VARIATIONS ON A THEME

Disclaimer: Paramount's. All Paramount's. Only the order of the words is mine.

Rated NC-17

What if J/C had been in a relationship from nearly the beginning? A series of gratuitous sex scenes, charting a love affair through the years. Part 5 contains some non-consensual elements, but can be skipped without affecting the story. This IS PWP after all. Slight deviations from canon in the sequence of some events.

My humble thanks to the Alpha Quadrant's best betas - Brianna and Mary S. Who says writing is a solitary pursuit? The first part of this story owes its existence to Brianna, who told me firmly that Resolutions was old hat, and that I should start this story before then. She promptly donated the story line for the first part, including an excellent suggestion from Jinny R. And Mary S. donated the title, to replace the original working title of Gratuitous Sex Scenes!

PART 1: CARETAKER - NEED

Chakotay paced around the quarters that Janeway had assigned him - large quarters, suited to his new position as first officer. Although she'd allocated them to him a few days ago, he'd had little time to appreciate their comfort. Repair teams were working around the clock, fixing and stabilizing Voyager's damaged systems. And, as a personal repair crew of one, Chakotay had spent considerable time mending breaches between the two disparate crews. Maquis and Starfleet would get along; he was determined about this, even if he had to resort to force to achieve it

His injured leg still ached. The holographic doctor had mended much of the damage, but Chakotay had felt that the more severe injuries of other crewmembers should take precedence, and he hadn't been back for further treatment.

It was early evening, and this was the first time that he had spent more than a single waking hour in his new quarters. They were next door to the captain's quarters; he had realized this early on. He'd heard sounds from next door; banging, furniture being dragged across the deck, muffled curses and a heavy object hitting the wall, as if the captain had reached the end of her endurance. And once, he'd unmistakably heard the sound of muffled sobs, and the wave of tenderness he'd felt for this small, strong captain, had taken him by surprise.

The door chime stopped him in his tracks. B'Elanna, he supposed, or another of the Maquis with an angry tale of butting heads with one of the Starfleet crew.

"Come," he called, and was startled to see Janeway hesitantly entering his quarters.

"Is this a bad time?" Her voice, although forceful, was polite, and he got the impression that this wasn't entirely a duty call. For a moment, he toyed with asking her to leave, just to test her respect for him, but quickly dismissed that thought as being petty. She was here; it was an overture of a sort. As if she wanted to forge a bond with him.

They would need any help they could get in their position. The better the captain and first officer understood each other, the easier things would be.

He raised a smile for her, but as tired as he was, knew it was more of a grimace. "No, of course not. Have a seat." He waved to the couch underneath the viewport.

Janeway sat, drawing her legs back toward the couch. It was a controlled posture, he noted, not the relaxed sprawl she might adopt if she were in the company of a friend. Wanting to put her at ease, he smiled. "Can I offer you something from the replicator, Captain?"

"No. Thank you." She brushed a hand across her face, tucking back a strand of long red hair, which had escaped from the confined bun she favored. "I only came to see how you were. I trust the EMH managed to treat your leg successfully?"

The strand of hair promptly drifted in front of her face again, and she brushed at it irritably. Her gesture was slow, as if she could barely move her limbs, as if sheer willpower was all that was keeping her moving. Her hand fell limply into her lap.

"I'm fine," he answered, automatically, and his eyes followed the line of her body, noticing a small tear in her uniform and dark marks on the knees. She must have been crawling through Jeffries Tubes, he realized. Working alongside her crew, determined to get the ship repaired as soon as possible.

The hint of a smile twitched the corners of her mouth. "Be honest, Commander. I saw you limping earlier. Is the EMH not able to handle the injury?"

She was observant. "I'm sure he's able. I felt that others had more pressing injuries, and with power supplies so low, I didn't like to drain our resources."

"The EMH is hardly a drain on power."

"Medical supplies need replicating," he said shortly. "We don't know when we'll be back to full power capacity."

She was silent, absorbing his words. A slight nod in acknowledgement. She would have done the same, he realized. They were more alike than it had initially appeared.

Turning her head, she stared out of the viewport. The stars appeared to move slowly; Voyager was traveling at low impulse. In the half-light, her profile seemed melancholy, set in lines of defeat. Then she shifted, turned toward him, and her shoulders straightened, and she appeared to visibly draw herself together, fitting herself more firmly into the uniform. Her faced hardened, and resumed its more formal lines.

"It's all right," he said quietly. "You don't have to pretend with me. I understand."

Her face betrayed her; for a flickering second he saw how badly she wanted to accept his offer.

"Thank you, Commander. But I'm not pretending. I have to believe..." Her words tailed off, and she turned once again to the viewport.

"We all believe. We all believe that we'll get home, that this ship won't be our life for the next seventy years. The crew is already turning to each other, working together, forming friendships. It helps them cope." He took a deep breath. "If you'll let me, I'd like to help you believe, too."

Her hand trembled slightly, before she clenched her fist to still the movement. "It's so unfair, Commander. It's so damn unfair."

The pause stretched, and he waited for her to continue, knowing that right now, his silence was the best gift he could offer her.

"Nearly a third of my crew dead. Cavit... Stadi... Doctor Fitzgerald... So many lives lost, Chakotay." She turned back to him and there was a liquid shimmer to her eyes that hadn't been there a moment before. "And your crew too. You lost several people. D'Tang... Effendi... Wetherington.... More, too."

Somehow, he wasn't surprised that she knew their names.

"I know," he said, and it was his turn to stare out of the viewport.

"I wish..." she said, and stopped.

"No. You don't." His words came out harsher than he intended, but he couldn't allow her to wish, even for a moment, even to him in the quiet of his quarters, that things had been different. "If you could turn back the clock and do it over again again, you'd do exactly the same thing. Because it's the right thing to do." He shifted closer to her on the couch, and laid a hand on her arm, shaking it lightly to add emphasis to his words. "Because you were saving the Ocampa."

She was beautiful in the starlight. Strong proud features... patrician, yet elegant. Without volition, his hand rose and touched her cheek, and she turned and leaned into his palm. Their eyes met, clung, and he knew that the need and longing he saw in her eyes were mirrored in his own.

Without breaking the contact, she slid forward along the couch, and he parted his thighs so that she could move between. The embrace, when it came, was one of reassurance. Here was life, here was the warm, breathing body of a friend, and here, suddenly, was the strung tension of need and attraction.

He knew the instant she recognized that the embrace had changed, as she stiffened in his arms. But she didn't release him. Instead, she raised a shaking hand to his face.

"Chakotay?"

He answered her question by bending his head and claiming her lips with his own.

Incandescent. The inferno sprang into existence, and he hardened instantly. She was so responsive to him, opening her mouth, allowing him in, indeed, aggressively exploring his mouth with her tongue. A small hand ran down his back, curving around his hip to grasp his cock firmly through the uniform.

He groaned, and any vague idea of gentleness flew out of the viewport. Pulling her down with him onto the floor, he pushed her onto her back, his hands going to cover her breasts. They swelled against his palm, fuller and softer than they appeared in the confines of uniform. With shaking fingers he opened her jacket, and was relieved when she sat up and removed her clothing with swift, practical movements. He fumbled with his own, impatient to resume what they had inadvertently begun.

His pants crumpled around his ankles, his boots preventing their removal, but she was already naked, already drawing him back towards her, parting her thighs, urging him between.

He kissed her as he nudged against damp folds, crying out with an emotion he didn't stop to analyse as he finally slid home, his cock pressed hard to the neck of her womb. The sensation was so overwhelming he had to fight hard not to come instantly, but it seemed she was as impatient as he. Her hand grasped his buttock, ragged nails digging hard into his skin as she spread her legs further around his hips, raising her heels to drum them on the back of his thighs. Her neck arched, head falling back as she panted.

It was too much. A few jagged thrusts and he was coming, uncontrolled jerks and a rush of seed that seemed to come from a deep, secret place far inside him, as if his release were more than simply a sexual act, as if he were giving her some of his very soul. Unbelievably, as he thrust, he felt the clench of her internal muscles, the fluttering spasms of her own release.

As the afterquakes died down, Chakotay felt the cold touch of reality return. He opened his eyes to find Janeway staring at him, her eyes a cool blue. Unable to meet her assessing gaze, he rolled off her, lying on his back next to her, close enough to touch, if only he stretched out a hand. If only she did.

Chancing a glance at her, he saw she had a hand on her forehead, fingers clenched into a fist. She didn't try to cover herself, and he saw the red pressure marks on her breast where he had rested his weight. Her thighs were still parted and drops of his semen clung to the hairs. As if sensing his gaze, she closed her legs.

Reaching behind him, Chakotay pulled a soft throw from the couch, arranging it as best he could to cover their nudity. He knew the axe would fall soon, that she must already be regretting what they had done, and although he badly wanted to speak first, to reassure her that he understood, the words curled and died on his tongue.

Her head turned to face him. "You know what this was, don't you? You know why this happened?"

She was right, of course. "I do. When people are under extreme pressure, it can manifest in all sorts of ways. For us, it was..." He paused, uncertain what label to put on their coupling.

A wry twist of her lips. "Sex?"

A twist of his gut, surprising in its intensity. Was it just sex?

"Yes. Sex."

Those piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through him, cataloging his hesitation. "Chakotay, I won't lie to you. I don't--I won't--regret what we just did. It's been obvious to me from the start, that there's something between us. Some force of attraction. I think you felt it too."

He nodded mutely.

"I know that this was mitigated by Voyager's circumstance, but I think it's more too. There's ... potential between us."

"Cap... " He tailed off. The word sounded wrong.

"I hope we can work well together, after this. You know it can't happen again, don't you?"

Again, he nodded.

She was still talking, her eyes boring into his face, as if forcing him to believe the truth of her words by sheer willpower. "I have a fiancé in the Alpha Quadrant. His name is Mark, he lives on Earth. I love him." A deep, shuddering breath. "If we find a wormhole tomorrow, then I'll go back to him."

He found he couldn't look at her as she crushed something that hadn't had a chance to properly begin. It was necessity, he knew, there were protocols about relationships such as this. And they needed time to build a strong command relationship; that was paramount above all else. But still...

The silence elongated. Chakotay didn't want to move, break the fragile bond they had forged by their actions. Finally, he said, "And will you tell him?"

He wasn't sure she would answer him--the question was a personal one--but she did. "I hope I will. I'm not sure I could live with myself if I didn't. But, I won't know until it happens. I won't know until we get home."

Until they get home. They could have a lifetime before then.