(Saren/Shepard, and pretty dark. You are warned.)

This was the underbelly of the Citadel that few people ever saw, where the heavier vices sank and settled and festered. Worse than Chora's Den, worse than the lower wards. It was too easy to infiltrate this place, even with the Council putting a price on his head and a hound on his trail, too easy to hide in the shadows and wait.

This was where he'd met her all those years ago, long before Eden Prime, when he'd first seen her with a few other Alliance marines looking for some cheap fun. He'd recognized her as Anderson's little protege...and spotted a wonderful opportunity.

He never told her his name. There was no point when she was drunk off her sorry human ass, blindfolded and naked in a back room, utterly at his mercy. A feral grin twisted his face as he imagined that first coupling, violent and desperate. He hadn't expected anything more from her. It started out as just another way of taking a swipe at Anderson, his own private little joke.

But every time she was on the Citadel, she came back to this place.

And every time, Saren Arterius was waiting for her.

It happened like clockwork, had happened for years now. She'd come here alone, drink enough to pickle a krogan. He'd place a hand on her neck and steer her toward the same room, and blindfold her. He never said a word. She never knew who he was, but the way she'd writhe and beg beneath him as he fucked her senseless, she clearly didn't care. He took it out on her, his hate for her kind, his loathsome lust for her.

Tonight, however, he was planning something special. His way of saying "congratulations" to her recent appointment as a Spectre.


Shepard looked around nervously, picking at her civvies as she approached the darkened bar. Indulging her worst, darkest guilty lust was dangerous-she was unarmed, alone, and no one else knew where she was. It had to be this way, or he wouldn't come. Every time she checked herself afterwords, spreading med-gel over the claw marks and scrapes, wincing at the stiffness in her shoulders and neck, she told herself it would be the last time.

This time, it had to be. She was going to Therum in a few days, starting her hunt for Saren. There wouldn't be time for dangerous habits any more. She was quitting cold turkey.

Somewhere into the third set of shots, it occurred to her that this was quite a way to celebrate. Get drunk off her ass, fucked senseless, then turn up the next day for a final inspection of the Normandy before leaving. But she couldn't help it. She needed to feel him, his claws and his teeth and his tearing lust, just one more time. If only the Alliance could see her now.

He always came when the world started swirling. None of the other bar patrons approached her-they knew why she was there, whose she was. And on cue, she felt a cold, clawed hand on the back of her neck, juxtaposed with the soft blindfold slipping over her eyes.

Forty two steps to the back room. Click as the door opened, his heavy breaths hot against her neck. Her body quivered with anticipation, and she heard his whispering chuckle.

Two clicks. Secure locks. She felt him guiding her to the bed, his hand vice-like on her neck. Her knees bumped against the mattress, and she felt his hands spinning her around to face him. A long, pointed tongue tickled her neck before the room was suddenly flooded with light so bright she could see it through the blindfold.

She gave a cry of surprise-this wasn't supposed to happen. This never happened. There was a soft laugh in her ear. "Shepard," he whispered, the cruel chuckle still in his voice.

Shit.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She shoved him away with a hard kick, hearing his pained grunt with satisfaction. Her hands came up and ripped the blindfold off. There was something familiar about his voice, but she'd worry about that after she beat the piss out of him.

The black cloth fell away, her eyes watering in the suddenly bright light. His blurry form stood up, advancing on her when she suddenly froze, eyes widening to the size of saucers.

"...Mary, mother of fuck."

Before she knew it, there was a gun pointed at her head. Saren's hard body pressed against her back, one arm hooked around her throat, just tightly enough to make her gasp for air. "Shepard," he repeated. "What marvelous irony."

"You knew, you son of a bitch," she whispered, voice shaking.

"You humans are foolishly trusting." The safety of Saren's pistol clicked, the barrel pressing painfully against her temple. "Incidentally, I believe congratulations are in order."

Hate bubbled up within her, hot and bright, and she sank her teeth into his forearm. Saren grunted and tightened his stranglehold, dragging her back toward the bed. She gasped and scrabbled for air to no avail. Fear and hatred had partially sobered her mind, but not her body, and he was far too strong.

He hurled her down on the bed, her head hitting the mattress so hard she saw stars. Then, to her astonishment, he holstered his gun and began removing his armor, tossing his weapons casually across the room, out of her reach.

"You can't be serious," she said, mouth agape.

His response was to hook one claw in her collar and pull, ripping her shirt from neck to navel.

Something kept her there, on the bed, staring at him in horrified fascination. The alcohol in her system, no doubt, making her slow and stupid, but there was more than that. Saren's eerily glowing eyes burned with hate, menace...and something altogether different. But he hadn't shot her. She was still alive, though she wouldn't last long against him unarmed in a fight.

Never had she seen him in the light. He was lean and muscular, metal implants interweaving with the hard flesh. He laughed mirthlessly as he towered over her, completely naked. That grafted synthetic arm came up to cup her cheek and she turned away, biting the inside of her cheek and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Cling to straws all you like, Shepard. But I was the one you came to time and again." His other hand opened her ruined shirt, resting against one of her breasts.

His voice dropped to a dangerously soft purr. "Now tell me...has any of that changed?"

His claws pinched at her nipple through the fabric, and an inadvertent whimper slipped from her lips. She turned and glared up at him as he joined her on the bed and pushed her legs open.

"Lecherous bastard," she spat.

Saren's face twisted. "You think I wouldn't give anything to be rid of you, Shepard?" His synthetic arm moved to her neck and squeezed, but she didn't flinch. She knew what was coming next, and it didn't involve her death.

Her eyes held his, calling his bluff. If he'd wanted to kill her, there were countless opportunities long before this, where she'd been spent and helpless beneath him. And he'd never made a move. The same twisted compulsion that had plagued them both for years was now going to save her life...and his.

Saren snarled. He'd wanted to see her break upon realizing exactly who had been taking her. Instead, those human eyes held a defiant challenge, asked him if he could still stomach doing this, told him that she could.

Her hand reached out to grip his arousal, roughly tugging him closer. He let out a hiss of pleasure and pain, allowing himself to be pulled in. She wiggled out from under him, her shirt still gaping open, and got on her knees before him, tongue running over her pale red lips.

"Get rid of your clothes first," he snapped. She raised an eyebrow before obliging, stripping with military efficiency before crouching before him once more. He stifled a moan as her mouth wrapped around him. This was a trait humans had that he didn't detest.

He tasted like heat and metal, bitter and sweet and biting. Both his hands came up to grip her head, dictating her pace. She heard his breathing grow steadily more ragged, heavier pants and eventually moans as she swirled her tongue and teeth over him.

"...enough."

He hauled her to her feet and stood, pinning her against the closest wall. But he wasn't rough like he usually was. He took his time, sliding into her body with long, slow thrusts. He wanted her to know exactly who was taking her.

She didn't look away. Not once did she back down, even with his sharp hips digging into hers, his claws biting into her shoulders. Her hands slid along his skin, touching steel and flesh, everything she could reach.

Every time he did this, he told himself he'd kill her after it was over, end his own addiction. He never had, and at this rate, he never would.

He began quickening his pace, and soon she was moaning and gasping, still pinned between him and the cold metal wall. Heat and ice played along her flushed skin-the metal at her back and implanted in his body, the searing touch of his hands and skin. She buried her face in his shoulder and bit to stifle her cries, relishing his startled growl.

"Shepard..." he whispered, menace in every syllable. He could feel her moans and gasps against his shoulder, her body beginning to shake. Savage pleasure ripped through him when she screamed his name, heedless of time or place. He groaned and gave one final thrust, his whole body shuddering violently.

The world tilted when Saren abruptly pulled away from her, causing her to lose her balance and stumble forward. He laughed and tossed her some paper towels to clean herself up.

She didn't even think of Saren's gun, still lying discarded in the corner. All she could do was collapse on the bed, alcohol and ecstasy keeping her in a delirious haze. They were still enemies, but not mortal ones. Not until they left the strangeness of this place. He laid down next to her, his synthetic arm absently stroking her skin.

"Get some dextro alcohol for yourself next time," she muttered.

"If you're stupid enough to show your face here again, I'll kill you. I'd be doing the galaxy a service."

She poked him between his chest plates-hard. "No, you won't."

He wanted to prove her wrong so badly. But all he could do was glare at her, with her wry, self-loathing smile as he pushed her beneath him once more.