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masserectSummary: Prompt: "'I love this rifle!' And so does Shepard. So... FemShep x Garrus' Sniper Rifle, anyone?" In the end, it's more Garrus/Shepard/Rifle, though...
Length: 2400 words
Rating: M for... inappropriate and probably unsafe use of firearms? Also sex.
Notes: Don't try this at home.
"Forty," she stated as the mech fell over backwards and then, almost as an afterthought, exploded. "When I find the asshole who ordered fifty Loki mechs and set them loose near a populated area, I'm going to kick him so hard he'll be picking pieces of his balls out of his teeth for the next week."
"If he was anywhere near these things when they went berserk, there's probably not much left of him by now." Garrus was keeping his temper - almost seemed a bit amused by the situation. He peeked around the corner of the metal container they were sitting behind, raised his rifle and took a shot. A muffled explosion in the distance confirmed a hit. "Forty-one," he said, and straightened up again. A spent heatsink bounced on the ground as he slid a new one home with practiced ease. "I love this rifle."
"It is pretty hot," she admitted. She wasn't just saying that - the turian had spent the past few months slowly rebuilding it from the ground up. It still resembled the standard Devlon 'Mantis', but with every part fine-tuned and polished to a mirror sheen, it performed well above the company specifications. It was the kind of gun you'd have wet dreams about, if you were into that sort of thing.
(It also made Garrus the butt of gun-polishing jokes at least a couple of times per week, but he was dealing quite well with those. Mostly just by silently taking aim.)
"Hmm."
She glanced to the side. There was something mischievous about that sound, and the way his eyes were glittering didn't help things either.
"What are you up to?" She raised her head, took aim and brought down another mech. That made forty-two. They were coming slower now, but there were still eight of the little metallic bastards out there.
"Seriously-"
The word turned into a shriek when she felt a clawed hand on her shoulder, and something round, hard and hot crawling up the inside of her thigh.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just letting the rifle show its appreciation."
She was about to say something, but the barrel reached the end of its journey and it was lost in an indignant squeal as she bit her lip and leaned heavily against the container.
"We're-"
They had not anticipated combat on this outing. She should have been wearing armour for this.
But she was not, and the few layers of cloth between her skin and the heated weapon did little to protect her. Almost burning, just a few degrees short of too hot.
Just the right temperature to turn her knees into jelly.
He slid the rifle up, until the muzzle nearly made contact with the crate they were using for cover. First heat, then friction.
She was going to melt.
"-right in the middle-"
Her rifle shook. A mech stepped into view, took a bullet to the shoulder, and spun rather humorously on one leg, firing several shots blindly into the sky. She swore under her breath, steadied the gun and pulled the trigger again; the mech's head disintegrated. (Forty-three.)
"-of a fight here!" Oddly out of breath, those few words left her panting. She couldn't see him from where she was, but she could imagine his expression perfectly when he spoke: amused and a little condescending.
"They're Lokis," he said, and slid the rifle back once more, the friction making her shudder. "You don't really need my help."
"Don't-" She swallowed, trying to quiet the trembling in her arms and shoulders as her back arched, pressing her elbows down against the crate. "Don't need distractions either!"
"Come on, it'll be a challenge." His voice sounded close. That metallic, reverberating tone right by her ear sent shivers down her spine. The hot metal between her legs sent shivers up her spine. It wasn't fair.
"If you last longer than the mechs, I'll buy you dinner."
"I don't need to-"
The rifle slid forwards again, until she could feel the scope bumping against her ass, and she held her breath, chewed her lip in an effort not to whimper.
"Careful, Commander. There is another one just around the corner." Making it painfully clear that he wasn't going to help her with it.
The rifle slid back between her legs, and this time she did whimper when the heat suddenly left the area over her clit, leaving her feeling cold, and she couldn't help but push her hips back, until she could feel that smooth heat again.
Garrus chuckled behind her, a mandible brushing her neck. "Keep steady."
She was trying. She was trying, damn it. The rifle grated against the container as she took aim. The image through the scope wobbled. Focus. Focus!
Garrus thrust again, pressing the barrel harder up against her, and her slow, careful breathing became a startled gasp; her finger tightened on the trigger, and the shot went into a wall. The mech turned its head in her direction. Garrus yanked her down, positioning her on hands and knees, and rolled to the side. Several slugs whistled past overhead and slammed into the trees behind them; then, before she could even register the cold sensation, the lack of pressure between her legs again, Garrus' rifle barked sharply to her left, just once. Another explosion, and that made forty-four, she realized, somewhere in the back of her head.
"Reload," Garrus said, straightening up, even as he was taking his own advice. "You're over capacity."
Her gaze flicked down to her own weapon. He was right. Sitting up, she ejected the heatsink and replaced it with a new one, while the turian watched, still with a vaguely amused expression. She glared at him and slammed the new sink in with a little more force than strictly necessary, and he laughed.
"I'll find a way to get you back for this," she promised, and cautiously raised her head. Six more mechs. None of them in sight. No way she was going to 'outlast' them if this kept up.
Unless he stopped. She looked to the side. He was still grinning, and not moving. A finger slowly tapped the stock of his rifle - click. Click. Click. A metallic little noise, almost like a ticking clock.
She wiggled a bit, gave him a poignant look. The turian's mandibles twitched in the equivalent of a smirk, but that was all. She sighed.
"Are you just going to sit there?"
He tilted his head a little to the side. "Are you saying you need me for something, Commander?"
She gave him the most evil look she could muster. "Garrus Vakarian, you do not want to find out what I'll do to you if you get me all hot and bothered and then refuse to finish what you started."
He pulled away from her with a look of wide-eyed mock terror. She snorted, despite herself.
"You're not looking any cuter like that." Movement flickered at the edge of her field of vision. Forty-five. She pulled the trigger. The mech toppled, headless.
When she looked away from the wreckage, Garrus was fingering the barrel of his rifle. He shook his head, then reached out and grabbed her hip, pulling her around so that she was facing away from him. Moments later, she felt the smooth, round barrel pressing up against her again, still warm, but not warm enough.
"Close your mouth," he whispered, sliding the rifle forwards until she was straddling the base of the barrel. "Don't bite your tongue."
The realization struck her moments before the dull boom reached her ears - before the recoil shook her.
She shrieked, short and high-pitched, and pressed her legs tighter together as the cylinder between them instantly heated up, even hotter than before.
Still reeling from the jolt, still with the sound of that single shot echoing in her ears, she fell forwards, the butt of her rifle slamming into the dry dirt, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the weapon for support. "Fuck!" she managed to choke out, barely a whisper.
Garrus chuckled behind her.
"Five left, Commander. Think you can finish them all before I have to fire again?"
"Five-" Panting, she straightened up, peered over the edge. Fuck! For different reasons this time - there were two of them this time, one getting uncomfortably close, but they seemed not to have seen her. Gritting her teeth as Garrus' rifle caressed her through her clothes, she raised her own weapon.
Garrus slowed down, allowing her a little more control. It was all she needed.
Two shots, and the closest mech went down.
Forty-six.
Just one more, and the other one followed.
Forty-seven. Her rifle screamed at her, every gauge in the red. She stared down at it, vision blurring as the movement between her thighs sped up again. Her hips had started to thrust back, almost without her noticing.
"Better replace the sink," Garrus mumbled by her ear. He had one hand on her chest now, clawed fingers easily finding her aching hard nipples through shirt and jacket and bra, pinching them hard enough to set off little white flashes of pain-mixed pleasure in her head. She moaned unsteadily, reaching down, gripping the barrel of his gun and pulling it up harder against herself. She was so wet. Her panties clung to her, soaked.
"Reload," Garrus repeated behind her, fingers squeezing harder. "Hurry, now."
Sweating and panting, she let go of his rifle to see to her own. Even as her hands worked, her hips continued moving, rubbing her oversensitive sex against the unyielding metal.
The spent heatsink hissed worryingly when she dropped it on the ground, but the fresh one clicked into position without a hitch.
"Three left. You're losing, Commander."
She groaned. He was right, but like hell she was going to admit it.
"Just you. Just you wait. And see," she managed, voice strained as she tried to stop panting. It was making her light-headed.
"You barely have time for another two. No more than that." He gave a little twist at the end of his next thrust, and she yelped. "Maybe just one," he said, and chuckled.
"You bastard," she complained, but didn't have enough energy to make it sound threatening. The rifle was cooling once more, and that was making this more bearable, but it wasn't going to be enough.
"Three," he repeated, a mandible moving against the side of her neck. "You'll lose."
All she could do was groan.
Garrus just chuckled and kept moving. Back and forth. Hard, smooth, warm metal against soft cloth.
Her hands tightened on her rifle as another Loki stepped into view. Before Garrus had a chance to disturb her, she had lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. Mech forty-eight tumbled over, head barely hanging on to its body, clearly out of commission.
Even as she reeled from the recoil, Garrus began to quickly pump the rifle faster between her thighs - and then, just as she thought she was about to explode, he suddenly stopped. She blinked, heart racing, and held her breath. She had been so damn close, and suddenly 'winning' this little game seemed less important.
It wasn't until he started moving again that she started breathing once more, shallowly and unsteadily.
"That was a close one, Commander." As if she needed him to tell her. He was going to drag this out, to keep her on edge until she could just see the finishing line on the horizon. He was toying with her. She grit her teeth and straightened up, fingers tightening around her weapon, resolve strengthening. Come on, you bastards. Get out here, before I-
It seemed almost as if they had been waiting for her.
Slowly and clumsily, the last pair of mechs were making their way over the remains of their fallen brethren.
She raised her rifle.
Garrus sped up again. She forced herself to ignore the molten heat building in her lower belly. Forty-nine...
The rifle kicked, nearly knocking her off balance. Black and white spots danced before her eyes. Garrus rolled her left nipple between two hard, unrelenting fingers, tugged at her through her clothes.
Her entire body wobbled, the rifle even more so, as she turned to the last mech, squinting through her scope and trying to ignore the sensation of her head filling with fuzz.
Fifty-!
She braced for impact.
It never came.
Click.
The surprise jolted her partially out of the rising wave of pleasure that seemed about to envelop her at any moment now, but even that only postponed the inevitable by a few seconds. Wide-eyed, she turned her head to give Garrus a questioning look, too far gone to fully understand what had gone wrong.
He grinned.
"Stand up."
Without even thinking of what she was doing, she tried to obey. Her legs wobbled. She shook her head. No way. It wasn't possible.
He lifted her. One arm around her waist, the other keeping the rifle pressed up between her legs.
They cleared the barrier. The mech began to turn.
Boom.
Commander Shepard did not hear the sound of the fiftieth and final Loki exploding.
All she heard was the thunderous noise that echoed in her head, and her own scream of raw, uncontrolled passion.
The world faded to white noise, and she fell.
Commander. Commander. Come in. Commander Shepard. Come in!
The noise slowly filtered into recognizable words. Instinctively, she reached for the microtransmitter on her ear.
"Here," she managed.
"Finally!" The voice was young, female, accented. She remembered the face (such as it was) before she could remember the name that belonged to it. Oh. Yes. Tali.
"Go on." She was... lying down? On the ground? Why was she... wait, she knew why.
"I found the person who bought the mechs. Should we pursue?"
"Get." She licked her lips. Cleared her throat. "Get the shuttle. On my location. Right away."
"Right." She could hear the sound of fast-paced typing and the quiet sounds of an omnitool on the other side of the link. Then, uncertainly: "Commander? You sound a little strained. Are you...?"
"Tired. We'll talk later." And she hung up.
"I think that counts as a draw," a familiar voice said, somewhere above her. "There is always next time, right?"
She fumbled around until she found what felt like an arm somewhere in the direction of that voice.
"I will punch you if you don't help me up."
He laughed, but the way he lifted her and held her steady until she could walk on her own almost made her want to forgive him.
He was still going to get it for this stunt, though.
Oh, was he ever going to get it.
Length: 2400 words
Rating: M for... inappropriate and probably unsafe use of firearms? Also sex.
Notes: Don't try this at home.
"Forty," she stated as the mech fell over backwards and then, almost as an afterthought, exploded. "When I find the asshole who ordered fifty Loki mechs and set them loose near a populated area, I'm going to kick him so hard he'll be picking pieces of his balls out of his teeth for the next week."
"If he was anywhere near these things when they went berserk, there's probably not much left of him by now." Garrus was keeping his temper - almost seemed a bit amused by the situation. He peeked around the corner of the metal container they were sitting behind, raised his rifle and took a shot. A muffled explosion in the distance confirmed a hit. "Forty-one," he said, and straightened up again. A spent heatsink bounced on the ground as he slid a new one home with practiced ease. "I love this rifle."
"It is pretty hot," she admitted. She wasn't just saying that - the turian had spent the past few months slowly rebuilding it from the ground up. It still resembled the standard Devlon 'Mantis', but with every part fine-tuned and polished to a mirror sheen, it performed well above the company specifications. It was the kind of gun you'd have wet dreams about, if you were into that sort of thing.
(It also made Garrus the butt of gun-polishing jokes at least a couple of times per week, but he was dealing quite well with those. Mostly just by silently taking aim.)
"Hmm."
She glanced to the side. There was something mischievous about that sound, and the way his eyes were glittering didn't help things either.
"What are you up to?" She raised her head, took aim and brought down another mech. That made forty-two. They were coming slower now, but there were still eight of the little metallic bastards out there.
"Seriously-"
The word turned into a shriek when she felt a clawed hand on her shoulder, and something round, hard and hot crawling up the inside of her thigh.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just letting the rifle show its appreciation."
She was about to say something, but the barrel reached the end of its journey and it was lost in an indignant squeal as she bit her lip and leaned heavily against the container.
"We're-"
They had not anticipated combat on this outing. She should have been wearing armour for this.
But she was not, and the few layers of cloth between her skin and the heated weapon did little to protect her. Almost burning, just a few degrees short of too hot.
Just the right temperature to turn her knees into jelly.
He slid the rifle up, until the muzzle nearly made contact with the crate they were using for cover. First heat, then friction.
She was going to melt.
"-right in the middle-"
Her rifle shook. A mech stepped into view, took a bullet to the shoulder, and spun rather humorously on one leg, firing several shots blindly into the sky. She swore under her breath, steadied the gun and pulled the trigger again; the mech's head disintegrated. (Forty-three.)
"-of a fight here!" Oddly out of breath, those few words left her panting. She couldn't see him from where she was, but she could imagine his expression perfectly when he spoke: amused and a little condescending.
"They're Lokis," he said, and slid the rifle back once more, the friction making her shudder. "You don't really need my help."
"Don't-" She swallowed, trying to quiet the trembling in her arms and shoulders as her back arched, pressing her elbows down against the crate. "Don't need distractions either!"
"Come on, it'll be a challenge." His voice sounded close. That metallic, reverberating tone right by her ear sent shivers down her spine. The hot metal between her legs sent shivers up her spine. It wasn't fair.
"If you last longer than the mechs, I'll buy you dinner."
"I don't need to-"
The rifle slid forwards again, until she could feel the scope bumping against her ass, and she held her breath, chewed her lip in an effort not to whimper.
"Careful, Commander. There is another one just around the corner." Making it painfully clear that he wasn't going to help her with it.
The rifle slid back between her legs, and this time she did whimper when the heat suddenly left the area over her clit, leaving her feeling cold, and she couldn't help but push her hips back, until she could feel that smooth heat again.
Garrus chuckled behind her, a mandible brushing her neck. "Keep steady."
She was trying. She was trying, damn it. The rifle grated against the container as she took aim. The image through the scope wobbled. Focus. Focus!
Garrus thrust again, pressing the barrel harder up against her, and her slow, careful breathing became a startled gasp; her finger tightened on the trigger, and the shot went into a wall. The mech turned its head in her direction. Garrus yanked her down, positioning her on hands and knees, and rolled to the side. Several slugs whistled past overhead and slammed into the trees behind them; then, before she could even register the cold sensation, the lack of pressure between her legs again, Garrus' rifle barked sharply to her left, just once. Another explosion, and that made forty-four, she realized, somewhere in the back of her head.
"Reload," Garrus said, straightening up, even as he was taking his own advice. "You're over capacity."
Her gaze flicked down to her own weapon. He was right. Sitting up, she ejected the heatsink and replaced it with a new one, while the turian watched, still with a vaguely amused expression. She glared at him and slammed the new sink in with a little more force than strictly necessary, and he laughed.
"I'll find a way to get you back for this," she promised, and cautiously raised her head. Six more mechs. None of them in sight. No way she was going to 'outlast' them if this kept up.
Unless he stopped. She looked to the side. He was still grinning, and not moving. A finger slowly tapped the stock of his rifle - click. Click. Click. A metallic little noise, almost like a ticking clock.
She wiggled a bit, gave him a poignant look. The turian's mandibles twitched in the equivalent of a smirk, but that was all. She sighed.
"Are you just going to sit there?"
He tilted his head a little to the side. "Are you saying you need me for something, Commander?"
She gave him the most evil look she could muster. "Garrus Vakarian, you do not want to find out what I'll do to you if you get me all hot and bothered and then refuse to finish what you started."
He pulled away from her with a look of wide-eyed mock terror. She snorted, despite herself.
"You're not looking any cuter like that." Movement flickered at the edge of her field of vision. Forty-five. She pulled the trigger. The mech toppled, headless.
When she looked away from the wreckage, Garrus was fingering the barrel of his rifle. He shook his head, then reached out and grabbed her hip, pulling her around so that she was facing away from him. Moments later, she felt the smooth, round barrel pressing up against her again, still warm, but not warm enough.
"Close your mouth," he whispered, sliding the rifle forwards until she was straddling the base of the barrel. "Don't bite your tongue."
The realization struck her moments before the dull boom reached her ears - before the recoil shook her.
She shrieked, short and high-pitched, and pressed her legs tighter together as the cylinder between them instantly heated up, even hotter than before.
Still reeling from the jolt, still with the sound of that single shot echoing in her ears, she fell forwards, the butt of her rifle slamming into the dry dirt, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the weapon for support. "Fuck!" she managed to choke out, barely a whisper.
Garrus chuckled behind her.
"Five left, Commander. Think you can finish them all before I have to fire again?"
"Five-" Panting, she straightened up, peered over the edge. Fuck! For different reasons this time - there were two of them this time, one getting uncomfortably close, but they seemed not to have seen her. Gritting her teeth as Garrus' rifle caressed her through her clothes, she raised her own weapon.
Garrus slowed down, allowing her a little more control. It was all she needed.
Two shots, and the closest mech went down.
Forty-six.
Just one more, and the other one followed.
Forty-seven. Her rifle screamed at her, every gauge in the red. She stared down at it, vision blurring as the movement between her thighs sped up again. Her hips had started to thrust back, almost without her noticing.
"Better replace the sink," Garrus mumbled by her ear. He had one hand on her chest now, clawed fingers easily finding her aching hard nipples through shirt and jacket and bra, pinching them hard enough to set off little white flashes of pain-mixed pleasure in her head. She moaned unsteadily, reaching down, gripping the barrel of his gun and pulling it up harder against herself. She was so wet. Her panties clung to her, soaked.
"Reload," Garrus repeated behind her, fingers squeezing harder. "Hurry, now."
Sweating and panting, she let go of his rifle to see to her own. Even as her hands worked, her hips continued moving, rubbing her oversensitive sex against the unyielding metal.
The spent heatsink hissed worryingly when she dropped it on the ground, but the fresh one clicked into position without a hitch.
"Three left. You're losing, Commander."
She groaned. He was right, but like hell she was going to admit it.
"Just you. Just you wait. And see," she managed, voice strained as she tried to stop panting. It was making her light-headed.
"You barely have time for another two. No more than that." He gave a little twist at the end of his next thrust, and she yelped. "Maybe just one," he said, and chuckled.
"You bastard," she complained, but didn't have enough energy to make it sound threatening. The rifle was cooling once more, and that was making this more bearable, but it wasn't going to be enough.
"Three," he repeated, a mandible moving against the side of her neck. "You'll lose."
All she could do was groan.
Garrus just chuckled and kept moving. Back and forth. Hard, smooth, warm metal against soft cloth.
Her hands tightened on her rifle as another Loki stepped into view. Before Garrus had a chance to disturb her, she had lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. Mech forty-eight tumbled over, head barely hanging on to its body, clearly out of commission.
Even as she reeled from the recoil, Garrus began to quickly pump the rifle faster between her thighs - and then, just as she thought she was about to explode, he suddenly stopped. She blinked, heart racing, and held her breath. She had been so damn close, and suddenly 'winning' this little game seemed less important.
It wasn't until he started moving again that she started breathing once more, shallowly and unsteadily.
"That was a close one, Commander." As if she needed him to tell her. He was going to drag this out, to keep her on edge until she could just see the finishing line on the horizon. He was toying with her. She grit her teeth and straightened up, fingers tightening around her weapon, resolve strengthening. Come on, you bastards. Get out here, before I-
It seemed almost as if they had been waiting for her.
Slowly and clumsily, the last pair of mechs were making their way over the remains of their fallen brethren.
She raised her rifle.
Garrus sped up again. She forced herself to ignore the molten heat building in her lower belly. Forty-nine...
The rifle kicked, nearly knocking her off balance. Black and white spots danced before her eyes. Garrus rolled her left nipple between two hard, unrelenting fingers, tugged at her through her clothes.
Her entire body wobbled, the rifle even more so, as she turned to the last mech, squinting through her scope and trying to ignore the sensation of her head filling with fuzz.
Fifty-!
She braced for impact.
It never came.
Click.
The surprise jolted her partially out of the rising wave of pleasure that seemed about to envelop her at any moment now, but even that only postponed the inevitable by a few seconds. Wide-eyed, she turned her head to give Garrus a questioning look, too far gone to fully understand what had gone wrong.
He grinned.
"Stand up."
Without even thinking of what she was doing, she tried to obey. Her legs wobbled. She shook her head. No way. It wasn't possible.
He lifted her. One arm around her waist, the other keeping the rifle pressed up between her legs.
They cleared the barrier. The mech began to turn.
Boom.
Commander Shepard did not hear the sound of the fiftieth and final Loki exploding.
All she heard was the thunderous noise that echoed in her head, and her own scream of raw, uncontrolled passion.
The world faded to white noise, and she fell.
Commander. Commander. Come in. Commander Shepard. Come in!
The noise slowly filtered into recognizable words. Instinctively, she reached for the microtransmitter on her ear.
"Here," she managed.
"Finally!" The voice was young, female, accented. She remembered the face (such as it was) before she could remember the name that belonged to it. Oh. Yes. Tali.
"Go on." She was... lying down? On the ground? Why was she... wait, she knew why.
"I found the person who bought the mechs. Should we pursue?"
"Get." She licked her lips. Cleared her throat. "Get the shuttle. On my location. Right away."
"Right." She could hear the sound of fast-paced typing and the quiet sounds of an omnitool on the other side of the link. Then, uncertainly: "Commander? You sound a little strained. Are you...?"
"Tired. We'll talk later." And she hung up.
"I think that counts as a draw," a familiar voice said, somewhere above her. "There is always next time, right?"
She fumbled around until she found what felt like an arm somewhere in the direction of that voice.
"I will punch you if you don't help me up."
He laughed, but the way he lifted her and held her steady until she could walk on her own almost made her want to forgive him.
He was still going to get it for this stunt, though.
Oh, was he ever going to get it.
