Disclaimer: All characters belong to Paramount, the order of the words belongs to me.
Rated NC-17
Written for the Secret Valentine on VAMB. This is for Val R, who requested "Chakotay-centric hurt/comfort, with Janeway doing the rescuing." And our Val also likes smut, so..... :)
The darkness in Chakotay's cell was nearly complete. Only a dim slice of purplish Enegue daylight penetrated the blackness. He reached out a hand and touched Ensign Petty's leg once more, if only as a reference point. He had no idea how long they had been here, only that they had been fed three times by their captors. Andrea Petty had died of her wounds after the first meal. Maybe that was a day ago, maybe longer.
His own leg throbbed ceaselessly, and his ribs ached. Breathing was difficult and he wondered if he had a punctured lung. It was likely that infection was setting into the wound on his leg, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. There was no water, no medical supplies, and so far, the Enegues were ignoring his pleas for assistance, even when he cried out that Andrea was dying. His words had echoed down the long corridor, and the only answer had been the harsh guffaw of a guard.
Chakotay leaned his head against the stone wall of the cell and tried to remain calm. Kathryn would find them. She wouldn't let the disappearance of a shuttle and the loss of two crewmembers pass without taking action. All he had to do was wait and try to stay alive.
***
It was supposed to have been a simple away mission. Chakotay and Ensign Petty were delivering the Enegue ambassador back to the planet's surface. The Enegues were a backward people in many ways, intolerant of outsiders and resistant to change. However, they were willing to trade, and they were the only warp capable society for many light years, the only source of the engine parts that B'Elanna needed so desperately. Against all logic, their religion prohibited the use of transporters, so Chakotay volunteered to deliver the ambassador back to his home.
The weapons' fire that rocked the shuttle was totally unexpected. The second shot caused an explosion that breached the hull at the rear. Swiftly, Chakotay had sealed off the aft compartment, pushing the white-faced ambassador into the main cabin. Andrea's terrified face had stared up at him from the controls of the plummeting shuttle, and he had shoved her to one side. The shuttle was unresponsive, engines offline, and it was all he could do to angle its descent so that they might have a hope of skimming down through the atmosphere and making a bumpy crash landing.
"Get down," he roared, as the shuttle wavered in. A steeper angle than he would have liked, but the best he could do.
Andrea huddled by a bulkhead, while the ambassador clung grimly to the back of the co-pilot's chair. Chakotay fought the controls, trying to level the little ship, but the impact ripped away the aft portion of the craft. He howled in agony as the helm smashed into his chest, and the shuttle spun around, fragments of hull flying around him. He felt something slice into his leg, and the tearing pain flung him out of his body, flinging his consciousness to the alien air.
He came to slowly, fighting his way up through the waves of pain that threatened to push him back down into a gray, dazed state. Raising his head, he took a slow look around. Andrea lay sprawled behind him, with one of the bulkheads across her body. Even with his blurry vision, Chakotay could see that her torso was crushed. Blood seeped from her uniform onto the deck plating. Of the ambassador, there was no sign.
His leg refused to obey his brain. Dragging it, he made his slow way to where the rear of the shuttle had been. The ambassador was gone. He could only assume he'd been sucked out of the hull breach at some point during the landing. Luckily, a forward storage locker was intact. Chakotay pulled out a med kit, and returned to Petty's side. He had the tricorder flipped on, and was scanning her crumpled body, when a noise made him look up.
The Enegue holding a phaser snarled something, and fired once.
He had awoken in this cell. His leg was useless, crushed by the crash, but he dragged himself across the floor to the dim outline of Andrea's body. Even without a tricorder, he knew she was dying. Her pulse was thready and faint, her breathing shallow.
"Help us," he cried, lifting his voice in desperation. "She's dying!"
But no one came.
He tried to talk to the guard who brought their food, but without the universal translator in his comm badge, he couldn't make himself understood. The guard's snarling response and the rough shove he gave Chakotay were easily understood. Biting back his cry of pain, Chakotay hauled himself forward and took the proffered plate of food. He accepted Andrea's as well, even though he knew she wouldn't be eating it. The meal was a coarse, bland-tasting version of the ubiquitous oatmeal that formed the bulk of the Enegues' diet. He scooped it up with his fingers, aware of the need for food.
Andrea died an hour later. Chakotay bowed his head, saddened by the waste of a life. He hadn't known her well, but any needless waste of life pained him. The EMH could surely have saved her. Laboriously, he arranged Andrea's body into a position of repose and whispered a prayer of his people.
He pulled over to where the weak light filtered in from the cell's only window. Standing painfully, he attempted to heave himself up by his fingers, using his good leg for purchase against the rough, stone wall. He managed a quick look out before his strength gave out, and he dropped back down, landing awkwardly on his good leg. His glimpse of the outside world had shown him only a barren, dusky landscape. A few straggly plants stretched long tendrils toward the purple sun, and the only buildings he'd been able to see were in poor repair. Chakotay tried once more, heaving himself up to the window, and yelling at the top of his lungs.
The landscape outside lay flat and desolate. No one appeared, no sign of life. On his third try, the guard returned to the cell. Chakotay didn't understand the abrupt words, but he understood only too well the backhand to the side of his face with the butt of the guard's phaser rifle. With a scornful look at Andrea's broken body, the guard departed, and Chakotay was left alone with his tumbling thoughts.
He had his uniform, even if they had removed his communicator and phaser. He was warm- almost too warm. His injured leg felt hot to the touch, burning and dry. The infection must be spreading, becoming systemic. Nothing the EMH couldn't handle, but the EMH was overhead somewhere, orbiting this forsaken planet. Kathryn must have noticed their absence by now, no doubt she had traced the shuttle's descent, found the crash site. She would be on her way, sending a team into.... wherever he was.
Who had shot them down? And why? Chakotay's thoughts were confused and slow as the fever gripped him. The ambassador, what had happened to him?
Drawing on faintly remembered folk cures from Dorvan, he scooped up the food off Andrea's plate and placed it over the gaping wound in his leg, as a makeshift poultice. Stripping off his turtleneck, he bound the mush in place, before redressing. It wouldn't help much, but if it helped draw some of the infection from his leg it would be something.
Then, with nothing else to do, Chakotay lay back and concentrated on preserving his strength and fighting through the pain to stay alive.
***
When the door opened again, the fever had gripped him totally, blurring his vision. Two doors, opening, two small women stepping through. He shifted, trying to raise his head to see who was coming in, but the sharp movement sent waves of pain through his leg.
An argument reached him, someone insisting that someone be released immediately so that he wouldn't die. Poor bastard, thought Chakotay, some poor bastard was going to die here-there was no reasoning with these guards. The voice was familiar though; in his delirium, it had the smokiness and the authority of Kathryn Janeway. But that couldn't be. Although she wouldn't abandon him, she certainly wouldn't be the one to come for him. Tuvok would come at her behest, Tuvok and a security team. The voices were arguing, and he rolled away, trying to block out their strident sound. Then the door slammed shut and the darkness settled back over him.
"Chakotay, can you hear me?" Kathryn's voice, softer now, her hand on his shoulder. "Can you understand me?"
Her hand briefly cupped the side of his face, then she turned his head toward her voice. A small pencil-thin beam shone in his eyes, then traveled over his body. A gasp, when it steadied on the wound in his leg. A gentle hand lifted his makeshift poultice to one side, and a second indrawn breath. The poultice returned to its position.
He heard quiet footsteps moving across the cell, to where Andrea's body lay, he guessed. A pause, its silence more eloquent than any words could ever be. Soft footsteps again, their deliberate tread returning to his side. A few soft beeps sounded.
"I don't know if you can hear me, Chakotay, or understand what I'm saying, but you have to try and fight this. You're sick, you have a severe infection. Your shuttle was shot down by rebels. Would you believe that the rebels want Enegue to return to an even more backward and intolerant society, an oppressive and discriminatory one? I know," her voice continued evenly without a pause, "it's hard to imagine anyone could want that. The rebels planned to capture the ambassador and hold him for ransom, but the damage to the shuttle was too severe and you crashed. The ambassador was killed on impact. The guards that found the wreckage work for the current government, not the rebels. It is they who are holding you prisoner now."
There was the hiss of a hypospray against his neck, and the pain receded somewhat, floating in the background of his awareness.
"We knew you were here, knew that Ensign Petty had been killed, as we could read your life signs. But the transporters are blocked-the planet's shielding prevents their use-and the Enegue government was blaming us for the loss of their ambassador. It took a lot of negotiation before they would allow us even to see you. And then, they imposed strict conditions. They asked for two hostages. Do you know who volunteered? Tom and B'Elanna. And they weren't the only ones. I had to ask for volunteers, I couldn't just order someone, because we didn't know how badly you were injured, Chakotay. And if you die, you won't be able to stand trial for the murder of the ambassador. And if you are unable to stand trial, then the Enegue government will take the lives of the hostages as forfeit. They believe that life and death is a choice, and that the afterlife is preferable to this one. So, in the muddle that passes for logical thought among their government, if you die, it is because you chose to, and if you chose to, it can only mean that you are avoiding facing the penalty for your actions. In other words, if you die, they will assume you are guilty of murder."
Another hiss of a hypospray, and then the gentleness of Kathryn's fingers, peeling back the dressing on his leg.
"I persuaded them that Ensign Petty was only acting under your orders, and that was sufficient for them not to enforce their eye for an eye policy and execute B'Elanna. But it does mean that you have to recover, Chakotay." She took a shuddering breath. "I tried to get them to permit the EMH to accompany me. But they would only allow me, and some basic medical supplies in here. They searched the medkit I carried, analyzed all the hyposprays. I have some analgesics, and some of the more basic antibiotics. I have sutures, a laser scalpel, and a few other implements, but that's all. And you and I have to walk out of here in twenty-four hours, with you fit to stand trial."
The analgesic and his fever combined to make comprehension difficult. Her voice washed over him in a hypnotic murmur, and he struggled to hold onto the meaning of her words. Something about not dying. Something about standing trial. Something about the ambassador. He tried to concentrate, focus on Kathryn, using her as his anchor.
"I have to clean your wound, Chakotay," she was saying. "I'll be as gentle as I can."
He felt the cold press of a knife against his flesh as she carefully sliced open his trousers from ankle to groin. Small hands cautiously pressed his thigh, and he couldn't hold back the grunt of pain.
"Sorry." Her voice had an infinitesimal tremor in it. Even in his semi-delirious state, he wondered. He was only her first officer, only her friend, but the waver in her voice was that of one who was fighting the thickness in her throat, someone determined to be strong. He felt her fingers trail over his thigh, press down on a point. Then he reared up in a spasm of pain as cold liquid poured over his leg. For a moment, the pain lifted him out of his body, so that he saw himself, a wreck of a man sprawled on a stone floor, with Kathryn bending over him. There were tears on her face, but surely that couldn't be?
"Oh no you don't, Chakotay." Kathryn's words reached him from a distance. "You stay with me." Her hands deftly wiped the grit from his wound.
I'm here, he wanted to say. I'm always with you, Kathryn, always by your side, but the words were caught in the spiral of unconsciousness.
***
The fist around Kathryn's heart squeezed tighter. She'd seen Chakotay sprawled on a biobed in sickbay many times, seen him possessed by aliens, seen him battered, shot, half dead from shuttle wrecks, but this time was different. She'd never seen his eyes lose their spark of life before. Kathryn didn't need the tricorder to tell her that here was a man poised on the edge of the afterlife.
Still, with him unconscious, it was easier to work on his leg. She cleaned the gaping wound as best she could, noting the streaks of inflammation coursing up toward his groin. The antibiotic the EMH had given her was fast acting, but it couldn't work miracles.
"Pain reliever, fever reducer, antibiotics, clean the leg, suture the leg," she muttered under her breath. His ribs were cracked, but there was nothing she could do about them right now.
The Enegue had forbidden the use of much of Voyager's medical technology, including the regenerators. The EMH had given her a crash course in wound suturing, muttering all the time under his breath about primitive technology, and the intransigent obstinacy of backward people.
Kathryn dragged her attention from his injury. He was restless in his fever-dreams, his breathing harsh and uneven, his eyelids fluttering, his mouth twisting as if his dreams were unpleasant ones. Carefully, she pulled the cut material further away from his body. In spite of the urgency of the situation, she couldn't repress a flutter of desire at her hands on his body. Touching him. Feeling the sparse hairs on his leg, feeling the planes of muscle shift under her fingers.
The streaks of infection had reached his groin, and when she pressed carefully at the crease of leg and body, he winced, even in his sleep. This was serious. She would have to put all her trust in the Doctor's antibiotics. They had less than twenty-four hours to ensure Chakotay's recovery.
"Don't let me down now," she muttered, as she fumbled for the old-fashioned sutures. "I need you too much, Chakotay. Tom and B'Elanna's survival hinges on you. Hell," she pressed an unsteady hand to his cheek for a moment, "I feel my survival depends on you too."
Sterilizing her hands with lotion, she assessed his wound. He'd obviously lost a lot of blood - nothing she could do about that - but the larger torn vessels would need suturing, before she closed the gash in the muscle, fat, and skin layers. Briefly, she wished again for a regenerator.
She probed cautiously in the torn tissues, locating the ragged ends of the larger vein. Hoping the doctor's pain reliever would do its job, she clumsily closed the severed ends of the vessel. Her stitches were awkward, and she hurried, fighting down the bile that rose in her throat. She wasn't overly squeamish-no Starfleet officer could afford to be-but this was an intimacy of a different kind, and a detached impersonality was impossible. This was Chakotay she was repairing, her friend, her officer, her confidant, her love.
Kathryn had never denied to herself that she loved him. Instead, she had embraced the knowledge, wrapping it securely in her heart, as something she could take out and examine from time to time, her touchstone. But it was a closely held secret. If he ever suspected-and she wondered if he had-then she never gave him cause to know. Because if he knew, being the man he was, he would have to act . And if he acted, she didn't think she could remain apart from him. Any gesture that was more than that of a friend, any rapprochement of the barrier that prevented them becoming lovers-once breached there would be no going back.
She spared another glance at his face as she looped suture through the long muscle.
"You can do it, Chakotay," she whispered. "You have to."
His eyelids fluttered, and he moaned slightly, as if he heard her, and muttered something under his breath.
Kathryn ignored it and concentrated on placing the final sutures in his skin. The EMH would repair it properly when they got back to the ship, she simply had to fix it to a serviceable level.
Wiping her hands with the disinfectant, she sat back on her heels, surveying her handiwork. Chakotay whispered something again, and she bent forward, trying to catch what he was saying.
"Cold..." he said again.
Kathryn placed a hand on his forehead; it was burning hot, and his cheeks were flushed. A thin sheen of sweat covered his exposed skin. "Chakotay, you're not cold," she said. "You're too hot."
He rolled over, curling himself awkwardly into a ball. "Cold..." he said distinctly, and his body shuddered, as if the room temperature hovered around zero. "Kathryn, please... I'm cold."
She looked around for blankets, but there was nothing. Her gaze fell on Ensign Petty's body, but something in her recoiled at the idea of stripping the clothes off the dead woman. Instead, she took off her own jacket and laid it over him.
He huddled closer into himself, his body shaking. "Cold..."
Reminding herself that she would do this for any of her crew, Kathryn lowered herself to the ground and spooned around him, wrapping her arms carefully around his chest, and pressing her thighs to the back of his. He wasn't actually cold, it was the fever, so she didn't expect to warm him, but maybe it would give him comfort, then he could rest and let the antibiotics do their work. She sighed, and pressed her head against his broad back, letting her hands roam slightly over his chest. Trying to give the illusion of warmth, she told herself, as she ran her palms over his hard muscles. His warm scent filled her nostrils, but underneath was the insidious reek of sickness, and stale sweat. She shuffled her legs, trying to press closer to his, holding him steady when he mumbled something and tried to turn toward her. This wasn't an embrace. This was comfort and healing, succor for a friend.
She didn't sleep. Instead, she lay awake cataloging his heartbeat, his sighs, his breathing.
***
Every hour, she took tricorder readings, and after four hours she let herself dare to hope that he would recover. His temperature had dropped fractionally, and the infection was withdrawing from his leg. However, he continued to mutter in his semi-conscious state, words and names that made little sense.
Once, he cried out, "Kathryn" and she started up with a jump, peering down into his face, searching for signs of recognition. But he simply continued to murmur.
As the infection receded, he became restless, tossing around on the floor. She was forced to let go of him, but this made him agitated.
"Kathryn," he cried again. "Come back."
Even though she knew he didn't know what he was saying, she dropped back to the floor beside him, and wrapped him in her arms.
Muttering something, that could have been her name or could have been nothing, he moved onto his back, pulling her over so that she lay close to his chest. His hands came down and wrapped around her back, one dropping down to cup her buttock, pulling her against his hips.
She tried to put some distance between them, away from the gradual swell she sensed beneath his underpants, revealed by the cut uniform, but he merely gripped her tightly and pushed his face into her hair. Wiggling, she tried to access her tricorder, but he simply sighed and held her close. As if he cared. As if he loved her. She touched his face, trying to feel his temperature. The heat radiating off him made her jerk back. He was burning up. His mutterings now were becoming louder, fiercer, and he appeared agitated, his head thrashing to and fro.
"Kathryn," he cried out, with a ferocious desperation, and started to sob, dry, heaving sobs that shook his chest and her with it. "Don't leave me!"
The pain in his voice was her undoing. "I'm here, Chakotay," she murmured, her words pitched low, in what she hoped were soothing tones. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You won't let me love you." His voice was soft, and she had to strain to hear what he said. "Why not, Kathryn? Why not?"
She swallowed hard. The words he said were not a surprise, she'd known, deep down she'd known he cared, but to hear them spoken aloud made them more real. They were brought to life so that they hung as a tangible possibility in the gloomy cell. There was no answer she could give him, not now.
"Why, Kathryn?" he said again, and his teeth clenched as a shudder ran through his body. "Cold."
Pulling herself free of his encompassing grip, she scanned him again. He was still hot, but his shivering was increasingly. Putting down the tricorder, she started rubbing her hands firmly over his body, concentrating on his exposed hands and neck, trying to give him the illusion of warmth.
"S'nice," he murmured, and his shivering eased a little.
Encouraged, she kept up her efforts, pulling up his tank top to burrow her hands underneath his uniform onto the soft skin of his belly. She rubbed over his chest in light, sweeping motions, aware of his broken ribs. One small part of her brain reveled in the feel of his skin, the touch of it against her hands. Another larger part rigidly shut down on the emotions he roused in her. 'He's sick,' she told herself firmly. 'This is therapeutic touch-nothing more.'
"Kathryn," he said and half-turned into her.
She froze. His movement had put her hands lower on his body, resting lightly over his groin. He was hard. There was little clothing left to shield his rigidity. Not wanting to draw undue attention to where her hands were, she slowly lifted them away.
"No," he said, and with surprising strength grasped one of her hands and forced it palm-down over the tenting in his pants.
Kathryn hissed in a breath, and tried to withdraw again. His eyes remained closed, lips half parted, breath coming in shallow pants, but he held her firmly against him.
"Touch me," he muttered. "Touch me, Kathryn, as if you meant it. Please, love, just this once..."
He pulsated under her hand. Without conscious volition, her fingers moved, tentatively exploring the size and shape of him. His hips moved, pushing himself into her hand.
No. However tempting this was, she couldn't do this. She snatched her hand away as if it were burned, and retreated across the room. Wrapping her arms around her suddenly trembling body, she observed him. He was tossing wildly, his head rolling from side to side, his uninjured leg twitching and jerking.
"Kathryn," he said again. "Please..."
The tricorder was next to him, but there was little point in wearing it out. His condition was unlikely to have changed in the last few minutes. She stood and watched him, biting her lip in indecision. She must really be losing it-she was actually considering going back to his side, opening the fastening on his pants, slipping her hand inside and...
And what? Making love to him? The man was sick, but maybe that was part of the appeal. He was unlikely to remember anything she did to him. And he was surely too weak to make love. What a let down that would be anyway. When they made love-when, not if-Kathryn wanted him to be fully aware of it. There was only ever one first time.
What about simply running her hands over his body, all of his body? She could do that surely, and there was the excuse of "medical need". Kathryn snorted softly to herself; that was pushing it and she knew it. But maybe it would calm him down, let him sleep so that the fever could break more readily. And she would have the knowledge of what he felt like to touch, the knowledge would warm her when the captain's nights were long and lonely. Oh, she would indeed know what he was like.
Before she could let herself reconsider, Kathryn crossed the room back to his side. Dropping to the floor she spooned behind him again and ran her hands tentatively around the waistband of his pants, before letting her hand move to the fastening.
***
A sweet and achingly vivid dream. Chakotay could hear himself moan slightly in the back of his throat, as his hands clenched. Through slitted eyelids, he could see Kathryn's hands running over his belly, edging, inch by inch, into the gaping vee of his undone pants. His cock was hard, throbbing with the need for her to touch him. He wished he could see her face.
Her finger traced a meandering pattern over his belly, dropping down to slide into his underpants. A finger touched the head of his cock. Sweet spirits! His hips arched, instinctively trying to push himself into her hand. If only he didn't feel so hazy, as if he weren't really here. But the tearing cold had gone, he was warm, and his blood pulsated with the joy of being touched.
When she slid questing fingers along his length, his head spun as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. If this were a dream, and it surely must be, then may it never end. Her finger rubbed in steady circles around his tip, and he felt the wetness, felt the frissons of arousal. He wanted her to kiss him, to bend over him, letting her hair tickle his face as she caressed him.
She settled into a steady stroking rhythm, occasionally reaching in further to tickle his balls. The smooth slide of her hand was almost more than he could bear. When she squeezed him slightly, he jerked, and in that instant he realized he wasn't dreaming. His head spun, his ribs ached, his injured leg throbbed with an unrelenting pain. His thoughts floated free, bound tenuously to reality, but for a second it all coalesced. Kathryn was here, he could feel her warm body pressed to his back, the faint tickle of her hair and her uneven breath on his neck. Her breasts pushed into his back, moving to the rhythm of her hand.
As she pushed him over the edge into orgasm, the release was more than a physical one. There was the long suppressed mental release that finally Kathryn had made her decision. A soft kiss on the back of his neck, and the feel of her small hand withdrawing from his pants. Something soft wiping his sticky cock, then the feel of her gently tucking it back into his pants and withdrawing. Chakotay drifted into sleep, content to feel her body spooned behind his.
***
When the door to Chakotay's cell swung open, they were ready. Chakotay was on his feet, swaying slightly, a crease between his eyes from the sheer effort of staying upright. Kathryn bore his weight on her shoulder without complaint. If Chakotay could convince the Enegue that he was recovered sufficiently to stand trial, then they would be allowed to return to Voyager, where he could have the proper medical care.
He had regained consciousness a scant three hours ago, but once she had brought him up to date on their situation, he had responded with the determination and steadfastness she had come to count on. Chakotay would not let her, Tom, or B'Elanna down. He would walk out of that cell if he died trying.
At first, Kathryn had been unable to meet his eyes. Already, she was regretting the impulse that had let her give him release. She managed to hide her sticky hands from him-there was no water in the cell-and she tended to him with a brisk impartiality. Chakotay had responded in the same manner, although there was a contentment, a faint aura of expectancy about him that puzzled her.
He remembered little, he said, in answer to her carefully worded questions. He vaguely recalled her arrival, but little else.
After that, it was easier, and Kathryn was able to show him more of her usual warmth, without wondering if he thought... if he knew... if he remembered.
The Enegue holding the door beckoned them imperiously, and together, they walked slowly and purposefully forward. Kathryn heard Chakotay's rasping breath in her ear, and knew from the way he leaned on her that the effort was costing him more than he outwardly showed. But he didn't falter. Outside, she saw Tuvok waiting for them. He nodded to her once, then resumed his discussion with the Enegue Protectant.
Squeezing Chakotay's waist reassuringly, Kathryn murmured, "Hold on. Just a little bit longer."
A short nod was his only reply.
Tuvok nodded once to the Protectant, and moved over to join them. Handing each of them a comm badge, he moved into the cell, and hoisted Petty's body over his shoulder. "The shuttle is ready for take off," he said.
They were the sweetest words she had heard in a long time.
***
It was three days before the EMH declared Chakotay fit to stand trial. Three days, which Chakotay spent fretting about Tom and B'Elanna held captive in his place. Three days of healing, and rest, and endless hyposprays and regenerators.
The trial itself only took a few hours. The Enegue Protectant had traced the rebel ship which had attacked Voyager's shuttle, and the weapons' signature was sufficient evidence to prove that Chakotay was blameless for the ambassador's death. Eyewitnesses who had seen the crash attested to his skill at landing the shuttle, and related how the aft end had torn off on impact. Chakotay was exonerated, and Tom and B'Elanna released from captivity.
With a lighter heart than she had carried in a long time, Kathryn gave the order to break orbit. Enegue was one planet she had no wish to see again.
Chakotay was off duty for another two days, and in that time Kathryn barely saw him. He spent some time with Tom and B'Elanna, some time in the holodeck alone, and a lot of time in his quarters-resting, she hoped. In the evening of the second day, she invited him for dinner. Ostensibly, the reason was to hear his report on the shuttle crash and capture by the Enegue, but really she wanted to reassure herself he had recovered from his ordeal. She had tried to put the feel of his flesh from her mind, but insidiously, the memory would resurface at times, most often just as she drifted off to sleep. For both of their sakes, she had to work through this and return their friendship to its previous, comfortable level.
***
Chakotay sauntered the short distance down the corridor to Kathryn's quarters. In one hand was the PADD with the report she had requested. In the other hand was something that had nothing to do with duty. He caught the knowing grin of a passing crewman, and knew that it would be all over the ship by morning.
"Come." Her throaty voice bade him enter, and he smiled down at his captain and friend. Maybe, he hoped, soon his lover.
She was in uniform, as he had expected, and her eyebrow rose slightly seeing him in casual clothes. He handed her the PADD, and the single rose he carried.
"There's no need for this, Chakotay." A faint blush stained her cheeks and she turned away, ostensibly to find a vase for the flower.
"There's every need," he replied. "You gave me something special down on Enegue. I should be giving you more than a single rose."
Her hands stilled momentarily in the closet, then moved quickly again. "I know I have a vase somewhere," she muttered.
Kathryn turned, and he saw her cheeks were blooming to match his gift. He put her out of her misery. The time wasn't right yet. "You saved my life," he said gently. "Thank you."
She looked at him, the vase in her hands, and he wondered at the suspicious brightness in her eyes. "I can't lose you, Chakotay. And I did very little. Thank the Doctor for his hyposprays, Tom and B'Elanna for their willingness to stand in your place. But you made the biggest effort of all. Your strength pulled you through that ordeal."
"I couldn't save Andrea," he murmured, and he turned away from her, toward the viewport.
Her faint sigh whispered across the space behind him. "I've been on away missions with Andrea," she said. "And we both know she simply wasn't cut out for this life. Her decisions were questionable at the best of times, and her judgement poor. I haven't read your report yet, and I'm sure you're trying to spare her the brunt of the blame, given that the poor child is dead, but I'm willing to bet that her inexperienced piloting was a contributing cause to the severity of the crash."
He was silent, knowing her words were true, but unwilling to speak ill of the dead.
She took his silence for what it was and changed the subject. "Something to drink before dinner?"
Accepting a glass of wine, he moved to sit next to her on the couch, placing the PADD on the coffee table.
Kathryn picked it up and thumbed it on. "I'm interested in reading this, Chakotay. I was wondering if we could..."
He took it gently out of her hands. "Not tonight, Kathryn. Tonight is for other things."
"Oh?" That arched eyebrow again.
He shifted closer on the couch. "Tonight is a celebration," he said firmly. "Tonight is for Kathryn and Chakotay."
Her fingers trembled slightly on her glass before she stilled them. "Really, Chakotay. It was only what any friend of yours would do."
Taking a sip of the wine he let the flavor roll over his tongue. She had given him the opening he needed, all he had to do was take the opportunity, seize the moment with both hands and see where it led him. "It would take a very special friend to do what you did that day."
She regarded him warily over her glass. "What do you mean?"
"I remember things, Kathryn. They're hazy, there are gaps, and it's like looking back on a vivid dream. But I do remember how you comforted me."
Her glass slipped from her fingers to crash to the deck and the wine spilled out like his blood. She turned away, and her hair fell partially over her face. "I hoped you didn't remember," she said in a low voice. "I thought that you didn't."
Chakotay pushed back her hair with careful fingers, and turned her face toward him. Although her cheeks flamed redder than the wine, she lifted her chin and met his gaze.
"Is it so hard to admit to loving me, Kathryn? There's now no doubt in my mind that you do. And you know that I love you. Is there anything really so wrong in that?"
She was silent.
He smiled slightly, and let his fingers trail down her cheek to her chin. His thumb brushed lightly over her lips. "I know your reasons: protocol, the crew, the ship, command. They're all valid ones. But I think Kathryn is in there somewhere too. And I think we can do this."
"Do what?" she whispered.
"You and me. Friends. Partners. Colleagues. And lovers." Chakotay let his thumb brush her lips again. His eyes fixed on hers, trying to gauge her reaction, but her face was shuttered, closed to him. If she refused him now, then he didn't think she ever would let him in, not on Voyager. And he would be forced to move on for the sake of his own sanity.
"I loved what you did on Enegue-how could I not? But do you know what I wanted even more?"
She shook her head, a tiny movement that he would have missed had his fingers not been on her cheek.
"I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted the intimacy of your lips on mine, so that I could breathe your soul." He moved toward her on the couch, and let his fingers trail down her neck to the uniform collar. "Can I kiss you now?"
He didn't wait for a verbal answer, merely closed the gap and placed his lips gently over hers. No pressure, merely a gentle benediction, a breath of his soul. For long moments, he thought she wouldn't respond, would push him away, but then her lips softened, opening underneath his, and they were really kissing.
Chakotay gathered her into his arms, feeling her arms wind around the back of his neck, hungrily pulling him closer as if she wanted to subsume him through the kiss. It seemed she had made her choice. Her tongue was eagerly stroking his, and her body pressed against him. He didn't waste the opportunity, but pulled her closer still, letting the love overflow from him, wrapping her in his care. The joy tugged him, spiraling through him like a tidal wave. For now, he was content simply to kiss her, but soon...
Kathryn's aggression surprised him. Surely, this wasn't a momentary letting go for her? Gently breaking the kiss, he lay back against the couch, pulling her down so that she was cradled on his chest.
"Kathryn? Does this mean you've changed your mind? Have you decided we can have it all?"
Her words were muffled by his shirt, but he could hear her wry tone. "Seems you know everything already. What's the point in continuing to deny something we both want so much?"
Could she hear the leap of his heart at her words? She must certainly feel his engorged cock through the layers of clothing. He lifted his legs onto the couch, pulling her down between them, so that she lay cradled by his thighs. Fabric separated their bodies, but he felt open, exposed, as if they were lying there naked. But his heart was there for her to take.
She shifted, so that she could run her hands over his chest, down to the snap of his trousers. "Do you remember what I did, Chakotay?" Her hands unfastened the closure and she ran a finger around the top of his underpants. "Do you remember this?"
He nodded.
"And this?"
He gasped, as her fingers found their way underneath the band, and rubbed lightly over the head of his cock. "Yes," he whispered, as his hips began to undulate in an instinctive rhythm. "I do, and it was wonderful. But you're not doing that again."
"No?" She raised her head to look at him, and his breath caught at the soft look in her eyes. "Why not?"
"There's two of us here, and I want to pleasure you. The only question is: here, or in your bed?"
"We haven't had dinner..." she murmured in response. "But suddenly, I'm not hungry.
He stood, and taking her hand, led her through the door to her bed. Kathryn's ferocity returned with a vengeance, and she pulled at his unbuttoned pants, pushing them determinedly over his hips, taking his underwear with them. Tugging his shirt open, she ran her hands over his chest, palming his belly, and tugging gently on his nipples. When she bent to follow her trail with her mouth he pulled her up again.
"No. My turn. Remember?"
She stood passively to let him remove her uniform jacket, raising her arms so he could pull the turtleneck over her head. Dropping to his knees in front of her, he pulled up the tank and pressed his lips to her belly. The fastening of her pants gave way easily and he peeled them down. Her plain cotton panties were damp to his questing fingers. His mouth moved lower, and he pressed gentle kisses around the edge of the panties.
Her hands raised and grasped his head, steadying him in place, but she made no sound. It was as if she were holding her breath, waiting for his next move to bring her screaming to life. Her strong female scent filled his nostrils, and he couldn't wait any longer to taste her. Ignoring his own aching cock, he lowered her panties. Coarse pubic hair tickled his cheek and he dropped lower still, pushing a seeking finger between her folds. She gasped and spread her thighs apart to accommodate him.
The compulsion was to bury his face in her sex, immerse himself in her taste, let her juices run down his chin and over his fingers as he fondled, but he wanted to make sure she was comfortable with his actions. Glancing upward, he saw she was staring down at him through slitted eyelids. She was swaying slightly, and a flush of arousal bloomed on her neck.
Earthy and beautiful. He didn't wait any longer, but buried his face against her, his tongue flickering out to find her nub, hidden among the damp, mossy folds. Her female moisture curled over his tongue, pungent and exciting. His mouth was wet, and he added a finger, pistoning it in and out.
Her hands on his head grasped, clutched, tried to push him away. "Not without you." Her voice was low, the thread of arousal running through it.
Lifting his mouth from her briefly, he replied, "Later." And resumed his ministrations.
Chakotay knew he would never forget hearing Kathryn Janeway in the throes of passion. He would always remember how she looked that first time, the throaty gasps she made, the taste of her, and the flush on her pale skin. Her sex clasped his finger, tight, yet yielding, and her orgasm was long and strong.
Rising up, he shuffled her back to the bed, and tumbled them both down onto it. Her kiss was soft, slack with the satiation of orgasm. He rested a hand on her belly, as she tried to catch her breath. His cock was so hard it was paining him, but now he could wait for as long as it took. Kathryn's decision was made, she wouldn't go back on it. Soon, he knew, he would be inside her, where he belonged, and where he had so desperately wanted to be.
Kathryn arched her back, throwing her breasts into relief against the tank. Their soft silhouette spurred him to action, and he slid his hands under the cloth, lifting it over her head. She rolled slightly, and unfastened her own bra, shedding it along with the rest of her clothing, so that she was naked. With shaking fingers, Chakotay slipped out of his clothes, and returned to lie beside her. It seemed like Kathryn wanted control again. Her fingers curled around his cock, stroking it to shiny purple stiffness, even as she bent to take his nipple in her mouth.
Her fingers drove him closer and closer to the precipice. "Slow down," he gasped. "I won't last."
In answer, she pushed him over, onto his back and straddled him. Her wet sex slid over his thighs, coating his shaft with her moisture. "We have the rest of our lives to go slow," she whispered, and her eyes glittered wildly. "Right now, I want you inside me."
She shifted again, and he felt the tip of his cock probe her folds. Another small movement, and he was inside, the strong, wet walls of her sex gripping him. He swallowed hard, amazed that he hadn't come immediately. The orgasm hovered, only a motion away. The visual impact alone was nearly enough to pitch him over that edge: Kathryn riding him, her lean thighs straddling him, her small breasts bobbing as she rode him in an increasing rhythm, her hair disarranged over her flushed face. But greatest of all were the words of love she was mouthing.
Chakotay gripped her hips and let her set the pace, rising and falling in undulating waves over his cock. The jism rose up his shaft, and he knew he couldn't hold back much longer.
Kathryn flung her head back and she dropped her own finger down to press just above where they joined. "Don't hold back," she murmured. "I'm nearly there too...oh!"
Her words ended on a gasp, and Chakotay felt her contract around him, the shivery female ripples of orgasm. It was too much, and he came too, rising up on his hands, roaring into her face, as he emptied himself into her.
For long moments, both of them were silent. Kathryn relaxed down, seemingly uncaring of the stickiness between them. Chakotay leaned on one hand, and with the other ran his fingers lightly over her thighs, her hip, her waist, and her breast, delighting in the freedom of touch.
"It will be all right you know," he said eventually. "Us. You and me. Living together."
At her gasp, he lifted an eyebrow. "Surely you didn't expect that this would be an occasional thing, Kathryn?"
"I hadn't thought that far ahead," she admitted. "You took me by surprise this evening."
He cupped her cheek, and leaned forward to kiss her. "We love each other. It will work out. That's what matters."
She leaned fervently into his kiss. "Yes, that's all that matters in the end."
(((FIN)))
Feedback? Please. Shayenne
© Shayenne, February 2004 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.