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Summary: When Kashyk gives his lover what he thinks is a harmless trinket, there’s no way he could predict the wild ride it’s going to take them on. Fortunately for him, his lover is the indomitable Kathryn Janeway, who’s no stranger to being thrown across time and space … but the Mirror Universe presents her with challenges even she will struggle to meet.

Written for the @voyagermirrormarch fic event.


Characters: Janeway, Kashyk, Mirror Cornwell, Mirror Georgiou, Mirror Lorca, Mirror Pike, Mirror McCoy (AOS)

Codes: Janeway/Kashyk, Janeway/Mirror Lorca, Janeway/Mirror Cornwell, Janeway/Mirror McCoy (AOS), Janeway/Mirror Lorca/Mirror Pike, Janeway/Mirror Georgiou


Disclaimer: Paramount/CBS own the rights to the Star Trek universe and its characters, which I am borrowing without permission or intent to profit.

Notes: We’re not in Kansas anymore. Or, obviously, the canon Voyager universe. Let’s just say this is one of many possible timelines that could have occurred as a result of one tiny change to Counterpoint.

Warning: Violence, rape/non-con, dubious consent and Threshold puns.

Rated E

Chapter Two

Long moments pass, during which Kathryn tells herself she hasn’t heard the woman correctly.

It’s Kashyk who reacts first, perhaps out of some woefully misplaced sense of chivalry. “You have no right to ask her that,” he sputters.

Kathryn shoots him an incredulous stare, but the impact of it is lessened by the force of one of the guards knocking Kashyk’s ankles out from under him. The Devore lands hard on his knees again, shoulders wrenched backward, a pained hiss escaping his clenched teeth.

A moment later, the Emperor has drawn a gleaming sword from a sheath Kathryn hadn’t noticed strapped to her back, the tip resting at Kashyk’s Adam’s apple. A droplet of wine-coloured blood wells on his pale throat. In unison, Kathryn and the Inquisitor lick their lips.

“You mistake me,” growls the Emperor, “if you believe that that was a request. And if you make another sound, I will cut out your tongue.”

Kashyk shuts his mouth.

The Emperor withdraws her sword and hands it carelessly to the Inquisitor, returning her gaze to Kathryn. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

Two years as a Devore concubine have given Kathryn weapons with which a career in Starfleet never armed her. They have stripped things from her too, not least her sense of righteous indignation.

“No, Your Imperial Majesty,” she answers, straight-backed and serene, as she unties her silky robe and lets it slither to the floor at her feet.

The room is silent, all eyes on her. Kathryn doesn’t flinch.

“Pretty,” purrs the Emperor. One leather-clad finger traces the line of Kathryn’s collarbone from shoulder to sternum, dips inward along the slope of her breast, and rests lightly on her nipple. “Yes, very pretty. Don’t you think so, Gabriel?”

Kathryn can’t help stiffening slightly at the reminder of his presence. That classified Starfleet file had quite a bit to say about Gabriel Lorca of the Terran Empire.

“I do,” agrees the man standing next to her.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” the Emperor demands, stepping back.

“With pleasure,” says Gabriel Lorca, and cups his hands under Kathryn’s breasts, pinching her nipples with forefinger and thumb.

From hip height, beside her, Kathryn hears a low growl.

“Silence your dog,” advises Lorca, blue eyes amused, as one hand slides down her side to test and squeeze the globes of her ass, pulling her close against him.

The cold metal decorating his uniform stiffens her nipples and prickles her skin, but Kathryn tries not to visibly react. “Kashyk,” she says softly, without taking her eyes from Lorca. “Quiet.”

Gabriel dips his face into the crook of her neck and sniffs, and she catches her breath.

“You smell like him,” he remarks. “Have you missed being with humans?”

“Yes,” she says, quietly.

His fingers drift between her thighs, pressing upward, and he brings them, glistening, to his lips and chuckles. “So it seems.”

Laughter echoes around the room, and Kathryn presses her lips together.

If this is going to happen, they are not going to laugh at her.

She places her palms flat against Gabriel Lorca’s chest to create some space, and raises her chin to meet his gaze. Cool and clear, she says, “I don’t remember humans needing so much time to ready themselves. I know a few techniques I learned from my alien companion, if you’d like me to help you?”

The amusement fades from Lorca’s eyes as the troops around the room laugh again.

Kathryn offers him a slight smile, and his gaze sharpens with something approaching respect. ‘What did you say your name was?”


“Well, Kathryn,” he says, “I’m going to fuck you now. It’s going to happen whether you’re all right with it or not, but I’m kind of hoping that you are.”

Kathryn lowers her eyelashes. Deliberately, sensually, she turns in his hold until she’s facing the ranks. She beckons forward a soldier in the front row, and after a brief glance at Lorca he steps up close. She motions him to kneel, and then she bends at the waist, bracing her hands on his shoulders, and turns her head to glance back at Gabriel.

“What are you waiting for?”



To her relief, he doesn’t lunge into her like a battering ram. He doesn’t bother to disrobe, no, or even remove his armour; she hears him unzip his pants and braces for impact, but the next thing she feels is the tips of his fingers tracing the length of her spine. It’s a surprisingly light touch – delicate and sure – and it’s powerfully erotic.

Kathryn can’t help the shudder that takes hold of her, nor the sigh that passes her parted lips.

“You like that?” Gabriel murmurs, bending to nip at her ear. The movement presses his cock – which is, yes, impressively hard, despite her earlier taunting – into the cleft between her legs, and pushes Kathryn forward onto the soldier before her. He sways under her shifting weight, and Gabriel growls, “Hold her steady, Bryce, or I’ll cut off your fucking balls.”

“Sir,” mutters Bryce, his hands coming up to cradle Kathryn’s ribcage.

Beside them, Kashyk shifts, a soft, pained sound uttered low in his throat.

Kathryn flicks him a warning glance. She’d been concerned, when she first agreed to Kashyk’s offer, that he might tire of her someday and discard her for the enjoyment of his troops. But he isn’t the type to share. Or, at least, he doesn’t like to share her. She knows part of this is because of his natural tendency to jealousy, but she suspects a great deal of it is due to the feelings he prefers to deny he has toward her.

Possessiveness is certainly foremost in his expression as she looks at him now, but it’s tainted with an uneasy mix of revulsion and desire. He’s getting off on this.

Deep down, she can’t deny that she’s getting off on it, too.

Lorca straightens, curling his fingers around her hips. “Ready, sweetheart?”

Kathryn doesn’t bother to answer, simply widens her legs and raises her ass, and as Gabriel Lorca slides thickly inside her, the sound that fills her consciousness is the Emperor’s low, lascivious chuckle.



The pace he sets is rough and steady, and Kathryn lets her eyes close and her lips part, not bothering to stifle the needy groans he’s pulling from her or to quell the sinuous arch and sway of her hips. He knows how to fuck, does Gabriel Lorca, and in this moment she’s going to enjoy that fact for all it’s worth. He can talk, too; filthy, evocative words he murmurs in her ear in that low and dirty drawl, words that make her pant and whine and push back into him, writhing to take in more of him.

“Harder,” she whimpers, “fuck me harder,” and he laughs darkly and thrusts into her, one palm slapping her upturned ass and making her cry out.

The soldiers murmur in appreciation; one or two of them laugh, but Kathryn glances over Bryce’s shoulder to survey them, and is satisfied that none of them are laughing at her.

She looks at Bryce, bearing her weight as Gabriel thrusts into her shaking body. The young man’s gaze is fixed on her face, sweat dotting his forehead; his palms are warm against her ribcage. She presses closer, feels his hands shift to cover her breasts. The contact is divine, and she sighs in delight as his palms rub her aching nipples. Her orgasm is gathering, rolling in like a thunderhead. It won’t take much more … just a slight change of angle, a more direct touch …

Gabriel snakes a hand across her pelvis and plays two fingers lightly over her clit, and Kathryn cries out, shuddering and clenching and writhing in his hold. He lunges into her twice, three times, and comes with a growl, holding her hard against him as he empties himself inside her.

“No,” says Kashyk, so softly Kathryn almost doesn’t hear him.

“Yes,” hisses the Emperor, stepping forward to bury her fingers in Kathryn’s hair as Lorca withdraws, tucking himself back into his pants.

Crouching, she tips Kathryn’s face toward hers, waiting for Kathryn to catch her breath before she speaks again.

“That was lovely, my dear,” she approves. “So well done, in fact, I think I’d like an encore.”

“What?” gasps Kathryn.

“Don’t worry,” soothes the other woman. “I’ll give you a moment to freshen up first. You may use my anteroom. Katrina, see to it,” and the Emperor straightens.

“Wait,” Kathryn protests, but the Emperor ignores her.

Bryce helps Kathryn upright as the Inquisitor appears at her side.

“What should I do with the alien, Your Imperial Majesty?” asks Cornwell.

The Emperor waves a hand. “She has earned the right to determine its fate.”

Inquisitor Cornwell turns her pale-green eyes on Kathryn. “Well, intruder? What should we do with your pet?”

Kathryn is naked, her pale skin pinched and reddened, semen staining her thighs, but she stands straight and regal as the Emperor herself.

“Bring him,” she orders. “I’m not finished with him yet.”

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