Summary: In the all-too-brief moments they can snatch together, sometimes Kathryn can get a little bit … grabby.
Characters: Chakotay, Janeway
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 shortly after the opening scenes of Survival Instinct. Prompted by a discord discussion ("I can see Kathryn being a hair puller"). Somewhat tamer than earlier instalments in this series, but everybody needs vanilla kink once in a while.
“A little help here?”
Beneath the teasing lightness he forces into his voice, Chakotay isn’t entirely comfortable. The prehensile plant’s tendrils are incredibly nimble and incredibly strong. Who’d have thought they could seek such lightning-fast purchase on his very short hair?
For that matter, who’d have thought the plant had that kind of reach? The planter pot is at least three metres from his corner of the couch. Kathryn had been much closer to it when it ensnared her this morning.
“I think it likes you,” muses the low and husky voice of his captain. “Should I be jealous?”
Chakotay tries to pluck a leafy coil from his uniform collar, and the damned thing clenches like a baby’s fist. His fingers are too broad, too blunt to grasp it with the delicacy required, and with his every attempt it just winds tighter and tighter.
“Kathryn, would you lend me a hand please?” Exasperation seeps into his voice as he cuts his eyes sideways. “Your fingers are smaller than mine – maybe you can get me out of this thing’s clutches without hurting it.”
Although, he thinks, he’s approaching the point where he’s ready to ask her just to replicate a machete and hack the plant’s limbs off.
And what the hell is she doing, anyway? He tries to swivel in her direction – a respectable distance from him, on the couch, in case one of their senior staff decides to pay an unscheduled visit to the ready room – and discovers that he can’t move his head.
A thicker vine wends its way across the shoulder of his uniform and Chakotay twitches it away. It returns, faster and more determined, and burrows beneath his turtleneck. Alarmed, he scrabbles for it, and the vine seems to pulsate, growing warm against his skin.
“Uh, Kathryn …?”
“Yes, Chakotay?” Her voice is bubbling with barely repressed laughter.
“I’m glad you’re so amused,” he growls, rolling his eyes until he can just see her out of the corners of them, “but your precious plant is in danger of garrotting me, so could you please stop screwing around and –”
He chokes, voice and breath cut off by the swift circling of a vine around his throat. And suddenly it’s not funny anymore.
Apparently Kathryn has realised the urgency, too, because he feels her at his side now, slim fingers slipping under his collar, finding the thick stalk and tugging gently until it loosens its hold on his throat. She eases it out from under his turtleneck and Chakotay draws in air: half gulp, half sigh of relief.
Her nails scrape lightly across the base of his skull and he lets his breath out slowly.
“Perhaps I should have warned you,” she says as she pries dainty tendrils from his clothing – they have barbs, he’s realised, that latch into the material’s weave and won’t let go – “you shouldn’t struggle; it only makes the plant grip tighter. I figured that out when it almost pulled my hair out this morning.”
“So this is payback for me leaving you to get yourself free?”
“Maybe,” she teases. “You’re just lucky Seven stopped by right after you disappeared.”
“I had an urgent personnel issue to deal with.”
She doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t blame her. In truth, the sight of Kathryn, entangled and unable to free herself from the plant’s clutches, had turned him on so strongly and so fast that he’d bolted for the sanctuary of his office before he could lose his mind and take advantage of the situation.
Her warm breath wafts across his cheek, vanilla-scented from the cookies the Shivolian ambassador had gifted her. Her fingers brush the nape of his neck and he shivers.
“You know,” she murmurs, “there’s something appealing about you like this.”
“What, trussed up like a chicken?”
Kathryn laughs softly. “No-o-o,” she draws it out, “I mean … you’re usually the one tying me up. Maybe it’s time for a little role reversal.”
In one sinuous move, she straddles his lap and pulls his hands onto her hips.
Chakotay stifles a hiss. “We’re on duty.”
She brushes an advancing tendril from his shoulder and tilts her head to nuzzle the tender skin under his jaw. “Strictly speaking, Alpha shift ended two hours ago.”
“Kathryn – Captain. I thought we had rules about the ready room.”
“Well,” she grasps his earlobe between her teeth and makes him jump, “as you point out, I am the captain. It’s my prerogative to bend the rules on occasion.”
His pulse double-thumps. “But the Markonian delegation … And anyone could come into the ready room.”
“I know.” She grins at him – wicked, bright, alive – as she combs the last curling vinelets from his hair and slides her fingers into it, grasping handfuls of it and using her grip to tilt his mouth toward hers. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
The tug of her fingers in his hair is nothing like the plant’s painful grasp, and it floods his body with heat. He lets out a soft groan, and she swallows it as her mouth latches onto his, her tongue sliding assuredly across his lower lip. Arousal swells in the pit of his stomach and pushes his hips up and into hers, clenches his hands on her hips, forces her thighs wider around his. He tries – now that he’s free of the plant – to urge her over onto her back on the couch, but she tightens her hands in his hair and sinks her teeth into his lower lip.
He yelps, and she laughs and soothes the bite with her tongue.
“What was that for?” Chakotay mumbles, trying to pull back to see her face.
She won’t allow it: she pushes her upper body into his, forcing him flat against the back of the couch.
“You’re not in control here, Chakotay,” she purrs, and the timbre of her voice makes him breathe faster and starts a fine trembling in his limbs. “Not this time.”
Kathryn’s fingers drag lightly on his hair until his head rests on the lip of the couch, his neck bent backward, throat exposed. He swallows hard, and his words come out breathless.
“What are you going to do to me?”
She tilts her head to the side, watching him, still smiling. “Whatever I want,” she drawls. “So be quiet and do as I tell you.”
“Yes ma’am,” he manages to grind out just before her lips capture his again. The taste of vanilla and coffee on her tongue intoxicates him, making him crane to lick into her mouth, his neck straining as she eases back with a chuckle.
Making him work for it.
Chakotay’s hands slide upward from their hold on her hips, shaping the slender curve of her body beneath the uniform, one spreading over her back and the other cupping her face to bring her back to him. But she resists, her fingers tightening in his hair: a warning.
“I told you,” she murmurs, “this is my show, Commander. Now hold your arms out to either side.”
Obedient, he takes his hands from her body and stretches his arms along the back of the couch.
“Good,” Kathryn purrs. “Don’t move.”
She loosens her grip on his hair, fingers stroking lightly through it, her other hand toying with the fastening of his uniform jacket. Her fingernails graze his scalp and Chakotay shudders.
Now his jacket is undone and her cool hands are under his turtleneck, pushing it upward on her wrists, baring his stomach to her. Her lips brush his chest; she takes his nipple between her teeth, and he can’t help himself. He tries to reach for her.
He can’t. The damned plant has curled its fronds around his wrists and latched its barbs into the fabric of the couch, locking him in place. He can’t move a millimetre.
“Kathryn,” he gasps. “Are you and that plant conspiring against me?”
“Shh.” She lifts her head; her lips are wet and her eyes bright. “And it’s Captain.”
The gravel in her voice curls his toes. “Yes, Captain,” he rasps.
“Very good,” she hums, and lowers her head again.
Chakotay lets his eyes close and concentrates on the feel of her lips, soft and luscious, pressing kisses and tiny bites across his torso. Her tongue swirls into his navel, making him draw a ragged breath. Then her fingernails are scraping over the hard bulge beneath his uniform pants, cupping him, feeling him swell under her hand. She opens his pants and slips her hand inside, pushing aside layers of material until she can curl her fingers around him.
“Kathryn,” he groans.
A sharp pinch to his nipple makes him yelp. “How did I order you to address me?”
“Cap-” Chakotay swallows roughly, “Captain.”
“Remember that.” Her voice is silky.
She bends her head, her hot breath bathing the head of his cock, and sinks her mouth down on him all the way to the root.
Chakotay cries out, hips jerking, and she pulls off. “Quiet,” she warns. “Someone could hear you.”
Then she returns her attention to his slick, jutting penis, using her hands and mouth to stroke and suck and inflame until he’s panting, his breath harsh in the air between them, heat spiralling in his pelvis, hips beginning to stutter.
She flicks her eyes up to his face, but doesn’t take her mouth off him. Her tongue swirls lavishly around the stem of his cock and he moans.
All propriety has fled the room and he could no longer care less if their entire senior staff filed in to watch them, but, “I need you to stop.”
Kathryn eases back, one hand still working him slowly. “Ask me nicely.”
“Captain,” he begs, yanking at the living green bonds encircling his wrists, wanting to touch her, “I need –”
“What do you need?” she croons, and laps at the swollen head of his penis.
“Fuck me,” rushes out of him. “I need to feel you all around me, squeezing me tight –”
“Please Captain.” He tries to reach for her again but the vines hold him firm. “Please.”
She laughs, soft and satisfied, and strips efficiently – only her lower half, and she keeps her boots on – and then she’s straddling him again, her bare thighs either side of his, warm through the material of his pants. For a moment he wishes he was naked too so he could feel her smooth skin, but then she palms him and shuffles up on her knees until she can guide him to her entrance, and all he can concentrate on is the long slow slide of his cock inside her.
“Oh-h-h,” she sighs as she sinks down, “God, I love the way you fill me.”
The sound he makes in reply is mostly unintelligible.
She laughs softly and begins to undulate her hips. Her fingers move to unzip her jacket and his gaze is drawn to her breasts in the grey turtleneck. He watches her nipples harden into knots under the cloth and catches his breath.
“You’re not wearing a bra.”
“I know,” she drawls, and cups her breasts on the outside of the turtleneck, pinching and pulling at her nipples. Her mouth drops open. “Oh, that feels good.”
She keeps her hips circling, her movements slow, grinding into him until he’s shaking. Chakotay cranes forward, just barely managing to brush his lips to the upper slope of one breast before the plant’s fronds curl swiftly around his lower arms, wrapping him so tight he has to sink back into the couch or risk cutting off the circulation to his wrists.
“Kathryn,” he groans, “Captain,” and she opens her eyes to smile at him.
“Please let me see your breasts.”
In answer she shrugs the jacket from her shoulders and gathers the fabric of her turtleneck in one hand, pulling it up until it’s rucked up on her chest, baring her breasts to him. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” he says, breathless. “May I kiss them?”
“You may,” she allows.
She bends forward until he can capture a nipple between his lips; his tongue darts out and he licks at her lavishly, sucks hard, circles his tongue around the tip, nips and bites. He pulls off to admire the wet and rosy nipple, and she grabs his hair at the crown and pushes his face to her other breast. Gladly, he laps and sucks and nibbles at her until she’s moaning a little with each outward breath.
“Oh Chakotay,” she whispers. “Don’t stop.”
He mumbles something into the soft underside of her right breast. Her nipple rubs against his cheekbone and he turns blindly to suck at it again, feeling her shudder, her fingers clutching his hair, her cunt slick around his cock as she fucks him, at first languidly, then faster, harder. All he can smell and taste and feel is her.
His breathing quickens.
“Don’t you come,” she gasps. “Not yet, Chakotay, not yet …”
He feels her other hand work between them, her fingers sliding and slipping over her drenched clit. Her hips are moving roughly now, not circling but plunging. His fists clench at the desperate need to touch her, but the plant holds him firm. All he can do is drive his hips upward, harder, stronger, concentrating on the thick thrust and slide into her depths, feeling his balls tighten and the head of his cock swell, gasping through gritted teeth as he fights not to come.
“Good,” she whimpers, her voice hitched and straining as she works herself over and around him, “so good, Chakotay –”
The hand wrapped in his hair tightens and yanks convulsively and he feels her body clamp and ripple around him, and then she throws her head back and lets out a long, sobbing moan as the orgasm ripples through her body.
The motion of her hips slows. Her fingers loosen their hold on his hair and her thighs relax outward.
“Oh,” she utters again, softer, and the creamy, satisfied tone in her voice makes him groan.
Involuntarily, he thrusts up into her again and she gasps. Her eyes open and fix on his.
“So good,” she repeats, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. She pulls her right hand from between her thighs and slides her wet, salty-sweet fingers across his parted lips. “You can come.”
With the scent of her all around him and the taste of her on his lips, she has barely granted him permission before he’s emptying himself into her with an almost-pained, almost-snarling growl.
It feels like his climax drains the life from him; shaking and exhausted, he lets his cheek rest on the smooth curve of her breast and feels her stroking his hair, his ear, the back of his neck. He breathes her in and thinks about how happy he’d be if he never had to move again.
Then she winces and shifts on his lap, and the movement reminds him of his strained arms and tightly-wrapped wrists, and he lifts his head to meet her rueful eyes.
“As lovely as that was, and as much as I’d enjoy holding you while you fall asleep right here,” she says, “we are in the ready room.”
He smiles at her, knowing the soft satisfaction in her eyes reflects his own. “What are your orders, Captain?” he teases.
“My suggestion,” she demurs, climbing off his lap carefully, “is that we move this to somewhere a little more private, and a lot more comfortable.”
Chakotay doesn’t move; just watches her as she tugs the turtleneck down to hide her reddened breasts and pulls the pants back on over her booted feet.
She finger-combs her hair, then puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head, appraising him: arms outstretched along the back of the couch, wrists tightly bound, hair ruffled and sticking out where she’d pulled at it, fully dressed except for the glistening cock that rests in the open fly of his pants, twitching interestedly under her gaze.
“On the other hand,” Kathryn raises her eyebrows at him, “maybe I should take greater advantage of having you completely at my mercy.”
He doesn’t tell her that he’s been at her mercy since the day they met, nor that he wouldn’t have it any other way. She knows that well.
Instead he meets her smile with a slow, lascivious grin of his own.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Kathryn,” he emphasises her name in place of her rank, “I think it’s my turn to be the captain.”
He watches her involuntary shiver and the darkening of her eyes, and his smile widens.
“Untie me,” he orders her softly, “and beam that plant to your quarters.”
Kathryn bites her lower lip.
“Yes, sir,” she says, and hurries to do as he commands.