Sitting on the plush seats, Garrus looks up when the bathroom door opens, expecting Shepard to come out and join him. Instead, he's greeted by the fumbling of the fan switch and her naked form, sprawled across the counter next to the sink. Her hands wipe messily at the mirror, fogged up from the shower, and Garrus nearly chokes on his own saliva.
At first, Garrus thinks to run out the door and into the elevator ASAP. They just had the "blowing off steam" talk a few days ago, and he isn't ready to impress the commander, just yet. She doesn't even know he's here at t all; he just wanted to stop by with a drink or two in hand and chat. Well then, what in the world is she doing with her face nearly plastered against the mirror?
Her hands work at her eyes, rubbing frantically, pulling at the eyelids. That's it, she's probably got something stuck – "Dammit!" he hears echoing through the room – and Garrus relaxes slightly before snapping his mandibles in again. As a wooing gentleman, it would probably be best if he tried to help her somehow. It's more of a delicate situation than maybe pulling husks off her armor, but if he has her six on the battlefield, why not with this too? He stands up decisively, meandering around the desk to get to her, but the closer he gets, the slower he walks.
Her face disappears behind the wall as he's caught between it and the bed, and all he sees now is her round bottom in the doorway, wiggling in the air as she pokes her eyes harder. One leg kicks the air, slightly raised, and Shepard's naked body reveals a femininity to Garrus that he almost forgot she had.
As he rounds the corner, he sees the expanse of her back and the slightly damp fringe – hair, he means, hair – that just barely tickles her shoulder blades. He sees the rivulets of water, rolling down from under her hair, trickling to the small of her back. The droplets slow as they reach the more plateaued surface of her bottom, before gravity drags them down and they swing low to the seated curve, gathering together and drip dropping down her legs. Her back heaves with the effort she's making, leaning into and away from the mirror. Breathy pants emerge from the door, littered with expletives.
His mouth feels dry. If he could be any bluer from the blood rushing to his face, he'd probably be the same color as Gardner's asari-inspired calamari gumbo, and that's saying something.
I gotta go, he mouths to nobody in particular, leaving just in time to hear the defeated sigh of Shepard's war with her eyeballs before the woosh of her cabin doors release him from the sight that he'll probably never be able to get rid of.
5 minutes later, he comes back with his heart still thumping in his ear. The doors slide open without his prompting, and he spots Shepard sitting where he was, drinking the levo beverage, his own bottle still sitting on the table. This would've been the second time that he felt an irresistible urge to bolt out of her room today, but she sees him, and he is trapped.
"Garrus!" she smiles, and he gulps.
"Shepard-"
"I don't mind it, but please… it's just 'Aislin' to you," she mimics him with a barely contained laugh. "I hope you don't mind that I cracked this one open without waiting for you. Where did you go?"
"Uh…" he clamps his mouth shut, and tries again. "Err, I was uhh…"
She tilts her head, crooked eyebrow rising up, and gives him that same grin as when he fumbled over her tie breaker suggestion. There's only the slightest bit of teasing, but when he notices the flash of worry on her face, he rushes to answer.
"I had to use the bathroom." He finally stammers out lamely. That was a stupid thing to say. He resists the urge to crawl behind her bed and hide.
Shepard gives a small laugh, pats the seat next to her. "Yeah, I just had an issue myself in the bathroom. I guess I didn't wash the shampoo out of my hair well enough after my shower." She continues to tell her story as Garrus sits down next to her, slightly relieved but still uncomfortable.
He avoids looking at her face. The bathroom lights are turned off, and most of the steam is gone now. He could still glimpse the shadow of her naked body, pressed against the sink counter if he closed his eyes. Peering at her out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the way parts of her hair pressed against her skin, damp and slick, how her cheeks were still red from the heat of the shower. Aislin, he repeats to himself, tastes the word in his mouth, and now he's plagued by the curiosity of how she would taste as he murmurs her name into the small of her back, dragging his cold talons along the heat of her body. Would she still give her light chuckle? Would it turn into a giggle? Or maybe it would be the same breathy, gasping sounds as when the silhouette of her impatient body-
Thank the spirits he's not Krios, because slipping into memory out loud right now would be absolutely terrifying.