Summary: Two bodies in relative motion excite resistance when they come together. Two wills clashing create another kind of friction. Somewhere between animosity and arousal is the place where they meet.
Characters: Paris, Janeway, Chakotay, Kim, Stadi
Disclaimer: Paramount/CBS own the rights to the Voyager universe and its characters, which I am borrowing without permission or intent to profit.
Warning: This story contains mentions of rape, prison trauma, post-traumatic stress syndrome and panic disorder.
It’s both a challenge and an invitation, and Tom has never been one to refuse either. He reaches for her, wraps his hands around her waist, pulls her soft weight flush against him. Her lips part in anticipation, and although he’d fully intended to kiss her mouth, he detours at the last minute to suck at the skin just under her ear, hard, leaving a mark.
She gasps and melts into him, tilting her head to allow him greater access. Encouraged, Tom bites her gently and feels her shiver. Her fingers are digging into the bare flesh of his back. He curves his hands over her ass, squeezing firmly, then hoists her up to straddle his hips.
“Bedroom?” He nips at her earlobe.
“To your left,” she husks.
Tom makes out the shape of an open doorway by the dim light of the stars. With each step towards it, Janeway clutches him closer with arms and thighs, rubbing her body against his. By the time he reaches the bed, the friction has brought him back to full erection and his hindbrain is begging him to strip her bare and thrust right inside her, but he’s not completely stupid. And besides, he owes her.
He lowers her to her feet and takes her mouth with his, letting his hands roam over her tank, then under it, feeling her velvety skin, tracing the narrow length of her spine. He unhooks her bra and covers her breasts, firm and fuller than her frame suggests; he rubs his palms across her tightening nipples, enjoying the low sounds it pulls from her throat. Eventually her impatience gets the better of her, and Janeway pushes him away to yank off her undershirt and bra.
She’s breathing quickly, nipples hard and mouth reddened. A lock of hair has worked loose from her bun and fallen across her eyes. Tom reaches for her, but she flattens her hand on his abdomen to hold him off, working open her pants with the other and wriggling to shove them over her hips. Tom drops to his knees before she can bend to take off her boots.
She lifts an eyebrow at his authoritative tone but obeys, leaning back on her hands. He pulls the boots and socks off quickly, takes his time easing her pants off, glancing up to make sure she’s watching him. Then he parts her knees and moves between them, brushing his mouth along her inner thigh. By the time he reaches the edge of her panties she’s biting her lip. He breathes on her, hot and moist, licks experimentally on the outside of the satin, and her head drops back on a long exhale.
Smirking, Tom presses her legs closed and tugs at her panties until they’re all the way off. She spreads her thighs again without being prompted. He ignores the implicit invitation in favour of dragging his parted lips upward from one ankle bone, slowing as he reaches her knee and lightening the pressure along her inner thigh. He can feel her tensing as he gets closer to her cunt, can smell her now and his mouth starts watering, God, he can’t wait to taste her, but he forces himself to pull back and press his lips to her other ankle, her calf, the inside of her knee.
He lingers there, and suddenly strong fingers wind into his hair and pull, and he’s staring into smoky blue eyes. “Stop teasing,” she orders, “and do it.”
Tom tries not to smile. “I thought the captain was off-duty tonight.”
She growls at him, but her fingers loosen in his hair and she lets her upper body fall back on the bed. Tom doesn’t waste any time in rewarding her: he leans in and swipes his tongue lavishly from bottom to top.
Kathryn shudders, her breath catching on a moan, and Tom wraps his hands around her hips and dives in.
He flicks lightly at her clit, sucks on her inner lips, pushes his tongue inside her and curls it upward to rub against her clenching inner walls. She’s salty-sweet and soft and drowning-wet, and she’s rocking her hips and making husky little helpless noises, and he wants to make her come, wants to hear how she sounds when she comes, so he moves one hand to press his fingers inside her and licks her quickly, firmly with a flattened tongue.
Her body arches like a bow. She has her hand in his hair, twisting, and he ignores the pain to hold her steady. She whimpers once, then falls completely silent, quaking against his lips as he keeps on licking, slowing his pace as her shudders calm and die away and she floats back down to the bed, her thighs relaxing outward.
“God,” she says finally, roughly, and he nuzzles at her, enjoying the way she twitches and gasps.
He still has two fingers inside her and he’s tempted to work her up again, make her lose control, but he’s so hard he’s rubbing his dick against her bedcovers just to try to ease the pressure, and anyway she’s releasing the death-grip on his hair now and her cool hands are framing his face, drawing his mouth away from her to meet her eyes.
“Come up here,” she says softly.
He kicks off his boots, yanks off the rest of his clothing at warp speed, and moves up between her legs and bends to kiss her; she holds his face in her hands and sucks on his lips, licks thoroughly into his mouth, collecting her own taste on her tongue. It almost shatters his control; he groans and pulls away to wrestle himself back in check.
She doesn’t give him the chance. She pushes at his shoulder to encourage him onto his back and climbs on, straddling him. Her wet cunt is rubbing along the underside of his penis, and he grabs her hips, trying to hold her still. Instead she gives a sinuous twist of her pelvis and he’s inside her, buried to the root.
“Fuck,” Tom yelps, trying not to dig his fingers into the soft skin of her hips. She’s so slick and tight, pulsing so sweetly around him … Focus, he scolds himself, don’t fuck this up –
He’s out of practice, but as it turns out some skills never leave you, and it doesn’t take him long to muster the restraint that used to come so naturally. He holds her steady, guiding the curl and push of her hips until she stops trying to take command and starts trusting him to stroke in and out of her in a rhythm that makes her eyes close and her mouth drop open. He presses a thumb to her clit and she arches her spine and gives a lush, throaty moan, and it’s a sound that stirs the ashes of a long-extinguished memory, or maybe it’s just déjà vu.
Whatever it is, he skips a beat. They lurch out of their rolling cadence; his upward thrust tips her forward, her hands landing on his chest. “What’s wrong?” she gasps.
Tom shakes his head to clear it. "It's nothing."
Kathryn sits up and circles her hips, a move as luscious and full of challenge as her drawled, “Prove it.”
And she’s called the shots enough for the moment, he decides. In a move his high school wrestling coach would applaud, he sits upright, wraps his arms around her torso and rolls her under him. She blinks up at him and parts her lips, but whatever she’d intended to say is cut off when he takes hold of her wrists, pulls her arms above her head, and drives his cock into her as deep as he can go.
Her cry is half shock, half rapture. Gratified, Tom rolls his hips and plunges in with enough force to shift her body a few centimetres upward on the sheets. She gasps, struggles a little against his grip on her wrists, but she’s not the first commander to have propositioned him and it hasn’t been so long that he’s forgotten what these controlling types go wild for in bed.
Taking a gamble, Tom leans his weight into his hands and bends to bite lightly at her jaw. When she stops resisting and wraps her thighs around him he knows he’s wagered correctly.
She looks up at him, panting, wide-eyed, anticipatory, and it makes him swell so hard he grinds his pelvis into her. He thrusts again, and again, angling it so that his cock strokes along her front wall and his pubic bone rubs her clit. Eyes glazed, she arches her back, drawing his focus to those creamy, upturned breasts. He drops his head to take a nipple between his teeth and she moans, long and low.
“Fuck me.” The breathy hitch in her voice stiffens him even more. “God, yes, fuck me like you mean it …”
She’s exquisite. He wants to make her scream this time, wants to stamp an impression so vivid and raw that it invades her mind at inopportune moments, makes her shiver with remembered sensation. He wants her to look at him like an undiscovered element or a stellar phenomenon. Something rare; something worthy of her.
But, of course, he’s not worthy to spit-shine her boots. And she doesn’t want him to leave slivers of himself behind, to etch indelible memories under her skin. She just wants him to fuck her, and so he does.