A/N: i once had an art… but that art sunk into oblivion. so, inspired by a tiniest 🤏 convo with @cocochaca, i remembered about an old idea that wasn't posted because of my canon sticking principles. here comes another fic for a rare reader
Summary: After another successful mission, the squadmates unwind with some buzz. It leads them to an accidental discovery that turian hide isn't quite as impervious as they'd like to believe. Especially when the threat comes in the form of human's tickle attacks.
Word Count: 1.9k
Shepard’s cabin was far from the ideal place for a drinking session, yet here the captain and his turian friend were, having a post-mission washdown. Two nearly empty bottles sat on the table between them — one of aged turian horosk, the other of Earth whiskey, which Garrus had once grimly dubbed 'burnt acid'.
"And then this bastard–" Shepard paused to take a swig from their glass, "–thinks he can hide behind a biotic barrier like I can’t just overload it! And then—BAM!" They slammed a fist on the table, making the bottles clink. "No more shields. No more geth."
Garrus let out a raspy laugh, his mandibles twitching slightly.
"You know, Shepard, if you shot half as well as you tell stories, we’d have ended this war before the Reapers even hit the Citadel."
"What, are you trying to convince me again that you were the one who took that geth out?"
"It’s a fact. Accept it," Garrus replied smugly, slouching back on the couch.
"Yeah, sure," Shepard reached out and poured themself another drink. "Guess someone’s already forgotten how he managed to miss a geth at point-blank range."
"I missed?" Garrus straightened sharply. It was almost visible how his blue eye flashed behind his visor. "If it weren’t for your genius ‘charge straight at them’ plan, maybe I wouldn’t have had to fire a sniper rifle two meters from the target!"
"Should’ve just, you know, hit ’em with this your… what’s it called…"
"If you say 'beak', I’ll shoot you."
"I was gonna say your incredible turian charm," Shepard grinned.
Garrus snorted, letting out an amused chuff.
"At least you admit that," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back again. "But still, explain... what was that move with the krogan? You just leapt at him like a varren."
"Strategic maneuver."
"It was a krogan. With a grenade."
"So what? It worked."
Garrus rolled his eyes.
"You’re the only human in the galaxy who’d call ‘it worked’ a situation where you almost got turned into paste on a bulkhead."
"Well, I know I’ve got a loyal friend who’ll pull me out of any shit," Shepard said smugly, sipping their whiskey, which only made the turian grimace in disgust.
"You’ll be the death of me, Shepard."
Shepard just chuckled and reached for the bottle again, but Garrus swiftly intercepted it.
"Ah-ah-ah, no, buddy. You can barely sit straight as it is."
"Me?" Shepard feigned offense. "Look at you. You’re swaying so much you’ll soon create an amplitude and throw the ship off course."
Truth be told, Shepard was already thoroughly drunk, unlike Vakarian, who was used to much larger doses of alcohol. What can be said, Garrus always knew how to drink, sometimes he could sip a drink right before a mission, which, surprisingly, allowed him to maintain professionalism. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about his human partner…
Shepard frowned and flicked one of Garrus’ three fingers when they gripped their wrist.
"Oh, so you wanna fight?" The turian pulled back, but his tone held more amusement than threat.
"With you? I don’t brawl with turtles," Shepard laughed, shoving at him, but their clumsy movement only resulted in their fingers brushing lightly over the plates covering Garrus’ body. The turian twitched and batted his hand away.
Shepard paused, then slowly turned their head toward Garrus, who, noticing the look, awkwardly glanced aside. The captain decided to test a sudden theory and reached for their friend’s neck, where the plates parted to expose vulnerable flesh.
"Shepard," Garrus said calmly, though with a warning edge, catching the wandering hand. He still refused to make an eye contact.
Here Shepard had completely lost interest in the whiskey.
"Garrus, do you know what tickling is?" a barely noticiable smile played on the lips, caused by sincere curiousity.
"Surely. A human indulgence."
"Why do you say it like that?"
"Well… You humans have these agile little fingers that let you do all kinds of weird things," Garrus demonstratively poked Shepard’s face with their own hand. "Turians can’t do that."
And it was true. A turian’s hand was more like a talon capable of ripping flesh. Nothing like the dexterous human fingers that could slip into tight spaces. The ones like… the gaps between turian plates. Shepard hadn’t often seen Garrus out of his armor like this, and the thought grew even more intriguing.
"So turians never tickle each other? Never ever?"
"No," Garrus rumbled in his bass tone. "Our anatomy isn't built for that. Shepard, where are these questions coming from?"
"Pure curiousity," the commander waved it off quickly, stubbornly looking at the neck visible under the thick bony collar, one of the most vulnerable parts of the turian body, which seemed to invite to touch it just to feel its pleasant texture. Rare scales were visible on the thick skin, and the flesh itself seemed slightly cool. "Maybe then, you won't mind if we test your sensitivity? I can even take brass knuckles to make sure it works!"
Garrus turned sharply to his companion and gave them a hard to define look. The stinginess of emotional signals was a distinctive feature of Garrus's race, but even through the drunken haze, Shepard could see in those cat-like pupils bewilderment and thoughts about someone's feeblemindedness.
"Alright, that's it. You need to sleep it off," Garrus started as he stretched. "Let me take you to the bed. I don't trust your legs!-"
Before the alien could finish speaking, Shepard pounced, fingers digging into his neck with frantic curiosity, tracing every iridescent scale. Garrus was taken aback, a hollow rumble and roots of awkward laughter came from his mouth, dulled by trembling mandibles.
"Unbelievable... Honestly, I thought you were faking! Your skin looks so rough, as if it could be massaged with a drill."
Shepard loved the reaction. So much so that they clung to the flustered turian like a drunken pyjak, despite Garrus’ attempts to shake them off. The alcohol had also dulled the sniper's reflexes. Of course, he and Shepard were on completely different levels, but the love for tuarian alcohol let the alien down not allowing him to throw off the 'rowdy'. Garrus often compared humans to monkeys, and now the moment came when he fully felt what was behind these careless words.
"Alright, alright, confirmed!? Now quit abusing your rank privileges, commander!" While one hand of the drunk human was harassing the sensitive neck, the other gently scratched the plates on Garrus's sides with the very tips of nails, causing him a wave of continuous goosebumps. If Garrus was a cat, the sensation would leave him torn between snarling and something embarrassingly close to purring. A turian’s nerves weren’t wired for this.
"Shepard, seriously, don't! I could accidentally tear you to pieces."
"Are you so sensitive that you are ready to do this to a friend?"
And without exaggeration, Garrus could do this in the blink of an eye through sheer carelessness. His arms were incredibly strong, a real weapon, sometimes the team members even wondered why Garrus even used a rifle if his limbs cope with the role of a murder weapon no less effectively. Perhaps any other turian would have done this without looking back, but Garrus was not a clumsy type. He was respected for always being careful with everyone: with weapons, with partners, and especially with Shepard.
"I'm seconds from throwing you out the airlock!"
"You always threaten me," Shepard grinned, relentless. "Remember how many times you swore you’d never drink with me again?"
"And I regret not listening to myself every single time!" Garrus' voice had devolved into a wheezing grumble, which only egged on the insufferable Shepard. The commander's wandering hand slid lower past the armored plates, finding the vulnerable skin of his lower flank and abdomen.
For such a tall creature, the turian had a surprisingly narrow waist, slimmer than Shepard's. Maybe even slimmer than the commander's thigh itself.
Shepard explored the newly discovered weak spot with glee, coaxing higher-pitched chirps from his usually stoic friend. Seeing that frozen, statue-like face and hearing the booming laughter was an unusual experience. Shepard was fascinated; Garrus... was trying to save his poor body.
Garrus writhed like an overturned turtle, his mandibles clicking in staccato rhythms Shepard had never heard before. The captain giggled triumphantly, refusing to end this handsy 'expedition'. Their fingers danced along the narrow gaps between plates, discovering new sensitive spots with each pass.
"Enough!" Garrus barked, but his voice cracked when Shepard found a particularly vulnerable spot beneath his chest plate. The noise the turian made was so absurd that Shepard froze for a second before bursting into laughter.
"By the Citadel, this is even better than I imagined!" They grinned, watching their usually unflappable friend struggle to both escape and salvage his dignity. "How did I never think of this before?"
"Shepard–hah!–Come on, I can’t... My body is not trained for such loads–ah!.." Garrus’ voice was strained but still warm, with no trace of real anger in it. All his energy was going toward adjusting to the bizarre sensations and not accidentally clocking Shepard in the face. After all, no one had ever tickled him before. And certainly not with this much enthusiasm.
"Hahaha, too bad for you, Garrus. Bear with my fun."
"You little..." Garrus thrashed wildly, trying to either fling Shepard onto the couch or pry those relentless hands off him, but it was useless. Nimble fingers kept finding untouched spots, sending electric jolts straight to his spinal cord.
He couldn’t fathom how such a drunk meat sack could be this agile. And first coherent thought was to switch to one of Shepard’s core interests: booze.
"Whiskey, Shepard, whiskey! You wanted to finish it!" Shepard laughed at the blatant distraction attempt but finally took pity, feeling his own buzz fading.
"Alright, live," the commander grunted, releasing him with shoulder pats, timed perfectly with Garrus’ ragged breath. Their hand shot toward the precious bottle, only for Garrus to snatch it first and down half the contents in one go, leaving Shepard gaping.
"So now we're drinking Earth swill?" Shepard ribbed, feigning disapproval that their precious nectar had been gulped down by a reptile. Though he knew well the exhausted Vakarian needed it more right now.
"You left me no choice," Garrus shot back. "See what I have to put up with because of you?"
"Eh, fine. Next time you’re treating me with the turian booze." Shepard shrugged, subtly testing if Garrus would uphold his usual vow to 'never drink with them again''.
After a pause, and finally catching his breath, Garrus replied:
"Just don’t complain when your liver fails mid-toast."
Shepard nodded, brushing off the warning. Of course Garrus would never trade them in, no matter what drunken antics the commander pulled.
Shepard's eyes scanned the table, landing on the dregs of alcohol at the bottom of their glass. Thinking again about his friend's newly discovered little weakness, they decided to come up with a funny toast. But as soon as Shepard turned to Garrus, the latter seemed to scan their gaze.
"If anyone on the ship finds out about this…"
"Airlock. I remember."
Mutual nods and the clink of glass dispelled the ship's hum.
Lessons in Krogan Anatomy - a mShep and Wrex tickle fic
This is a fic set in the universe of Mass Effect, and while it’s not really set during a specific point in canon, it contains some mention of what Wrex is up to in ME2.
“Heh, what was so funny about it?” Wrex rumbled, taking another sip of his ryncol. Both Wrex and Shepard were a bit tipsy by now- drinking together after a particularly long mission had become something of a habit for the two.
“It wasn’t funny, it tickled,” Shepard said, leisurely stretching his sore gun arm. “Surely you know what that is.”
“Yeah, I know what that is, but it seems stupid. Garrus gets his claws into ya and you just start laughing? Turians must be weaker than I thought.”
Shepard laughed- a deep, genuine one that kept its smile long after it ended. “He could’ve hurt me if he had wanted to, but he didn’t. That’s not the point. He was tickling me. You use your fingers and it-“
“Makes a person laugh, yeah, I get it,” Wrex grunted. “If you have a shitty sense of humor.”
“Wrex!” Shepard said, still laughing. “I keep telling you, it’s not because it’s comedic or anything. It’s like an involuntary… nerve stimulation thing.”
“Like pain.”
“But it doesn’t hurt. And it’s fun.”
“Pain can be fun.”
“Mhmm, yeah, for sure. C’mon, surely you’ve got at least one ticklish spot.”
Wrex stretched his arms above his head with obvious bravado. “I’m a Krogan. We don’t have those kinds of weaknesses.”
“Has anyone ever tried it on you?”
“No, Shepard, I spent my childhood learning to fight thresher maws instead of finger painting or whatever shit the great commander was doing at four.”
Shepard grinned. “Let me try.”
“On me?”
“Yeah.”
Wrex chuckled, a deep, rumbly sound. “It’s adorable you think that’ll work.”
“I’m not hearing a no.” Shepard inched his stool just a bit closer to Wrex.
“You’re not. Knock yourself out.”
Shepard pumped his fist. “Yes! Okay.” He looked over the big krogan, looking for where to start. Conveniently, Wrex wasn’t wearing his armor, so it wouldn’t be just impossible to find a place to tickle. Finally, he decided. “Okay, hold your arms up. I’ll go for your ribs first.”
Wrex held his arms up lazily, his wide mouth shifting in a smug smile. “Sure. Go wild.”
Shepard immediately reached his hands out and started dancing his fingers around Wrex’s rib area. It was a bad spot on himself, and an especially bad spot on Thane, so surely it’d work on-
“Ha! Am I supposed to feel something?” Wrex said, chuckling- but the laughter was obviously not coming from Shepard’s ministrations. “That’s natural Krogan armor right there. Wouldn’t do much if you punched me instead.”
Shepard chided himself internally with the realization that despite being friends with Wrex for years and practically being Grunt’s parent, he knew next to nothing about Krogan anatomy. He quickly recovered his determined expression. “Well fuck you, big guy, I have all evening.”
Wrex smirked. “So do I. It’s fun watching you fail.”
Shepard’s fingers tested different parts of the krogan’s ribs for a little longer before finally giving up and moving to where the collarbone would be on a human or turian. Unfortunately, there was no shift in the texture under his fingers- just more of that external Krogan plating.
Wrex grinned even wider. “Can we at least move to the couch? I’d like to have a good view of the stars if we’re gonna be here a while.”
Shepard grunted in frustration. “Ugh! Fine. You’re gonna crack eventually.”
Wrex swaggered over to the couch on the other side of the viewing deck, flopping down with infuriating smugness. “I’m not going to, but shit, it’s funny to watch you try.”
Shepard annoyedly moved over to where Wrex was now comfortably laying against the cushions. “Whatever.” He reached up and used both hands to tickle across the folds of the Krogan’s neck, trying to find ticklish spots.
“Mmmm,” Wrex purred. “This is actually pleasant.”
“Ticklish?”
“No.”
Shepard removed his hands. “Dammit!”
“And to think I was enjoying that spot.”
Shepard was growing increasingly stubborn- a trait that was very useful in combat, but just frustrating here. “Flip over. I’m gonna try your tail.”
Wrex chuckled. “My tail?”
“Yeah. I know you have one, it’s just little. Still might be a spot.”
Wrex rolled his eyes, but he did as the commander said, rolling over onto his stomach. Shepard wasted no time in dragging his fingers up the underside of the krogan’s tail.
Wrex stiffened.
Shepard went from frustrated to excited in seconds. “Was that a spot, Wrex? Was that a spot?”
Wrex chuckled softly into the pillow- but for the first time, it seemed involuntary. “N-No.”
Shepard immediately intensified his tickling, using every technique he knew he had- spidering the tips of his fingers up and down, making gentle clawing motions, everything- but Wrex’s laughter never intensified beyond the occasional chuckle. Shepard was losing ground.
“Ha- haha, this is what tickling feels like?” Wrex taunted. “It’s perfectly manageable to me. This can’t be what had ya gettin’ all loud the other day. Unless you’re that much of a sissy.”
Shepard drew his hands back. “GodDAMMIT!” Wrex turned back over, smiling at his commander.
“You done here?”
Shepard gritted his teeth. “No. That just proves you can, in theory, be tickled. I’ll find your spot.” He thought for a second, then sat down next to Wrex on the couch, patting his lap. “Put your foot up here. There’s no armor there, so this should be easy.”
Wrex casually put both feet in Shepard’s lap, more than happy to use him as a footrest- tickling challenge aside, Wrex’s legs were a little sore from the most recent encounter. The three-toed appendages kind of reminded Shepard of a dinosaur’s, like he’d see in recreations from museums back home.
Shepard immediately spidered his fingers up Wrex’s soles, then dragged the tips of his fingers back down with just a bit of pressure. It was a move that would nearly kill Garrus during their tickle fights.
Wrex didn’t react.
Shepard made a noise of frustration. “Come on! Nothing?”
Wrex grinned. “Of course nothing, stupid. I’ve been walking on jagged Tuchankan rock my whole life. I can practically walk barefoot over fire without much reaction. You think tickling would work?”
Shepard pushed Wrex’s legs off his lap, causing the krogan to grunt in disappointment at the loss of human footrest. The commander was growing more desperate. “C’mon, there’s got to be a spot!”
Wrex relaxed back into the cushions casually. “Surely you’ve exhausted your arsenal by now.” He lowered his eyes. “Maybe if you can’t find anywhere, I should tickle you. I’ve heard you’re very weak to it.”
Shepard was flustered now. “N-No! I’m gonna find somewhere.”
“We’ve been here a while, Shepard. You gotta be running out.”
Shepard shook his head, trying to fling the blush off of his face like a wet dog. “Nope. I haven’t tried your belly.”
“Hmph. Fine.” Wrex reclined a little further, then lifted his shirt just enough to reveal his stomach. Wrex had definitely grown a little chubby over the years, which despite his grumpiness in response to Liara’s teasing, he didn’t really mind. It was proof that his agricultural initiative on Tuchanka was working- clan Urdnot was no longer fighting for food.
Shepard’s mind wasn’t on any of that. His mind was on the fact that the krogan’s underbelly was completely devoid of any external armor. And of course it was- the nearest earth-equivalent to krogan’s evolutionary ancestors was a snapping turtle. They wouldn’t have evolved with lower torso protection.
I’m beginning to sound like Mordin, Shepard thought. He needed to focus on the task at hand- he had an opportunity. He took one look at Wrex’s smug, triumphant face, then dug his fingers into the soft flesh of the krogan’s stomach.
Wrex’s eyes widened suddenly, and he yelped- deep-voiced as ever, but it was unmistakably a sound of surprised laughter. Wrex’s mouth opened and maybe almost formed words- a taunt, perhaps, or a dismissal of the noise he made- but Shepard had found a spot and he was not letting Wrex get away with anything else. His fingers darted lower, just under the curve of the krogan’s belly, and he began to firmly wiggle the tips of his fingers up into the soft flesh.
“Wh- Ah- OHOHOHAHAHAHAHA!” Wrex’s laughter was deep, booming, and so, so satisfying in Shepard’s ears. It was very clear by the tone of the krogan’s guffaws that Wrex was surprised by just how bad it was- he had never been tickled in earnest before, and he was far more sensitive than he thought.
Shepard was far from the best tickler on the ship, but he had been targeted enough times to pick up some techniques. He scribbled his fingers up and down the center of the krogan’s belly, before moving one hand to either side, about level with the navel, and wiggling his fingers in, slowly, as deep as he could.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Wrex cackled as Shepard continued to switch up his technique. The krogan was obviously trying very hard not to flail around, because he’d be able to easily hurt Shepard by accident. He didn’t want to do that, or at least, his subconscious didn’t. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have the urge to punch the commander right now.
Shepard smiled as he kneaded his fingers into the lower part of the Krogan’s belly- because his skin was tougher than a humans’, he could use tougher techniques without causing any pain. Wrex’s laugh shifted from a constant stream of cackles to the occasional loud yell of laughter.
“AHAHA- AH! GHAHAHA YOU MIS- AHAHA- YOU MISERABLE PYJAK AHAHA I’M GONNA GUT YOU I SWEAR TO-“
Another slight twist of Shepard’s fingers and Wrex lost his train of thought.
It was about ten minutes, maybe, before Shepard let up, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. Wrex heaved, still making the occasional loud guffaw. When he finally caught his breath, he glared at Shepard. “I hate you.”
Shepard chuckled. “You don’t hate me, Wrex.”
“Yes I do. I’m gonna remember this.”
“Like you remember-“
“Like I remember everything, yeah.”
“You have fun, big guy?”
Wrex forced a scowl, trying to fight off any further laughter. He wouldn’t admit shit. “I need another glass of ryncol.”
“Ooh, can I have some?”
Wrex stared at Shepard.
“That’s a joke,” Shepard said, smiling. “I’ve seen Chakwas enough this week.”
The krogan laughed despite himself. It was hard to stay angry at Shepard.
That night, Wrex returned to his quarters, lazily flicking the button to close the door behind him. He stared at his bed, spartan in design like the rest of his room, but decided he wasn’t ready to sleep yet. He needed to find a way to get back at his commander. He strolled over to his extranet terminal and pressed the button for voice input- he was never one for typing, or words in general.
“Tickling,” he said to the reciever, then added, “Human.”
He had some research to do.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I’m back on my Mass Effect nonsense again! I wanted to write a fic based on some of my headcanons for Wrex I posted a little while back. I also just love the guy and wanted to write him really bad. I’m not sure if there’s a canon design for what krogans look like under there, but I couldn’t find any, so I write with my own speculation in mind. (Turtle-like guy is gonna have a sensitive stomach.) I will write a follow-up fic for this! Shepard’s gonna get got. Destroyed even
