A/N: Yet another Masskink fill, yet another Garrus/femShep. I took some liberties with the layout of the room described herein. The sport of "densing" is described in the 03/31/2185 Cerberus Daily News. All the characters belong to BioWare.

Reviews would be much appreciated! Thanks for reading.

"Commander, the women's bathroom is on the starboard side of the ship."

Shepard hopped over the door frame and into the hallway. "Why do we have separate bathrooms at all, still? Seems like a waste of space."

"Cerberus ships operate according to traditional human-" EDI broke off as the Commander stepped back into the men's room. "Commander, the women's bathroom is on the st-"

"I know, EDI, but what's your procedure for if I stay in here? Do you like, zap me with something?" She gave a half-smile.

"I cannot physically stop you from using the men's bathroom. Were it another member of the Normandy crew, I would summon security to escort them either to the brig or to the proper bathroom. However, because you are the commanding officer, there is nothing I can do unless I determine that you have ceased to be able to command the ship. It is my opinion that you are of sound mind and body, and that you are merely...teasing me."

Shepard sidled into the toilet stall closest to the showers. "C'mon, I would never tease you, EDI." A huge lie; it was just plain fun to fuck with EDI. Therapeutic, even. So far, the AI had been a good sport about it. "What if I always used the men's bathroom, though? It's not fair that the men get stalls and urinals. Not that I want to use a urinal, it's just the principle of the thing."

This train of thought was interrupted by the sound of heavy footfall approaching the bathroom door. Although she'd just been arguing that there shouldn't be any difference in bathrooms, she suddenly had no wish to explain her presence in the men's room. The stomping grew louder. SHIT. Quickly, Shepard closed the door to her stall and hissed, "EDI, say NOTHING. I am not here."

EDI did say nothing, for once. Shepard sat on the toilet, pulled her feet up and out of view, and braced them against the side of the stall closest to the door. She'd just have to wait this out, then duck out after he left. No sooner had she settled on the plan then the bathroom door whooshed open and shut. Whoever it was, the guy stormed in like a fucking freight train and started fiddling with his omnitool.

What in the...ah. The door locked-he must have jammed it for extra privacy.

Oh...Oh god, she prayed silently. Please, please let me not have to sit here and listen while one of my crew has a burrito blowout of epic proportions in the toilet next to me. Please let him just take a nice, gentlemanly piss, and leave.

The intruder-well, technically she was the intruder, but dammit, she was here first!-had other ideas. The sound of hardsuit pieces slamming to the floor was unmistakable, and there was only one person aboard the Normandy who went around in full armor at all times. Garrus.

It was just as well that she'd hidden, then. Things had between them been strained since that moment before they'd hit the Omega-4 relay, when she'd chickened out and ruined everything. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted him. She had. But risking anaphylactic shock before the most important mission of her life hadn't seemed smart, nor had risking her heart, at the time. Stupidly, she hadn't even explained that to him. Instead, she'd given him the old "let's stay friends" song and dance in an attempt to keep the topic of species and incompatibilities off the table. He'd seemed all right with it then, and it certainly hadn't diminished his performance during the Collector base mission, where he'd led admirably. Analyzing it afterward, though-the blankness in his voice after she'd turned him away, his downcast eyes, the slight droop in his posture as he left her cabin, the wine he'd brought as a gift still in his hand-she realized she'd hurt him. It made her sick with shame.

Worse yet, she burned for him even now. What she felt for him hadn't dissipated after the mission, as she'd hoped it would. It had only grown more intense. Grasping at straws to justify her behavior, she'd had Mordin test her for dextro allergy, and he'd found none. She had no good excuse for having toyed with his emotions, so she'd avoided Garrus, waiting until she could work out the right apology. One that would make him understand and forgive and maybe open up to her again, someday. She hadn't found it yet.

WHAM.

Shepard instinctively lurched away from the sound of impact, almost falling off her toilet perch in the process. He'd hurled something against the far wall. It came to rest, rocking gently, at the gap between her stall's door and the floor. His helmet, as it turned out, its T-shaped faceplate shattered. No doubt it had made a significant dent in the metal wall. After a couple more dull thuds, a pair of bare, taloned feet clicked across the floor. Garrus punched the shower on and blew out a breath.

She did too; the loud spray of water meant she could move and breathe with less fear of being heard. Finding she had a clear view of him through a space between the door and its frame, she quickly averted her eyes. She'd seen Garrus in varying states of dress before, of course. They'd fought side by side, and comrades-in-arms couldn't afford inhibitions when conditions got rough. This was different. He'd come here to be alone. She was surely the last person he'd want to find him like this.

Something squishy and wet splatted on the ground. Garrus' soaked bandage, from the looks of the edge she could see. He'd worn it religiously ever since he'd narrowly escaped death on Omega, and it wasn't clear if he did so because he was still healing, or because he didn't want others to see the extent of his disfigurement. Curiosity overcame her. She needed to see. Disgusted by her own lack of control, she lifted her eyes and peered out at him anyway. The view made her forget to breathe.

Oh, his scars from the gunship rocket were terrible, there was no denying that. Bluish, exposed meat melded with the glowing cybernetics Chakwas and Mordin had employed to knit his flesh, restore his auditory membranes, and reinforce the structure of his jaw. His wounds weren't what stole her breath in the end. No, it was...well, simply that he was beautiful, scars and all. He was muscle and sinew, graceful even standing still, the cascade of water bringing out the iridescent silver of his skin. At that moment, Shepard wanted nothing more than to touch him. She wondered what it would feel like to run her fingertips over the thick, overlapping plates of his chest.

I threw away my chance. A pang of loss reverberated through her stomach. Transfixed, she was only vaguely aware of her fingers pinching and plucking at her nipples through her clothing.

Garrus rested the unscarred side of his head against the wall, eyes shut tight, water sliding off him in rivulets. His mandibles flexed slowly back and forth, a habit similar to the grinding of teeth in humans. The Commander's eyes followed one of his hands as it drifted down his side, coming briefly to rest at the narrow crook of his waist. There it hovered, talons grazing gently against the smoother hide there, until he seemed to come to a decision. His hand continued down toward his...was he going to...?

I shouldn't be watching this, she panicked. But she was, and her hands had been busy, too. She found herself bare to the waist, having unhooked the coveralls she liked to wear around the ship instead of that Cerberus uniform. She didn't quite recall draping her undershirt across the back of the toilet, yet there it lay. Her cheeks burned, and she bit down on her lower lip. If he would just turn a little more, she'd be able to see...ohhhh. He did turn, and she craned her neck painfully to find the best view possible; Garrus was sporting a massive erection, and he'd begun to work on it with a hand, running it between his two ridged fingers, occasionally gripping and stroking. No wonder he'd been in such a damned hurry and then fiddled the lock!

Her sex twinged. Okay, she reasoned. Here's what you're going to do, Shepard: You're going to get yourself off without a sound, like back in basic training when you were never alone, and then you'll pretend this never happened.

As soon as her brain made this deal with itself, her body went after what it wanted. Careful to remain quiet, she wiggled her coveralls and underpants down to her knees and began to work her clit with the pad of her thumb. She brought the fingers of her other hand to her mouth, sucked on them, and then set them to teasing her nipples, one at a time. All the while, her gaze was riveted upon the unwitting turian not fifteen feet away.

This is what I get for hurting him. This is as close as I can get. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she strummed her way toward a speedy, soulless climax. And for his part, Garrus seemed headed toward the same thing, getting off like a madman. His fist was a blur as he handled himself, stopping only occasionally to tease the tapered end or to shift his weight. Shepard began to thrust her fingers into herself in time with his rhythm. Just once, I can pretend.

Her eyes burned from keeping them fixed, unblinking, on Garrus. A sickly little orgasm tried to assert itself, the kind she knew would leave her unsatisfied as soon as it ended, and still she strained toward it, limbs quivering.

And then the bastard stopped. Just took his hand off his dick, and stopped. Hung his head, and uttered two words that clawed at her heart:

"Spirits," he murmured, dripping there in the shower, eyes clamped shut. "Shepard..."

He still wanted her.

She never did figure out exactly how it happened, but suddenly she was standing beside him in the water, not a stitch of clothing on. With eyes still closed, his mind still focused on his arousal, Garrus remained unaware of her presence.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice catching.

Blue eyes snapped open. Immediately, he dropped into a combat stance, then froze. She stayed where she was, arms at her sides, letting him see she wasn't a threat. In her experience, startling soldiers who'd seen repeated, pitched battle was never a smart idea, but she was fresh out of smart ideas. He stared at her for several slow heartbeats before turning his head to the side and opening his mouth to speak.

"Don't question this," Shepard cut in, before he could start. "I'm here because I want to be, and I can take whatever you dish out."

Somehow she expected further protest, but he surprised her: he lunged, gripping her upper arms and slamming her to the wall. Though years of training and reflexes screamed at her to counterattack, she held fast to her few remaining threads of self-control, choosing instead to stand her ground. She'd prove she meant what she said. Her gaze didn't waver from his, although it was a temptation; in the lower portion of her peripheral vision, a very large erection pointed accusingly at her.

Garrus warned, digging his talons into her skin. "Say no, Shepard."

"I'm over the 'no' thing."

And that was how she ended up naked and wet, fucking in the Normandy's men's room shower. No foreplay, no preamble; given the state of their arousal moments ago, none had been necessary. He flung her left knee over his elbow and scooped her up, gripping her ass with his talons. Her right leg dangled, flailing with each thrust as Garrus hilted inside her. Needle-like streams of hot water stung her breasts and pooled at her navel. She reached back and clung to the showerhead for leverage, using it to hook her free leg around his waist and grind back against him. They both groaned at the added sensation and doubled their pace, Garrus spearing into her with a ferocity she hadn't thought possible.

She was at the brink, panting and rocking uncontrollably, and Garrus seemed to be right there with her, when the showerhead wrenched free of the wall and clanged to the floor, cracking a tile. She pitched forward, throwing Garrus off balance and sending him careening backward as water spewed out upon them. Shepard heard a sound like tearing metal, and clutching each other, they toppled.

The hard landing fully impaled her on his length, and she saw stars. Her knees, shins, and hands were probably bruised all to hell.

"Uhhh," she mumbled, getting her bearings. Then, leaning down to look at him, "You okay?" The shock from the fall wasn't lasting long at all; water rocketed from the hole where the shower head had been, landing in great, warm slaps on her back and sending vibrations all the way down to her sex.

"Really need to get off now." He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her closer.

She felt the muscles in her forehead and jaw relax. "Me too. What you said." Completely inarticulate, Shepard rolled her hips once to get the point across.

Message received. He set a furious pace, and she followed him there as her pleasure wound tight, then ribboned outward in waves that made her eyes roll back in her head. Garrus arched beneath her, his rhythm now erratic and urgent, until his hips snapped once more and his breath blossomed against her forehead in a silent roar.

They stayed like that, a shuddering, clasping mess on the flooded bathroom floor, until they were capable of speech. Garrus nudged Shepard's head aside with his chin, bringing his mouth right to her ear.

"What," he growled suspiciously, "was that?"

Aw, hell. She decided to risk it, after all. "A first date?"

There was a long pause. Shepard swallowed with a dry throat, hoping to god he wouldn't reject her while he was still inside of her.

He gave a smirk and eased them both upright. "You are a huge pain in the gizzard, you know that?"

"I know...Garrus, I'm-"

"-The extranet said nothing about bathroom ambushes as part of human mating behavior."

She pulled back to look at him and smiled, confidence returning. "It's not. Not normally. I'll explain-I'll make all this make sense for you as best I can. But, uh..." she scanned the room, "We should clean up and go somewhere less-"

"-Trashed?"

"Yeah."

Standing in the middle of the men's room, Miranda was genuinely stunned. Three inches of standing water before it had leaked out into the corridor, a cracked floor tile, a crater on the far wall, small dents on...everything dentable near the door, a broken lock, a ripped out showerhead, and a three-fingered gash down a side panel. She'd have blamed Grunt, assuming he was in some kind of second puberty fever, but EDI told her a different story.

"It's a wonder the ceiling made it through unscathed," she remarked.

"There is a scuff mark on the ceiling to your right," corrected EDI.

"Well, we'll get all this fixed at the Citadel. Call it damage from the Collector mission."

"That's not far from the truth, anyway," Kelly's voice called from the doorway.

Miranda turned, nodding. "Kelly, how likely do you think it is that this kind of thing will keep happening? It looks like there was a densing bout in here. We can't afford constant repairs."

Kelly sloshed over to Miranda, taking it all in. "Probably never again where we would notice. They're not drama queens, either of them. My bet is that they'll quickly work out a routine that doesn't affect the crew...or the ship."

"Then I think we can pretend, for the record, that this never happened. Agreed?" The former Cerberus operative looked first at Kelly, then meaningfully at EDI's camera lens.

"Agreed," said Kelly, cheerfully.

"Agreed," stated EDI, already in the process of deleting surveillance footage.