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Summary: Captains have needs, just like everybody else. Even Vulcans agree. And this captain is lucky enough to have a very attentive, very capable first officer.


Characters: Janeway, Chakotay

Codes: Janeway/Chakotay


Disclaimer: Paramount/CBS own the Star Trek franchise, but what the characters do in the privacy of their own quarters, ready rooms or holodecks is their own business.


Notes: Set late in Season 3. This story is about sex. Lots and lots of sex. Some of the sex may not be your cup of tea, so please heed the warning.


Warning: Kinky stuff within. If you don’t like reading about consenting adults getting up to no good, you should probably read something else.

Rated E

Chapter Three: Games


Day 7, 1620 hours, Ready Room



“Enter,” Kathryn calls as the ready room door chimes, and smiles when Chakotay comes in carrying a PADD. “What’s that you’ve got there?”


“B’Elanna’s report on the system failures.” He takes the seat in front of her desk and hands her the PADD. “She’s corrected the problems with the EPS relays and repaired the malfunctioning deflector controls, but now the replicators in the mess hall are experiencing random overloads. Ensign Baytart had to be taken to Sickbay with second-degree burns after his lunch incinerated in his face. He’s fine,” Chakotay adds hastily as Kathryn stares at him in alarm.


Kathryn scrolls through the PADD. “The armoury hatch controls, the deflector dish, the stellar cartography imaging array, now the replicators on deck two – Chakotay, how can all these systems possibly be experiencing malfunctions almost simultaneously? Is it the gelpacks? Do we have another macrovirus on board?”


She’s only half-joking, and Chakotay grins. “I had the Doctor scan all the biofilters and he couldn’t find any evidence of a virus.”


“What about a technological one?” Kathryn sobers at the thought.


“I’ve had Harry checking that possibility, too. So far he hasn’t found anything suspicious.”


“Get Tuvok to work with Harry on it,” Kathryn orders.


Chakotay leans forward in his seat, brow furrowing. “Is this a serious concern, Captain? You think there might be another saboteur on board?”


“No, not really,” she sighs. “I’m just grasping at straws. Unexplained malfunctions keep me up at night.”


He looks like he’s about to say something mischievous – she notes the appearance of a dimple – then clearly thinks better of it. “Understood. I’ll inform Tuvok. In the meantime, would I be right in guessing you haven’t eaten today?”


Kathryn raises an eyebrow. “I hope you’re not suggesting we try the mess hall replicators. I prefer my face the way it is.”


“I’m exceedingly fond of it too,” Chakotay smirks. “No, I was going to sacrifice some of my rations to the cause. Unless you think your replicator is behaving even more badly than usual?” He cocks his head toward the replicator behind her desk.


“You want to buy me lunch?” She can’t help quirking the corner of her mouth and glancing up at him flirtatiously. “Who am I to argue, Commander?”


Chakotay stands and offers her his hand. “You’re the captain,” he teases, “but in this case arguing wouldn’t do you any good.”


Kathryn takes his hand and follows him over to the replicator, leaning against the wall beside it as he orders her a serving of vegetable bouillon. “Is there ever any point to arguing with you?”


“Depends.” He raises an eyebrow at the low purr in her voice as he hands her a mug of bouillon. “What do you feel like arguing about, Kathryn? Crew evaluations? Course corrections?” He leans in and her breath quickens. “Sexual positions?”


“Chakotay,” she flushes. “We’re on duty.”


That dimple flashes at her again and she can tell he’s sorely tempted to offer her a dirty rejoinder, but instead he straightens and sweeps an arm out, indicating she should precede him to the couches below the viewport. “Aye, Captain.”


“And stop staring at my ass,” she mutters over her shoulder, throwing him a low-level glare that’s ruined by the smirk she can’t suppress.


He’s still grinning as he scoops up an armful of PADDs from her desk and follows her up to the lounge level.


“Here,” he says, “you look over the Engineering report while I check Harry’s virus scans.”


She reaches to take the PADD from him, forgetting she’s already holding her mug of soup, and spills it liberally down the front of her uniform. “Shit!”


“Kathryn!” Chakotay grabs the cup and sets it on the coffee table, then pulls her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”


“I’m fine –“ She peels off the jacket and glares down at her sodden turtleneck. “I’m a mess. And so is the carpet.”


“Go clean up,” he waves her toward the ‘fresher, “I’ll deal with the carpet.”


In her tiny bathroom she strips to the waist, realising the soup has leaked all the way through to her bra, and stands over the sink. “Damn it,” she grumbles, scrubbing uselessly at the stain on her turtleneck.


“Kathryn?” she hears from the next room. “Are you all right?”


“Fine, I just –”


She doesn’t hear him coming. His reflection appears in the mirror before her and she gasps, dropping the turtleneck into the sink and covering herself with her hands. Then she realises how ridiculous that is and lowers them, trying not to blush at the heat in his eyes as he stares at her.


“My uniform is ruined,” she mumbles.


“I’ll replicate you a new one.” Chakotay lets his gaze travel slowly over the bare lines of her back, then disappears from view.


Even her pants are stained, she realises in annoyance, kicking off her boots and tugging the trousers down her legs. She tosses them in the sink and grabs a towel to wipe at the places where the soup has dampened her skin.


“Those,” Chakotay murmurs from behind her as he places a fresh uniform on the bench, “are most definitely not Starfleet issue.”


He comes up close, placing his hands on her hipbones and tracing the edges of her skimpy cotton panties with his thumbs. “Chakotay,” she protests, but it sounds half-hearted even to her, and as he presses up against her back and she feels his rapidly hardening cock rub against her, she bites her lip and grips the edge of the sink.


He kisses the back of her neck as his fingers delve into the crease of her thighs, and she groans, “We can’t –“


“You’re right, it’s completely inappropriate,” his voice rumbles against her neck, sending a shiver through her. He moves one hand up to cup her breast, lightly squeezing her nipple between his fingers. “What if Tuvok walked in and found us? You, almost naked with my hands on you.”


Her involuntary moan is loud enough to embarrass her.


“Although from what you’ve told me, he might actually approve.” Chakotay taps a fingertip on her clit through the cotton panties and Kathryn bucks, head falling back against his chest.


“I don’t think –” she gasps as his fingers rub against her quickly-dampening underwear, “that this is what he had in mind…”


“Well, if you really want me to stop…” he withdraws his hands, placing them outside hers on the edge of the sink.


She mewls in displeasure, pouting slightly as she meets his glinting eyes in the mirror.


“It’s probably for the best,” he pretends to sigh, stepping away from her. “I’ll wait in the ready room while you make yourself presentable.”


Kathryn presses her lips together to stop herself from demanding he return his hands and mouth to their previous positions. “Right,” she mutters.


“Oh, one thing, Kathryn?” He leans over and plucks a small object that’s sitting on top of her freshly replicated uniform. “Before you get dressed, I want you to put this on.”


“What is it?”


“It’s probably easier if I show you.”


She sucks in a sharp breath as his hand dives down the front of her panties, and she feels something warm and flat and pliable attach itself to her clitoris and mould itself up inside her, along her front wall. “Cha- God! What is that?”


“You’ll see.” He removes his hand, pats her lightly on the behind, and saunters out wearing a disconcertingly smug grin.




Sealed into her fresh uniform, Kathryn returns to her ready room with her chin held high to find Chakotay on her sofa, sipping a cup of tea and perusing a PADD. He glances up at her approach, gives her a brief smile and returns to reading Ensign Kim’s report on the computer virus scan.


She glares at him for a moment but he remains unaware – or, more likely, unconcerned – so she sits huffily beside him and snatches the Engineering report from the coffee table.


She holds out for almost five minutes, scrolling impatiently through Lieutenant Torres’ extremely thorough report, before she slaps the PADD down on the coffee table.


“What exactly is this – thing you …?” she presses her lips together, fuming.


Chakotay keys off his PADD and reaches for another, stretching his legs out. “Curiosity killed the cat … Kat.”


Her jaw drops, just a little bit. “What did you call me?”


One dimple appears, but his eyes don’t rise from the PADD.


“Commander,” she uses that tone that makes ensigns stutter and Vulcans stand straighter, “explain what you put in – what you did to me or you may just find yourself scrubbing the lavatories on deck fifteen for the next three weeks. On Gamma shift.”


He grins, finally looking at her. “You really want to know, Kathryn?”


She doesn’t deign to answer, simply raises an eyebrow.


“All right.” Chakotay sets the PADD beside him and opens his hand to show her a small device. He makes a slight movement of his thumb across it, and fire licks across Kathryn’s clitoris, spreading through her belly, making her yelp and shudder. Chakotay twitches his thumb again and she feels – tendrils? – winding their way inside her, rippling against her inner walls as vibrations curl around her clit. She gasps and arches and falls back on the couch, her body throbbing, moisture pooling fresh between her legs. The tremors increase and she moans and twists and writhes, and just as she’s about to explode, it stops.


She lies there panting until her vision clears, and then she sits up slowly and turns to stare at Chakotay.


“You put a – sex toy inside me?”


“I did,” his eyes are calm, amused.


“There are …” she swallows, gets her breath back, “little vines extending from it. Inside me. When you pushed that button.”


“It’s called a Deltan trembler.” Chakotay grins. “Want to try it again?”


Her mouth opens – she doesn’t know whether to be horrified or thrilled – and she finds herself saying, “God, yes.”


Chakotay closes his hand over the device. “Maybe later.”




He indicates the PADD she discarded. “Get back to work like a good girl, and maybe I’ll reward you later.”


She’s about to protest, but something keeps her quiet. Instead she picks up the PADD and tries her hardest to concentrate. She’s finally managing to actually pay attention to B’Elanna’s report when she feels it – a low, subtle hum, a gentle throb, tendrils twisting and pulsing inside her. She tries not to moan, but her thighs fall apart and her head tips back of its own accord. Heat licks through her, tensing her thighs and hardening her nipples, the waves of pleasure building until she arches her back. The small tendrils inside her seem to grow, twist together, vibrating and rippling and stretching her until she has to grip the arm of the couch to keep herself from falling to the floor. A desperate whine escapes her and she feels the intensity rise and rise until she crests the wave and surges through her climax, shaking and gasping and gulping for air.


When she opens her eyes, Chakotay is kneeling beside the couch, his gaze fixed on her face. His eyes are dark with need.


“I love watching you come,” his voice is roughened. “You are so beautiful.”


Kathryn hooks a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him close, kissing him greedily. Her tongue sweeps inside his mouth and her hands raise to fumble with his uniform jacket, and he groans and pulls back gently, holding her hands in his.


“We don’t have time,” he smiles regretfully. “But I’ll see you tonight.”


She sits up, flustered. “Tonight? I don’t have holodeck time booked.”


“The party,” he reminds her. “Kes’ birthday. 2000 hours on Holodeck One.”


“Oh,” she can’t hide her disappointment, then glances up at him slyly. “Do you want your, uh, trembler back?”


“Keep it.” Chakotay gets to his feet, grinning down at her. “I might want to use it on you again sometime.”


“Aren’t you concerned?” Kathryn leans back against the couch, idly tracing a finger down the length of her neck, and watches his gaze wander to its movement.


“Concerned?” he sounds distracted.


“Well, if I have this,” she watches him through her lashes, “what do I need you for?”


Chakotay laughs. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Casual dress – Kes insists on it.” He turns for the door. “Oh, and Kathryn?”




“Don’t wear any panties tonight.”




2000 hours, Holodeck One



It’s possible that Kathryn overcompensates for following Chakotay’s directive by selecting the staidest dress she can find in her closet. Black, modestly cut with a neckline that barely reveals her collarbones and a skirt that falls to mid-calf, it clearly pleases Chakotay nonetheless, if the widening of his eyes and the slow head-to-toe visual sweep when she lets him into her quarters is any indication. She twists her hair into a loose chignon and hooks in some jet earrings Phoebe gave her for a long-ago birthday, slips her feet into low-heeled shoes and tells him she’s ready.


In the turbolift, he stands slightly behind her and to the left as always, and the warmth radiating from his chest makes her want to lean back into him. She’s still on edge from her climax earlier – one orgasm has never been enough to satisfy her, and now that she knows how Chakotay can play her body until she’s limp and wrung out from pleasure, her nerves are humming with the need for more – but it’s more than that. She thinks about the way he looks at her when she comes, the gentle way he holds her and strokes her hair when they’ve reached the point of physical satiation, the way he kisses her goodnight.


What would it be like if instead of leaving the holodeck separately after they’ve satisfied their carnal needs, they could lie naked and entwined in a bed, her cheek pillowed on his chest and his arms wrapped around her as they fell asleep? What would it be like, waking up with him, kissing him gently with sleep-slack lips before they made lazy, languorous love?


I can’t afford to be preoccupied with some love affair, she’d protested when Tuvok pointed out that starving herself of physical contact with another human being was detrimental to her emotional health, and he’d replied, I don’t believe I mentioned a love affair.


That’s not what this is, she reminds herself, curling her nails into her palms as she fights the urge to relax back into Chakotay’s arms. This is sex, nothing more.


The turbolift arrives on deck six and she feels Chakotay’s hand resting warm on her lower back, guiding her, letting her know he’s there, just as he always does. It’s ridiculous that the simple gesture makes her blink back tears, and so she bites her lip until the tears melt away and moves briskly down the corridor to the holodeck.


It’s easy to push it aside as they enter the holodeck and she pastes on her practiced smile, greeting the crew, wishing Kes a happy birthday. She intends to follow her usual pattern – one drink she nurses throughout the evening, a little conspicuous mingling, then a judicious retreat to her quarters when she decides she’s put in enough of an appearance. Chakotay, however, has other ideas.


“Dance with me,” he murmurs, coming up behind her and making her startle.


“You know I can’t.” She smiles brightly at Ensign Macomak and Crewman Gennaro as they pass.


“All right, how about a game?” He indicates the pool table, where Paris has just finished soundly whipping Lieutenant Hargrove.


Kathryn quirks a smile. “Oh, you think you can take me?”


“You really don’t want me to answer that in polite company, Kathryn.”


She flicks him a glance from under her lashes. “Pool isn’t really the game I’d rather be playing tonight, Chakotay.”


He gives her a hot look in return, and she hopes fervently that nobody’s watching them too closely. “Tell me more,” he suggests, inching a little closer. She feels her shoulder brush his chest and fights the urge to press back against his hips.


“I followed your instructions,” she whispers.


Chakotay presses against her from behind, his hand brushing lightly over the curve of her buttocks and lingering in the cleft between them. “So you did.”


“Subtle, Commander,” she mutters, very glad that the lights are dim and there’s a wall behind them, and that the ever-observant Tom Paris is engrossed in working the table against his next challenger.


“You did say we should restrict this to the holodeck,” he murmurs as one finger dips and strokes, and she squirms away.


This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she answers breathlessly, then bites her lip. “That said, you might be interested to know that I’ve upped the ante.”


“How so?”


“You gave me a gift earlier today,” she murmurs, shifting her hips slightly to be sure he gets her meaning, “and it would be such a shame not to enjoy it to the fullest.”


“Kathryn…” he turns to grin at her fully, and she can only hope they continue to be unobserved, “are you telling me you’re wearing my gift tonight?”


“That’s what I’m telling you,” she breathes. “And I’m also telling you that I have no intention of taking it off until morning.”


Before she can give into the flush that wants to work its way up from her belly, she moves away, but –


“Captain,” Chakotay calls softly.


She halts, turning back to him.


He opens his hand and she catches sight of the small device nestled in his palm. Her eyes fly up to his face and find that he’s smiling.


“Game on.”


She walks away on unsteady legs.




Her neck prickles at the knowledge that he’s watching her from across the room as she listens to Neelix prattling on, but when she finally dares to glance in his direction he’s involved in a teasing conversation with Henley and Fitzpatrick and isn’t even looking at her. Kathryn rolls her shoulders irritably, forcing a polite smile onto her face for Neelix’s sake. She knows Chakotay has every intention of using that device on her tonight – after all, she’s as much as dared him to – but waiting for it is driving her higher and higher into a spiral of breathless, nervous anticipation.


It isn’t until she’s given into Neelix’s exhortations to have a second glass of wine and is chatting to Susan Nicoletti about the lieutenant’s recent interest in Bajoran poetry that she feels it: the low, gentle purr against her most intimate parts. It’s mild enough that she’s able to control her reaction and carry on the conversation, but she knows that won’t last.


For the moment, though, it’s a tease, a little added frisson to an otherwise predictably pleasant evening. And she likes it.


She catches Chakotay’s eye across the pool table, and he rewards her poker face by dialling up the intensity a couple of notches. Kathryn sucks in an involuntary breath as the tiny tendrils begin to twine and pulse, and has to clear her throat before she can answer Nicoletti’s expression of concern.


“Fine, thank you, Lieutenant. Excuse me,” she keeps her back straight and her face neutral, sailing past crew members with a nod and a professional smile until she reaches her devious first officer, lounging against the far wall.


“You look pleased with yourself,” she mutters.


He keeps his gaze on her face. “Not as pleased as I am with you.”


She smirks. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Commander.”


“That sounds like a challenge.” He moves his thumb slightly against the device hidden in his palm, and she can’t stop the gasp that escapes her or the tightening of her spine as the tendrils inside her begin to pulse and swell. “Still game enough to play, Captain?”


“Bring it,” she whispers, but her voice is huskier than ever, and she amends, “but I’m trusting your judgement on this, Chakotay.”


His eyes soften. “You know you can trust me, Kathryn.”


The way he says her name is equally responsible for the gentle welling of pleasure in her groin as the device he’s using.


“I’ll be here for another half hour or so,” she murmurs.


“Then I’d better make it an interesting half hour.”


And he raises the level on the Deltan trembler, and Kathryn tries very, very hard not to moan.


“Captain,” Tom Paris sidles in front of her holding a pool cue, “I’ve been trying to catch your eye all night. Fancy a game?”


“Oh.” She tries to focus. “I don’t think –”


“Why not, Captain?” Chakotay interjects smoothly, “after all, you did mention you were in the mood for games tonight.”


She glares at him, then turns back to Paris. “Not tonight, Tom. Why don’t you play the Commander? Unless, of course, you’re looking for a challenge.”


Paris glances between them, opens his mouth, thinks better of it.


“Are you calling me easy, Captain?”


“Not at all, Chakotay.” Kathryn smiles at him sunnily. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”


She catches sight of Tom’s face and realises she might have taken it just a little too far.


“Uh, if you’ll excuse me –”


~Torres to Captain Janeway.~


Thank God. “Janeway here.”


~We’re having some problems with the magnetic constrictors, Captain. Warp core pressure is at thirty thousand kilopascals and rising.~


“I’m on my way.” She closes the channel and realises immediately that the little toy’s pulsing has stopped; she sends Chakotay a quick, grateful smile. “You two had better get to the bridge.”


B’Elanna is working furiously at a console when Kathryn arrives in Engineering. “Thirty-eight thousand kilopascals,” she says shortly, before Kathryn can call for a report. “If we can’t reduce the pressure we’re going to have to shut down the core when it hits forty-five, and it’ll take at least four hours to reinitialise.”


“I’ll monitor plasma flow,” Kathryn moves beside her. “Containment is at seventy-eight percent and falling. Can you lock down the constrictors?”


“Tried that,” B’Elanna clips. “Can’t regulate power flow to the interlock chamber.” She slams her hands on the console. “Damn it, what the hell is going on on this ship?”


Kathryn glances at her. “Are you suggesting this is related to the other system failures?”


“I have no idea!” Torres’ voice rises in frustration. “Captain, I’ve run dozens of diagnostics over the past four days and the only pattern I can find is that the malfunctions are all preceded by what appears to be a random power spike in the affected system. But I don’t know what’s causing the power fluctuations!”


The computer beeps a warning before Kathryn can respond – warp core pressure is at forty thousand kilopascals – and B’Elanna turns back to her station.


“Captain, I have an idea.”


“Well, don’t keep it to yourself, Lieutenant.”


“It’s unorthodox –”


Kathryn doesn’t bother mentioning that she’d expect nothing less.


“If I can bypass the magnetic constrictors, I might be able to lock them down. But I’ll have to trick the computer into thinking the core is about to breach.”


“You’re thinking about initiating a power feedback loop through the plasma relays,” Kathryn guesses. “You realise that could just as easily cause the breach we’re trying to prevent.”


“Not if I can route it through the secondary EPS buffers and redistribute the plasma flow. Captain, I can do this.”


“All right, Lieutenant. I’ll keep monitoring the plasma distribution.” Kathryn links her console into B’Elanna’s so they’ll both see the same readings at the same time, then nods. “Do it.”




0045 hours, Captain’s quarters



She’s exhausted by the time she finally returns to her quarters. The core breach had been narrowly avoided, the magnetic constrictors coaxed into performing their required function, and B’Elanna sent, protesting, to bed, although Kathryn suspects she’ll find her chief engineer back on duty long before her assigned morning shift.


She kicks off her heels, pulls the black dress over her head, unclips her bra and tosses it in the approximate direction of the bed. She’s just heading into the ‘fresher when her commbadge peeps. Sighing, she plucks it off the front of the discarded dress.




~It’s Chakotay.~


She can’t help smiling. “Don’t tell me you’re still on the bridge? I told you to get some rest.”


~I just got back to my quarters, and the computer tells me you’re home too. Tired?~


“Like you wouldn’t believe.” She stretches her neck as she wanders into the bathroom.


~Then I’ll leave you to get some sleep.~


“No, wait,” she finds herself saying. “Talk to me?”


A slight pause, and his voice comes through sounding warmer. ~Okay. What are you doing?~


“Computer, activate water shower, thirty-seven degrees,” she says, by way of both answer and order.


Chakotay chuckles. ~So I guess that means you’re naked.~


“Well,” she steps into the shower and glances down at herself, “almost naked. There is one thing I’m still wearing. And I hope it’s waterproof.”




“Have you ever known me to break my word… or back down from a challenge?”




She props her commbadge on a small shelf and squirts a handful of shower gel into her palm.


~What are you doing now?~


“I’m, uh, washing myself.”


~Which part?~


Kathryn smirks. “My shoulders. My arms. My, uh, chest.”


~Tell me.~


She wonders if he can tell she’s blushing through the commline. “I’m not sure I – uh…”


He picks up on her hesitation. ~Then I’ll tell you what I’m picturing you doing.~


“Okay,” she almost whispers.


~You’re lathering up your shoulders, digging your fingers into the muscles and craning your neck in the way you do when you’re all tensed up. If I were there with you I’d be rubbing your neck right now, working the lather into your skin. What does it smell like?~


“Huh?” She’s so busy imagining he’s there with her, doing as he describes, that the question throws her off.


~Whatever you’re using to wash yourself.~


“Oh. My shower gel. Um, it smells like jasmine, I guess.”


~That explains it, then.~




~Why I get hard whenever I walk past the jasmine vines in the hydroponics bay.~


Kathryn snorts. “How Pavlovian of you, Chakotay.”


 ~What can I say? You’re a biologically potent stimulus.~


“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”


She can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. ~Are you still tense?~


“Not so much. No.”


~Where are your hands now?~


She looks down at herself and blushes. “Um. On my breasts.”




“Kind of … cupping them.”


~Put your fingers on your nipples.~


“They already are,” she almost whispers.


A brief pause, then: ~Is that because you’re thinking about me?~


“Yes,” she murmurs.


~Are your nipples hard, Kathryn? Are they standing out, all rosy pink and begging to be touched?~




~Keep touching them. Pinch them between your fingers and thumb.~


She closes her eyes, following his instructions.


~What are you thinking about?~


“Your mouth.”


~Where do you want my mouth?~


“Right now?” She bites her lip. “I love the way you kiss my neck.”


~I can tell. You do this little shiver when I kiss you just under your ear. If I were there right now, I’d be sucking at that spot and holding your breasts in my hands, rubbing your nipples with my thumbs.~


She can’t help sighing in response.


~Where else do you need to be washed, Kathryn?~


“I’m soaping my stomach right now. And lower.”


~You know, if I were washing you, I’d kneel in front of you while I soaped your stomach and hips. I wouldn’t be able to resist leaning forward and kissing you there while I slicked all that soap between your thighs.~


Her reply is something approaching a moan.


~Where are your hands now, Kathryn?~


“Where you just said. I, uh, I had to move your trembler. But it’s back in place now.”


~You’re holding out on me. Did you touch yourself?~


She chews on her lip. “A little…”


~Did you imagine it was my fingers touching you? My mouth on you?~




~I can hear a but.~


Kathryn hunches her shoulders as if he can see her. “I’m not good at it.”




“No. Touching myself. I never have been.”


~You’re full of surprises.~


“Why do you say that?” she asks defensively.


~Because you’re the most sexually responsive, highly orgasmic and passionately abandoned woman I’ve ever been with. It surprises me that you didn’t get that way by knowing how to touch your own body.~


“Oh,” she breathes, and can’t help smiling. “I don’t know… it’s always just seemed so mechanical. Like there’s something a little sad and desperate about having to do it myself.”


There’s a long pause.


“Chakotay? Are you still there?”


~You really don’t understand how much you’re worth, do you?~


She sucks in a breath. “What do you mean?”


~You won’t believe me when I tell you you’re beautiful. You see your body as a necessary tool to do what you have to do, and you disregard it as much as possible. You don’t believe your physical pleasure is important for its own sake. You like sex – that much is clear – but you think you should be able to rise above it. It took a Vulcan to make you see that you have needs just like any other person, and you still feel like there’s something shameful about it.~


Kathryn squirms. “Well, thanks for the psychoanalysis, Commander.”


~Don’t freeze up on me now. I’m not saying your body is more important than how you use your brain, or who you are inside. I’m just saying you can’t ignore it. It’s part of what makes you who you are, which is a strong, brave, smart and beautiful woman, and I –~


He cuts himself off abruptly, and she swallows hard against the lump that’s risen in her throat at his impassioned words. She tries not to wonder what he’d stopped himself from saying.


“Chakotay?” she asks warily.


~Nothing. Are you all clean now?~


“Yes. Computer, terminate water shower and sonic dry.”


~Do you want me to leave you to go to sleep now?~ His voice is softer.


She should; she knows it. But – “No,” she says quietly. “Keep talking to me? Unless you’re too tired.”


~I’m not too tired. Tell me what you’re doing now.~


“I’m dressing for bed…”


She hears the gentle humour in his reply. ~Let me guess – something that covers you from neck to toe and hides you completely?~


“Hey,” she grumbles.


~Well, Kathryn, I can only base my assumption on experience. And that’s what you wore on New Earth.~


She hesitates in the act of dressing. “There was a reason for that, Chakotay.”


~Okay,~ he says softly. ~So what are you wearing?~


“Not what I wore on New Earth.”


~Come on,~ he teases. ~Flannel pyjamas? A high-necked nightshirt?~


“Not even close,” she almost purrs. “It’s black, and it’s satin, and it doesn’t hide much at all.”


When he answers, there’s a roughened edge to his voice. ~Well, now I won’t be sleeping any time soon.~


Kathryn smirks.


~What are you doing now?~


“Brushing my hair.”


~Do you wear it down when you’re in bed?~




~I can picture it spread out on your pillow around your face. I love your hair.~


“I’ve noticed.” She puts down the hairbrush and pulls back the bedcovers.


~Are you in bed now?~




~Did you just yawn?~ he laughs.


“I told you I’m tired… Don’t go just yet though.”


~All right. Tell me more about black satin.~


“Well…” she fingers the fabric, “it’s very short, the straps are thin, and it has a very low neckline.”


~So if I kissed that spot under your ear, and then moved my mouth along your shoulder, I could nudge off the strap with my lips…~


“It wouldn’t take much,” she feels arousal beginning to rekindle at his words.


~And then your breast would be exposed, and I could bend down and take your nipple in my teeth.~


“You could.” Unbidden, her fingers drift over her throat and downward over satin, lightly tracing the outline of her hardened nipple.


~I’d put my hands on your waist and you’d feel them through the satin, feel it sliding against your skin.~


Kathryn licks her lips, her free hand gliding over her abdomen.


~I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands there, though. I’d have to move them around to your ass and cup it through the satin. And then I’d move my hands lower, on the backs of your thighs, and you’d part them for me, enough to let my fingers slide in between.~


“Oh,” she says involuntarily as her own fingers travel to the crease of her thighs, her other hand stroking and pinching one taut nipple.


~I wonder if you’d be wet for me,~ Chakotay’s voice lowers almost to a growl. ~Are you, Kathryn?~


She slides a finger past the trembler and into her own core, feeling the clench and pulse of arousal.


“Yes –” and that’s when she feels the little device hum to life. “Oh.”


~What are you feeling?~


“It feels like –” she inhales, “like fingers stroking me. It’s – God.”


~I’m going to kneel in front of you now, Kathryn. Spread your legs for me.~


She lets her thighs fall apart.


~What do you want, Kathryn?~


“Your mouth,” she gasps, “I want you to lick me.”


The gentle rubbing on her clitoris changes into longer, flatter strokes.


~Like that?~


“God. Yes. Don’t stop.”


~What else do you want?~


“Your fingers. Put them inside me…”


The tendrils begin to extend from the small device, thickening, lengthening as they push their way up inside her. The long strokes on her clit increase in speed, flicking at her nub as she arches and gasps.


~You like that? Are you riding my hand, Kathryn?~


She moans, unable to form words.


~Should I put my fingers anywhere else?~


She feels another slick tendril extending further back, probing gently between her cheeks. “Fuck. Yes,” she whimpers as the tendril pushes inside.


~I’m going to make you come now…~ Chakotay’s voice sounds thick, hoarse.


The pulsing tendrils filling her increase in speed and intensity, the tongue-like stroking pulls and laves at her clitoris, and Kathryn cries out in elation as she reaches her peak, twisting her body off the bed as a rush of moisture leaks between her thighs. As she floats down from her high, she feels the tendrils retracting, the device now inert, and she sighs in pleasure.


~How are you feeling?~ Chakotay asks softly.


“Amazing,” she’s so relaxed she almost slurs, then rouses herself enough to ask, “but what about you?”


He laughs. ~Don’t worry. I’ll take care of myself.~


Her brain serves up an image of Chakotay, head thrown back and fist wrapped around his cock, and she moans. “I wish I could taste you.”


The commline falls silent for a moment, then his voice comes through sounding strangled. ~You have no idea what it does to me when you say that.~


“Oh,” she curls on her side, smiling with closed eyes, “I think I do.”


Her voice trails off on a yawn, and Chakotay laughs softly. ~Go to sleep, Kathryn.~


“Okay,” she mumbles, almost there already. “G’night.”


~Sweet dreams,~ he murmurs, and signs off.

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