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.
This time when he kisses her, she lets him lead. He can sense that she’s still hesitating, that one wrong move and she’ll slip away, so he keeps his touch light and his mouth persuasive. His palm skims upward from the small of her back and around to cup her face, and he brushes feathery kisses over her lips, nudging her to part them for him. Only when he draws back to read her expression and she presses close, chasing his mouth, does Tom start to believe it’s going to happen.
If it does, he doesn’t want her hesitant.
Tom eases out of her kiss and traces a thumb across her lower lip. “Do you want this?”
She arches an eyebrow, but when he just looks at her, waiting for a clear signal, she puts some space between them, holding his gaze. She strips her jacket off efficiently, unfastens the back of her turtleneck and yanks it over her head, bends to pull off her boots. Straightening, she takes her time unbuckling her trousers and pushing them to a heap at her feet.
She’s still wearing her undershirt and panties; Starfleet-issue grey this time. Tom likes it just as much as he’d liked the lace-edged satin she’d worn the other night.
Then she steps back into his space, takes his hand and pulls it between her thighs. Heat radiates from her, and when he curls his fingers he discovers her panties are damp.
“What do you think?” she purrs.
“Just making sure,” he manages, and starts manoeuvring her toward the bed as a slow, crooked smile curls her lips. As the edge of the bed bumps the backs of her knees she starts to unseal his jacket, but he takes hold of her hands, shaking his head. “Hold still.”
“All right,” she says. “But don’t keep me waiting too long, Mr Paris.”
“You have somewhere better to be?” he teases, tossing his jacket aside. The turtleneck follows immediately and he moves close again, bringing his hands to her waist.
He spreads his fingers around her ribs, hooks them into the low-cut sides of her tank. She’s not wearing a bra under it, and the realisation makes his breath catch.
“Improperly dressed, Captain,” he drawls. “I’ll have to put you on report.”
From the way she pushes herself into his hands as his thumbs rub her nipples into knots, he can tell she’s enjoying his teasing. He slides to his knees, pushing her tank up to bare her stomach, grazing his lips over her skin to make her shudder. She tugs the tank over her head and he hooks his thumbs into the sides of her panties to ease them down over pale, narrow thighs. She widens her stance. Her fingers thread into his hair, trying to pull him in.
He resists, grinning when she gives an impatient growl.
“Tom,” she warns, and he pulls back to give her a stern look.
“I thought we’d been through this.”
“I don’t like waiting –”
“And I don’t like to be rushed.” Tom pinches her nipple sharply, making her jump. “So if you want me to make you come, Kathryn, you’ll have to let me do it my way.”
She draws a breath, but he leans in quickly to nip at her inner thigh and whatever she’d planned to say dissolves in a gasp. Tom rises, hands on her waist, and looks at her speculatively. Her chest is rising and falling quickly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dark. She licks her lips.
At his questioning eyebrow, she gives a short nod, and takes in a deep, steadying breath.
All right then, Tom thinks, and kisses her: slow, lingering and luscious, his fingers spread across her cheekbone and jaw. She all but crumples, her body melting into his so that when he eases back she moves with him. Her breath puffs softly on his throat. Tom gives up on his plan to stand her on her own feet, holding her against him with one hand as the other begins to pluck the pins from her unravelling hair.
She hums approval of his gentleness as he unwinds the silky coils and works his fingers through the length of it. When he’s finished, she gives her head a little shake and he shivers at the sensation of her cool hair brushing his skin.
Then she presses her lips to his chest, begins nibbling at the ridge of his collarbone as one hand sneaks down to curl around the erection he’s been ignoring, and he grasps her wrist before she can deter him from the mission he intends to carry out tonight.
He says, “Get on the bed.”
Kathryn’s eyes narrow.
“Do I have to make it an order?” He lets his smirk spread slowly, crossing his fingers she’ll play along.
She unwinds her arms from around his neck and sinks onto the bed, arranging herself with her arms laid above her head and one knee raised. Her eyes are full of challenge.
“Spread your legs.”
He watches her swallow before she obeys, easing her thighs apart deliberately. Leaning over the bed, Tom settles on his elbows and stares blatantly at the wet flesh between her legs.
He brings one finger up to trace the seam of her pussy. She squirms as the pad of his finger circles her clit and he groans softly in response.
“You smell so good,” Tom murmurs, then leans in to lick at her, enjoying her shudder, pulling back before she can press herself onto his lips. “Taste good too.”
“Tom …” He feels her fingers twining into his hair, tugging him gently toward her. “Please.”
“Ah-ah,” he grins, resisting her. “Trust me, Kathryn, I’ll get you there. Remember? Just trust me.”
He thinks he hears her mutter “You’d better,” but then with a slow intake of breath, she releases her grip and lies back, closing her eyes and bringing her hands to her breasts.
“Good,” he murmurs, admiring the picture she makes, spread open and trembling, fingers teasing her nipples into hard peaks. “That’s so good.”
He belly-crawls toward her and sucks lightly at her inner thigh, following up with a long, languid swipe of his tongue all around her swollen lips. She arches and moans, and he strokes the soft skin of her pelvis and thighs to ease her down a little while he decides what to do with her next.
Fingers, he decides, and slips two of them slowly into her drenched channel, curling them upward. She cries out and starts working her hips in a slow, shuddering circle, whimpering as his fingers penetrate her deeper. When he bends his mouth to her again, drawing lazy patterns around her clitoris, she almost whines.
He flicks his eyes up to her and sees that she’s propped herself on one elbow, the fingers of her free hand cupping her breast, her gaze hot and heavy and fixed on the busy movements of his fingers and tongue between her thighs. Her lips are parted, breath gusting through them, and he can tell from the way she’s fluttering around his fingers that she’s right on the edge. It’s going to be good, too.
Tom rubs the pads of his fingers against the rippled patch of flesh inside her and licks her quickly, firmly, and she shrieks, twisting half off the bed; he has to bring his other hand under her lower back to hold her steady and ease her back down.
He backs off a little as her spasms slow, and she whimpers, her hands falling away from her breasts, one resting limply on the sheet, the other fumbling for him, fingers grazing slackly against his forehead.
“Oh,” she groans, “oh, God … so good …”
Tom presses light kisses to the inside of her thigh, smiling. Good is … good.
But he doesn’t just want good. He wants to give her spectacular. So before she can catch her breath, he bends to press his tongue to her again.
“Oh, no,” she moans, but when he crooks his fingers and thrusts them firmly deeper inside her, her hips jerk up to his waiting mouth and her protest tapers into a “yesss … please!”
So he stiffens his fingers and plunges them into her and out and in and again and puckers his lips around her swollen clit and sucks it harshly into his mouth and in less than three seconds she wails, her entire body shaking as sharp liquid bursts on his tongue. It seems to last forever, her fingers gripping the sheets as she sobs and gasps for air, her body writhing and jerking, until finally she slumps limply back to the bed.
Tom sits back on his heels and licks the taste of her from his lips.
“Hey,” he murmurs, and when she doesn’t respond, “Kathryn. You still alive?”
She groans faintly, blinking blurred eyes at him.
“Fuck,” she says in a voice like gravel, and Tom decides he’s earned the right to one broad, cocksure grin.