(Untitled)
MASS EFFECT KINK MEME
ANONYMOUSLY post a pairing and a kink. This meme is open to ALL pairings and ALL kinks. Slash, femslash, het and xenophilia are all welcome here. Fluffy kinks, violent kinks, gross kinks ...whatever you're into. However, there are a few guidelines ( Read more... )
ANONYMOUSLY post a pairing and a kink. This meme is open to ALL pairings and ALL kinks. Slash, femslash, het and xenophilia are all welcome here. Fluffy kinks, violent kinks, gross kinks ...whatever you're into. However, there are a few guidelines ( Read more... )
For all the bitching he'd done about how uncomfortable having her be Turian was, he sure as shit seemed to be strutting his stuff now. With her at his side, his step picked up a little bit of a flourish, made especially pronounced every time he smirked at a gawking C-Sec officer or Turian shop clerk. If she'd doubted his previous assertion, that she was smoking hot, she didn't now. Every Turian they'd passed, every single fucking one, had the same reaction, one after another. They'd drop whatever they were doing, stare at her until she noticed them, and then do something embarassingly awkward before pretending to ignore her. It was like being the stacked chick in high school and damn if it wasn't hysterical.
"I didn't know Turians had a thing for purple," Shepard commented as Garrus took her through the upper wards. He was clearly taking the long way, but she wasn't particularly bothered by it. She'd be harassing him about it endlessly in the future, but it didn't bother her now.
"It's...abnormal," Garrus defended quietly and slowed his gait. They were in a section of shops she'd never bothered to visit. She didn't know how to read Turian and the idea of learning hadn't crossed her mind.
"We talking 'Good god, what happened to her face?' abnormal, or 'You'd never believe the shape of this birthmark,' abnormal?"
The stare Garrus leveled at her was blank. He blinked and considered how to answer, even if he didn't quite understand the question. "I suppose...it would be like...what's a rare human hair coloration?"
"So it's like I'm a redhead," Shepard supplied and Garrus nodded.
"Pretty much. I've met a few purple Turians, served with a few, but you only see purple women in...ads, dramas, that sort of thing. Before this debacle, I'd never met one. Ah!" His mandibles flared in a smile as they reached their destination. He clapped his hands together and ushered her through the doorway. "Here we are! Best food on the Citadel."
"Wait, so I'm like...a Turian supermodel? Weird," Shepard asked and shook her head. Her mandibles--weird--clicked slightly with her confusion and she tried to focus on the task at hand.
The restaurant was packed. There were nearly as many Quarians as Turians, and all of them were very thoroughly engrossed in their food. There was some music playing, the translator only caught about a third of the lyrics but the beats were blase enough to tell her that it was pop-culture trash. Overall, the place was crowded, hot, small, loud, and the air was permeated by that indescribably thick spicy restaurant stink.
She could see why Garrus was so attached to it.
"One minute, one minute," the server, a tall reddish Turian in a long white apron, spouted as he dashed up to the front podium, grabbed a few menus, and entered something into the console. "How many?" He hadn't even looked up.
"Two," Garrus announced evenly but Shepard could still feel the excitement in his voice. Apparently, so could the server. The turian looked up and made a face at Garrus but didn't say anything. He looked at Shepard, paused, and his jaw parted for a moment before he remembered himself.
"Right," he said quickly and cleared his throat, "yes, right, this way." They followed and conversation seemed to take a dip in volume as they were seated. As amused as she'd been by the reaction to her purple creepy alien body before, it was a little nerve wracking to be in a tight crowd of people, most of whom were staring. If it weren't for the proximity of the waiter, she'd have drawn her pistol. "I'm Kryik, I'll be your waiter."
"Oh no, we don't need menus," Garrus interrupted and waved his hand as the server tried to hand Shepard one of the garish, red, laminate sheets. The red Turian, Kryik, glared at Garrus a little and shoved the menus under his arm as he pulled up his omitool.
"What'll ya have?"
"I'll take the number two," Garrus informed him, "And a bottle of the Taetresian Alcol."
"Right," Kryik answered and turned a broad, creepy smile at Shepard. "And you?" When Garrus cleared his throat, Kryik's smile fell, but he turned dutifully.
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"What he said," Shepard agreed dryly. It wasn't like she knew what the hell any of it was, anyway. "I'm taking his word that this is the best food on the Citadel." Apparently this was very much the right thing to say because Kryik beamed at her and several of the nearby Turian occupants let out a raucous, and slightly drunken cheer.
"You won't be disappointed," Kryik promised and inclined his head as he walked off. Shepard maintained a smile just until he walked away. Garrus was smiling like he'd just committed some horrible caper and Shepard stared him down hard.
"So what the fuck did you order?" She asked in an urgent whisper and leaned forward. Her...chest...bone...divide thing wasn't as prominent as Garrus's, but it didn't let her lean that much closer. The way the chair was shaped, though, was surprisingly comfortable.
"Well," Garrus took a slow breath. "I'd rather not explain. Human's tend to get a little...weird, when they find out just what Turians and Quarians eat."
Shepard stared at him, her expression perfectly flat. "Garrus, seriously?" She leaned back and crossed her arms over her waist--it was infinitely more comfortable, but caused several quiet, heated conversations around them. Garrus swallowed again, and forced his eyes up to her face. She rolled her eyes.
"We've been to Tuchunka. I've seen people butcher and barbecue Varren in the fight pit. Then I had Pyjak jerky. You had Pyjak jerky. It was missile scorched." She drummed her fingers on her waist and Garrus looked around covertly before clearing his throat. "What?"
"Shepard, uh...it would be best if you didn't...do that." Garrus's jaw shifted and Shepard stared. He was looking terribly uncomfortable.
"Would it?" Her dark smile translated easily and Garrus's eyes widened.
"Shepard, I do like this restaurant," Garrus pleaded quietly and she briefly considered having mercy on the panicky Turian. She shifted her hands and braced both against the sides of her waist, as she often did when human. According to the high-fiving (threeing?) Turians behind her, it was practically pornographic.
"So tell me what you ordered," Shepard demanded and Garrus looked ready to die, both of embarrassment and appreciation, it was an interesting combination.
"Spirits give me strength," Garrus prayed quietly and rubbed his hand across his face. "Okay, okay," he agreed in a hushed voice and Shepard set her hands on the table. "The number eight is....it's Syikla with a couple of sides, mostly...what's the Human word? Molds, funguses, that sort of thing."
"Tell me what Syikla is, or I'll pretend I'm making out with my invisible girlfriend." That she managed to keep a straight face was nothing short of a miracle. Garrus stared at her and, despite the fact that it took several seconds for him to figure out what she was on about, nodded.
"There's a type of large insect that lives in the mountains on Palaven. It's like...a flying roach bat...thing. Syikla is the...filleted intestine of it, stewed in the fatty membrane from it's eyes and then stuffed with a..." He made a mixing motion with his hands. It looked more like he was explaining laundry than cooking. "Mixture...charred, in its...zest."
Somewhere in the middle of that explanation, Shepard had just tuned him out. After a beat, she arched a brow. "Rachni haggis?"
"...Something like that," Garrus admitted uncomfortably and Shepard shrugged.
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"You're sure this will kill me normally?" Shepard prompted as she speared some of the...whatever the hell it was, sausage maybe, and dipped it in a generous helping of the green and gold moldy bullshit next to it. She took a bite, savored it with a sound that was universally obscene, and followed with some of the fantastic Turian ambrosia he'd ordered.
"You keep it up like that and I'll find a way to make it for Humans," Garrus promised as he refilled her glass. Shepard felt like she was going to explode, but goddamn.
"It's like steak wrapped in bacon, chocolate, and joy, Garrus," Shepard explained as she finished the last piece of her freaky Turian roach guts. "Deep fried in victory."
"I'm glad you approve." Garrus answered back and Shepard took a deep breath before reflexively patting her stomach...or where she was accustomed to her stomach being. Garrus made a strangled sound and Shepard ignored him as she pushed her chair back. Her balance was a little off when she stood, that bottle of whatever was pretty good.
"I need to stretch my legs, Garrus." Shepard rifled through her pockets and tossed her credit chit at him. "It's on me, tip Kryik hard enough to put a hole in a Krogan."
"Right, I'll just be a moment."
Shepard waved off his statement as she left the crowded restaurant and stepped out into the colored lights of the ward. Somewhere to her right a terminal was playing the Blasto 2: Revenge of the Tentacle ad. Today was a pretty fucking awesome day. In retrospect, Garrus probably shouldn't have let her leave the restaurant, alone, drunk, in unfamiliar territory, and in an unfamiliar body. At the moment, however, Shepard was enjoying the recycled Citadel air. She propped her hands on her waist and took a deep breath just because.
"Hey, looking good, purple lady."
"Need a guided tour of the ward, or my pants?"
Shepard blinked and twisted around. Her smile was absolutely wicked as she found the source of the catcalls. Two Blue Suns, relaxed by the rapid transit console, and one of them was motioning her over.
Fucking. Awesome. Day.
Shepard had seen Garrus walk in a sexy manner, at least, what he thought was a sexy manner. She did her best impersonation of it and, wouldn't you know, it fucking worked. The two Suns made some obscene motions (she guessed) and one of them let out a polyphonic trill--fuck it, he whistled. Shepard stopped just outside of reach and looked them both over.
"I'd remember seeing you around. Did you just get in?" The first of the two asked suavely and leaned on the bulkhead. It was an excuse to lift his arm up, show her how tall he was. Shepard nearly snorted. "What's your name?"
"Lilihierax," she answered, somehow, and there was a brief falter in the Turian's smile. Yup. Jethro. "Just got on the station, but I'm probably going to get off pretty soon." The extended Turian flinched and his arm slipped noisily. The second one laughed at him, flat out.
"I could help you with that," he offered and Shepard stared at him. He took her silence as approval, apparently, and slid forward to wrap his arms through hers and settle his hands on the bottom of her chest-plate.
"You wouldn't happen to be one of those big, scary mercs, would you?" Shepard prompted evenly and the Turian watched her throat. "You know, the kind who smuggle expensive things...and kill anyone who gets in their way?"
"I've been known to...dabble on the darker side every so often," the Turian answered with a smirk and Shepard let out a sharp cackle.
"Oh good," she said and her knee came up in a swift kick, knocking the Blue Sun back from her, over the railing, and into the planter. The other had just enough time to draw his pistol before Shepard swung and punched him solidly in the throat. He stumbled and cracked her across the side with his forearm. Lame.
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"What was that? I can't hear you?" Shepard taunted as she pulled the guy up by his fringe.
"Shepard!" Garrus hissed as he sidled up alongside her.
"Look, Garrus, I made a friend!" Shepard announced as she shoved the Turian back under.
"I see that," Garrus replied and his hands flexed in front of him as he considered what to do. "We should go...before C-sec gets here." She waved a taloned hand at him and shifted her grip to the back of the Blue Sun's armor. He hoisted free from the water with a short jerk. Shepard grunted as she slung him back over the low wall and onto the floor, proper.
"You know, there's always dancing?" Garrus supplied as Shepard loomed over the merc, her right hand balled into an inefficient, taloned fist.
"Dancing, you say?" Shepard questioned and twisted to look at him. She punched the merc, knocked the guy out cold against the floor, and stood up. "Aren't you just full of great ideas today?"
"I try," Garrus replied with a tight shrug and ushered her away from the broken planter box and the two unconscious, seriously injured Turians.
It was a short walk and a very long elevator ride to Dark Star, but the booze was strong and the music, loud and violent. Shepard got to watch Garrus shuffle awkwardly on the dance floor, and then got to throw a Batarian across the bar. She didn't even have to start the bar fight, some asshole Volus had done it for her. She took a few hard knocks to the mandible and a bottle across her fringe, but made it out mostly unscathed. Really, the worst of the damage was a gash across her palm--apparently Turian arms were not conducive to drunken boxing--and that was self inflicted.
"I should be Turian more often."
"I think it would be best for my health if you weren't," Garrus deflected thickly as he helped her into the shuttle. She dropped back against the passenger seat with a heavy thud and he followed her in. At this point, both of them were more exhausted than drunk, but nowhere near sober.
"Eh, sissy," Shepard jabbed, both literally and figuratively. Garrus rolled his eyes as he pulled the hatch closed and initiated dustoff. "Shit, that was a good day. I think I owe Mordin a free pass for this little fuckup."
"It has had its benefits," Garrus agreed tiredly as he piloted the shuttle back to their docking bay and the Normandy. They spent the brief ride in companionable silence. When they arrived in, Garrus helped Shepard stumble her way up to her cabin and dumped her on her bed. When he let go, though, she didn't and he came crashing down on top of her. The clatter of armor would have been a distinct turn off, had they been any other two people in the galaxy.
Garrus tried to push himself up, but even a drunken Shepard was still Shepard. Without much delicacy, she managed to roll him over and shimmied up the bed, resting her knees on either side of his hips. Garrus swallowed beneath her and Shepard set her hands down aside his head, trapping him.
"So," she started out in a low polyphonic purr. Garrus was frozen in place. "All I've been hearing all day is how hot and purple I am as a Turian. I think it's time to cash some of that in, don't you?"
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"I was reliably informed once," she continued and lowered her head until their mandibles were almost touching. "That this is where you're supposed to compliment my fringe...or my supportive waist."
"Shepard, this...this is...surreal," Garrus informed her quietly, his eyes wide. Her fingers twisted in the blanket, her sharp talons ruining the fabric.
"You didn't seem to think it was so weird when I suggested it earlier," Shepard whispered and pressed her forehead against his. Without thinking about it, she slanted her mouth across Garrus's. It was...less than fruitful. "Fuck, that's right, kissing doesn't work."
"Shepard, I don't think..." Garrus chimed in again and was summarily ignored as she sat up and slid her taloned hands across his chestplate.
"What's the matter, Garrus? Afraid you haven't got the reach? Or maybe the flexibility?" Shepard joked and tossed her head slightly. The effect was lessened without hair. Whatever. Her hands slid lower, across the narrow expanse of his waist and settled between her own legs, on the closure of his pants. With a smirk she palmed him and...wait. "Garrus?"
"Fuck," Garrus announced with a pained groan and let his head fall back against her bedding. Shepard shifted and pushed herself up, the mood shattered.
"What gives, Vakarian?" There was a long, long moment of silence. Garrus didn't bother to pick his head up when he started talking.
"You remember how I said I wasn't a human fetishist?"
"Seriously?" Shepard prompted and her jaw went slack. "Seriously?"
"This is your fault, you know," Garrus defended dryly. Shepard moved and dropped down onto the bed next to him. Garrus cast a stray glance at her and she huffed.
"Forget what I said about giving Mordin a free pass," Shepard complained. Garrus grunted in agreement and she huffed again. "Three. Fucking. Days."
"Or, you know, not." Garrus took a deep, resigned breath. "I miss your breasts."
She wasn't sure which one of them groaned, but it really didn't make a goddamned difference in the long run.
(I hope you all enjoyed this brief trip into Turian failsex.)
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*going to save and re-read often
<3333
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However, anon. I would sing your praises and have your babies and fill up the whole interwebs with flowers if you would ever possibly maybe write a sequel to this in which Garrus and Shepard have insanely hot dirty "I'm so glad your breasts are back" sex after Shepard turns back into a human.
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this is deep fried in victory
and you too, bb. ty for the fill. ilysfm
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