind.

“Yeah. You humans are so inhibited it’s a wonder how you survive – and multiply – at all.”

“Not true.”

“Really. Let’s hear it, then. We’re back on that rock, sniping. And then…?”

She leans back, crosses her arms across her chest, a universal gesture of self-defense. But she’s still smiling. “You want me to tell you my battlefield fantasy?”

“You have only the one?”

“Well, aren’t you the smartass. And what if it’s not about you?”

Now he grows serious and blood rushes into his neck. He can’t help it, and there’s no point in hiding it. They have known each other for how many years now, but they’re still learning.

“Sorry,” she says. “That wasn’t funny.”

“You didn’t answer my challenge.”

“All right. I can do that. I think. I’m Commander fucking Shepard, right?” She sits up and clears her throat and she is so beautiful when she’s blushing that he feels like his heart will burst. “So we’re down there, right? But you’re lying on your side, on one elbow, ok? And me, I’m invisible.”

He drops his jaw and gasps in mock astonishment.

“Yeah. So I’m behind you, and you, like, have no idea what’s going on. Oh, and you’re not wearing armor. Too complicated.”

Garrus relishes the surprise mixed with hunger in her eyes as he takes off his codpiece in real life. Shepard’s gaze drops to his crotch and in reaction, his cock twitches under the thin fabric of the undersuit. He loves how her eyes change when she’s watching his cock. There’s something wild, feral, primitive about it, possessive and jealous and fucking hungry, and it turns him on all the more.

“And then,” she continues, voice noticeably deeper, “I push a hand down your undersuit and tease you until you come out… but I guess we covered that part already. So I take you in my hand, and hold you, and wait for you to shoot.” A thoughtful pause. “You know how the recoil goes through your whole body and shakes everything? I can totally feel it… you know. Down there.”

That’s real life stuff. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Me too.”

After a spell of devouring each other with their eyes, Garrus clears his throat. “So… what happens next, Shepard?”

“Hmm… maybe I should just… show you?”

“Works for me.”

For a second, he actually expects her to turn on her tactical cloak, but apparently she’s too far gone for such intricacies. She unbuckles from her seat and steps behind his, then settles her lips on his ear, lets one hand rest on his collar while sneaking the other into his undersuit and ohhh. Yeah. Oh yeah. Her grip is not as tight as usual, and she keeps a slow pace, but then she surprises him, squeezes just the right way and makes a couple of sudden full-length passes that almost push him over the edge.

“Guess I sniped one,” he mutters.

“Mhm,” she breathes into his ear and he takes her by the back of the head, holding her in for a kiss. She continues to stroke him as their tongues touch in time with her movement and he can barely keep himself from coming when a hot whimper escapes her.

“Not so fast,” she whispers and lets go of his aching cock. “I wanted to tell you about the part where I suck you off, but I think we better save that for the next time?”

But Garrus has lost the ability for coherent conversation and can only rumble an affirmative, pretty sure she can’t miss the meaning. Shepard is taking off her armor, and he barely has enough of a presence of mind to get rid of his gloves and thigh-guards. That would suffice, though. They both like to fuck in all possible stages of dress and undress and keeping half the armor on is something of a usual fare.

Now that he thinks about it, he concludes that they simply like to fuck: whenever, wherever and wearing whatever. A brilliant observation, but he’s also lost the capacity to share the joke or laugh at it, because now she’s straddling him. He puts one hand on her waist, for balance, but the other he has to put between her legs, feel and hear her slickness. Shepard moans, holding on to his shoulders, and leans her forehead on his, so that as he rubs, she licks his mouth with the tip of her soft, warm tongue.

“Oh god,” she exhales. “Come on, Garrus.”

Reluctantly, he moves his hand to grip her bottom from behind and stretch her out as she slowly glides onto his cock.

“Fuck,” he says, urging her down with more than a hint of impatience. “Come on, Shepard.” But she’s a mean son of a bitch, and strong as hell, and she sees through her evil plan to let him squirm in the straps, for he can only reach up so far with his hips. The touch of her, the feel of her all around him… the softness of her hips and the roundness of her ass… everything about her is so unbearably hot that by the time she finally makes it all the way down, his breathing has turned to moans.

“I’m gonna come right away,” she breathes, hugs him tight, and then she’s fucking him, fast and furious. The way her hips move in a continuous, unbroken rhythm, rocking her butt so that it bounces – recoils! – under his hands while her head remains perfectly still, foreheads still pressed together, eyes firmly locked together, throws him into ecstasy in seconds. His entire body spasms, fingers closing around her waist, toes curling in his boots, white heat exploding from his cock and spreading through him like a shockwave. It’s like having molten metal in his veins instead of blood and he sees white, he sees fucking white because she doesn’t stop and she’s moaning and twitching with him in a crazy rhythm and it goes on and on until he loses it completely.

After a while, he dares to crack open his eyes. Shepard’s head is lying on his shoulder, and she’s laughing. Why is she laughing?

Her hand is on his mouth.

Oh. Oh.

“Sorry,” he mutters under the hand, but she kisses the word away.

“No,” she whispers. “No apologies necessary for crying out my name while I fuck you senseless.”

Later, in the elevator, Miranda and Thane look kind of awkward, but of course nobody dares say a word. What’s there to say anyway? Hey, we heard the two of you in the cockpit, going at it like varren in heat? Hell yeah. You bet we did.

He’s getting out on the crew deck to check the status of the main battery before turning in, but before stepping out, he has another brilliant idea.

“Shepard. If I put together a firing range in the cargo bay… will you come shoot with me?”

“I’ll come with you any place, any time, Vakarian.” She winks at him, and then she’s gone.


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