If she'd been asked beforehand, Shepard would have laid good credits after bad that Garrus had never been kissed in his life. Not the human way of kissing, at least— surely not. But here he was, as practiced as anything, bending down as if he had had practice enough to be sure of what angle to tilt his head at. It was very different from kissing another human; turian lips were a lot less motile, their body temperature higher, but still... It's the voice, has to be, the way he sounds so damned smug, dropping half an octave and delivering the line like it's something he'd been waiting weeks to say.

Shepard blinks up at him, a little flummoxed despite herself. When did Garrus get so smooth? She was prepared for the fluster, the dissembling, the endearing lack of certainty— but this?

"Yeah, that uh..." Shepard clears her throat and looks away, face hot, not really able to stop the stupid look on her face from happening, "That'll do it. At least we got one thing figured out."

Holy shit, Vakarian. What the hell.