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His cock is impossibly hard and throbbing painfully, his balls aching for release.
Ignore it. It'll go down eventually, it always does.
He works his soap into a lather and scrubs himself clean, working the suds into his chest hair, under his arms, reaching for his back.
But it doesn't go down. Every stray drop of water that falls onto his dick from the shower head makes him shiver. Even the humid air circulating around it feels powerfully erotic. Glossy precrum pours from his tip as the soap suds that stream down his torso fork around the base of his twitching cock, running down his balls and thighs.
Why am I so fucking horny? All the time?
He knows why. Of course he does. But he can't think about it, definitely can't act on it. Not right now. Not on the ship.
But even indirectly thinking of the Commander causes his cock to throb.
Gritting his teeth, he washes his arms, legs, and face. And that just leaves…
Ugh.
Every time he showers – the only time he's truly alone with his thoughts – the problem gets worse. Logically he knows that if he doesn't do something to take care of it soon, eventually it'll take care of itself… likely, in his sleeper pod. That thought makes him go cold with dread.
Sigh.
Checking for the tenth time that the door is definitely locked, he wraps his hand snugly around his cock. He can feel the heat spreading across his cheeks and knows he must be blushing as he lowers his other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling them with his fingers. He whimpers softly as his palm brushes against his frenulum, his fist curling closed around the intensely sensitive head of his dick.
He strokes himself slowly, still not sure he really wants to do this. It feels so wrong. And he can't shake the feeling that somehow, Shepard will know. Or that someone is about to walk in. But he can't deny that this isn't just going to go away on its own.
He turns around, leaning back against the wall to at least keep an eye on the door, so he can see immediately if the lock disengages.
Do I even have time for this? I need to be out of here in 10 minutes.
He picks up his pace, his hand pumping quickly now, trying to make himself come so this can be over with. It feels good, and he rolls his head back to rest on the wall behind him. But even after several minutes at this arm-tiring pace he's still no closer to orgasm.
Fuck... I need to come...
Cringing, his insides knotted with mortification and his face burning with sick shame, he swallows hard and closes his eyes, imagining Shepard: naked, pinned beneath him, the tip of his cock pressing against–
He yelps pitifully as a thick rope of hot cum immediately spurts from the head of his cock, nearly hitting the wall across the room. His whole body trembles, his abdomen curling in on itself as another load follows, and another and another, each shot falling just short of the last as he whimpers helplessly, barely able to stand without the support of the wall behind him. Eventually he empties the last gush of ejaculate in a stream down his knuckles, his balls still spasming, cock twitching, abs quivering.
Panting and shaking, his arms and legs boneless and little whimpers still escaping him beyond his control, he shrinks under a new wave of humiliation at how unbelievably, pathetically fast he came at the idea, the mere concept, of fucking the Commander.
I'm fucked, he thinks miserably, scrubbing his cum off the shower floor.