ugly bag of mostly voyager

“I want you to be my first officer.”

 

You stand before me in your ready room, crowding my space, a bundle of contradictions with your tight-ass bun and your bones like a bird’s. You did that on the bridge as well, when I snarled at Paris and you stepped between us, as though your small body presented a formidable barrier, one I couldn’t have swatted aside without blinking. Well, you were right. From the moment I saw you up close, you ruled me.

 

And you knew it.

 

“I’ve lost too many of my crew to maintain Voyager’s systems. You’ve lost your ship. The obvious solution is for us to team up. Work together to get our people home.”

 

You are so decisive, so sure of yourself. Your eyes are clear with your own conviction. I watch your mouth as you speak, the line of your jaw. I want to bury my fingers in your hair, tilt back your head, kiss that beautiful mouth.

 

“We’ll be a Starfleet crew, holding fast to Federation principles and regulations.” You pause, momentarily. “You’ll wear the uniform.”

 

I want to sink my teeth into your throat, bend you backwards. Hear you moan.

 

I incline my head. “I’ll accept.”

 

You’re already smiling, relaxing, turning away. You think you’ve won.

 

“On one condition.”

 

You turn back, your eyes wary.

 

“I’ll obey your orders, and so will my crew,” I tell you. “I’ll wear your uniform. I’ll follow your protocols.” I pause and add, “Except one.”

 

“And that would be?”

 

“The only one you want me to break.”

 

You stare at me, and then you understand and I see your anger. “You’re out of line, Commander,” you snap, emphasis on my rank. Another woman might step back, out of my reach, but you … You step closer. You want me to know you’re not afraid of me. You want me to know you’re in control.

 

“It’s your decision, Captain,” I reply. “But you need me. And I’m not your first officer yet.”

 

I watch your eyes change.

 

I’ve given you what you need. Your rationale, your justification. You tell yourself you can do this, just once, if this is my price. You tell yourself it won’t mean anything. You tell yourself it will never happen again.

 

You don’t know that once I’ve had you, I don’t plan on ever letting you go. You don’t know that once you’ve had me, you won’t want to go.

 

I read your face, the shifting shadows in your eyes, see the moment you come to your decision. Your chin lifts; you nod, once. “Let’s get it over with.”

 

You intend your words to anger me, and they do. I grab hold of the neckline of your jacket with both hands and yank downwards. The sound of ripping fabric shakes something loose in me. I shove my hands under your turtleneck, pushing it upward on my wrists, bend down and take your nipple between my teeth. You gasp; your hands flutter slightly at your sides, and then you clench them into fists. I have one hand on your breast, the other working at the fastening of your pants. I push them down your legs, drop to my knees, hook my thumbs over your panties and drag them down. You part your thighs for me. I don’t think you knew you were going to do that. I look up at you and see that your eyes are dark, your lips parted. I don’t let you see my smile. I bury my face between your legs and lick into you, suck at you, nip you. You moan and stagger backward, your hands clutching for the edge of your desk.

 

I stand, turn you, push you face-down onto your desk with my hand on the base of your back, holding you immobile. I unfasten my pants. I don’t remember ever being so hard. I press against you, lightly, just the head of my cock at your entrance. I feel your shiver. You’re wet. I wonder how long you’ve been so wet.

 

I look down at you, legs spread, uniform pooled at your feet, head turned and white throat angled awkwardly toward me. My hand on your hip looks so dark on your pale, pale skin. I stroke the small of your back, my thumb dipping lower. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. Your body betrays you, hips raising against my hand. I want you with a shock so intense it robs my breath, yet, for a moment, poised to plunge inside you, I hesitate.

 

“Do it,” you command, huskily. Only the slight hitch in your voice betrays your tenuous grip on control.

 

Even now, you try to take charge, and I won’t allow it. You want me to take you hard, like an animal; you want to write me off as the Maquis brute you fucked to save your crew.

 

I won’t let you take this from me.

 

I step back, away from you, watch as you press involuntarily backward, hear your small moan at the loss of contact. I take your hand, tug you upright, turn you to face me. You watch me like you’re small prey. I raise my hand to your hair and you flinch, infinitesimally, but stand fast. I never let my gaze leave yours as I take the hairpins out, one by one, let your hair slide down in heavy drifts. I tangle my fingers in it, gently, and then I bend to kiss your long white throat, and I know I’ve hit upon exactly the right combination to make you weak. Serendipity, or have I just figured you out so well already?

 

It’s like magic. You shudder and sigh, rising onto the balls of your feet and angling your neck for me. I can feel the heart beating in your slender frame, the strength in your fingers as you clutch onto my shirt. I bite lightly at your collarbone through the turtleneck and feel your hips press into mine. I lick delicately at your nipple, exposed beneath the pushed-up turtleneck, and feel you jerk against me, so I gather you in my arms and seat you on the edge of your desk, standing between your legs. You’re clutching at me, your fingers digging into my hips, your teeth making marks in your lower lip.

 

You can’t meet my eyes. This is not acceptable, so I hold back, even though it’s killing me, even though all I want to do right now is bury myself inside you, and I whisper against your ear, “Tell me you want me.”

 

“No.” The slight forward movement of your hips contradicts your own words.

 

I stroke your arm, your naked back, your waist. “But you do want me, Captain. Admit it.”

 

“No.” Your voice catches this time. You’re trembling. I let my lips drift over your cheekbone, feel you tip your face up, watch you close your eyes. Your lips are parted. I lick at the corner of your mouth and feel you exhale, shakily.

 

“Say it.”

 

“Please.” It’s a whisper. I don’t think you even know what you’re pleading for. All I know is that I need to taste your lips. So I kiss you.

 

Your mouth yields to mine and you taste indescribable, and I know in that instant that I’ve made a fatal mistake. Until now I’ve held control – barely - but kissing you is my undoing. You make a small sound in your throat and your hands creep up to my chest, one circling behind my neck, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me closer. And I… I fall into you. One moment I’m holding myself back, containing myself until you submit to me, and the next I’m the one surrendering. I’m yours. Completely, whole-heartedly yours.

 

It feels something like love.

 

It’s this shock of understanding that makes me drag myself away from you, my lips leaving yours, my hands dropping from your body. I don’t want to take you anymore. I want you to come to me of your own free will, give yourself to me, with no hesitation, no regrets. This is not a power game, not anymore. I’ve already lost. I’m lost. So why do I feel as though I’ve just this moment found everything I never knew I wanted?

 

“Chakotay?”

 

Your voice is husky, hazed with desire and confusion. Your hands still grip my shirt. I realise I’m staring at you. I wonder if I look as shell-shocked as I feel.

 

“I’m sorry.” I can barely get the words out. I’m stepping backward, fumbling to tuck myself back into my pants, trying like hell not to look at you sitting on your desk with your clothes in disarray and your hair spilling down your back and that flush on your cheekbones. I can’t look at you or I’ll want nothing more than to take you in my arms again, and at this moment, I’m too ashamed to even think of it. Words stumble from my mouth. “I should never have done this. I’ll be your first officer, or anything you want me to be on this ship, if you still want that. Or I’ll get off your ship. Just put me off on the Ocampa planet and –”

 

“Chakotay, stop.”

 

I stop.

 

You tug your turtleneck down and slip off the desk, fastening your pants. I watch from the corner of my eye as you bend to pick up your jacket, intending to slip it on, realise it’s beyond salvation and discard it. I watch you collect the hairpins from your desk, twist your hair behind your head. The sex-flush fades from your cheekbones and you take a deep breath. You step toward me and now I’m the one flinching, but you don’t give me that death glare you’re so good at. You place one dainty hand on my chest to make sure you have my attention. I can’t help but meet your eyes; yours are calm and clear.

 

“I have no intention of putting you off the ship,” you say. “I can’t combine our two crews without your help, and without your crew I can’t get my people home. I need you, Commander. We need each other.”

 

I can’t stop myself from asking. “But this … what just happened here… what I did. How do we deal with this?”

 

You smile, but it’s not a happy smile. “I think I’ve been clear about my intention to run a Starfleet ship, Commander. That includes following non-fraternisation protocols.” You pause, and when you speak again your gaze drops and your voice is softer. “And you weren’t the only participant.”

 

“I started it.” I can’t hide the shame in my voice. “It was inappropriate and insulting, and it was wrong of me.”

 

“Yes,” you answer, “it was. But I’m willing to look past it for the sake of our working arrangement.”

 

“So we forget this ever happened?” This is what I was hoping for, isn’t it? So why does it make me feel so desolate?

 

“We don’t have a choice.” For a moment, I think perhaps your voice wavers slightly, but you straighten, your gaze on my face. “So, what’s it to be, Commander? Will you accept my terms and work with me?”

 

I know, if I accept this, that I’ll never kiss you again, never touch your skin, never bury myself inside you, never hold you while you come, never make love to you. Never, unless a miracle happens and we make it back home before we die. I’ll sit beside you on your bridge every day for the rest of my life, knowing you’re at arm’s length and knowing you might as well be light years from me.

 

But if I accept, I’ll be there to support you, to steady you, to help you in any way that I can. I’ll be your friend, your conscience, your sounding board - whatever you need me to be. I’ll be there by your side for as long as it takes to get home. And somehow, as I look at you, I know you’ll get us home.

 

You were right. The solution is obvious.

 

You’re watching me, waiting for my answer. I look down at you and meet your clear gaze with one of my own. “It would be my honour to accept, Captain.”

 

Your answering smile is so brilliant that in that moment I realise I don’t need to reach the Alpha quadrant to find my home. I’m already here.