Disclaimer: Paramount own them, but don't know how to treat them.
Rated R
© Shayenne, January 2009 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.
Written for VAMB's Secret Santa. My match, Belanna, requested a fic based upon this beautiful fiddle of hers:
My captain was a tease.
I was stomping my way back to my quarters after beta shift. As I drew level with the captain's door, it slid open soundlessly, triggered by my approach. It could have been anyone's approach, she wasn't that discriminating; the point was for whoever was passing outside at the time to see her.
See her I did. She was standing with her back to the door, pinning up her hair. She was naked to the waist, and I saw her creamy back, curved slightly as she twisted to work in the hairpins, the way the soft, dark pants cut into her waist as she leaned, a tiny roll of flesh over the top. She still wore the gloves; I don't think I'd ever seen her without them. Her black fingers manipulated her hair into a harsh twist. That image was the first thing I noticed. But because she was standing in front of a mirror, inevitably, the second thing I noticed was her breasts. Her hands were raised, so her breasts jutted slightly, nipples engorged and flush in the cool air of her quarters. Cool, as she liked it. I guess it complemented her heat.
And then, when I dragged my eyes away from her breasts, I saw her watching me in the mirror. Amused. Unashamed. Taking pleasure in my stunned reaction. Her lips widened in a grin.
"See something you like, Tom?"
I snarled a response, angry at having been suckered so easily, and she laughed out loud as the doors slid closed. Her delighted, malicious laughter echoed in my ears down the corridor and into my own quarters. I threw things around in frustration breaking a few small and fragile items, before inevitably crashing on my bunk and pulling out my cock.
You'd think a captain would have to remain aloof. You'd think a captain couldn't afford to show any weaknesses, especially a female captain in a predominantly male crew. But Janeway had rewritten the rules a long time ago, and no one, no one, dared step out of line.
She used sexual power as a potent weapon against the crew, but it was all tease, no follow through. Ayala used to say sourly, after she'd kicked him in the balls once too often for daring to touch her, that Janeway wasn't a woman, she was a robot, and if anyone ever got into her pants they'd find she was lubed with engine grease. Ayala had wanted her-badly-but when kicking him in the nuts failed to dampen his enthusiasm, she'd shot him. Not fatally, merely in the shoulder of his wanking hand. Then she ordered the holodoc to delay healing it, leaving Ayala fully functional as a fighter, but unable to use his right hand the way he uses it best. I've never seen him so livid.
We all knew she took lovers at will, but never from the crew. She would pick up some convenient alien from some nondescript planet we'd happen to be passing, seduce them with sweet words and honey, promising the world and a place at her side on her powerful warship. She'd take them back to Voyager, and for the next week, we wouldn't see her. She'd be closeted in her quarters with her alien-of-the-week, while Chakotay would snarl away on the bridge in her place. Inevitably, she'd tire of them, and they would be dumped unceremoniously on the next M-class planet we happened across. Or, if they hadn't pleased her, a J-class.
I still remember laughing at the cries and pleas of the last one as he was transported away.
Chakotay wanted her, that much was obvious. Hell, we all wanted her; not a man or woman or mutant among us didn't want her, but the big man wanted her more intensely than any of us.
He wasn't pathetic about it. No hang-dog-puppy eyes for the commander. In his way, he was as tough as she. Harry and I used to say that if they ever got together, the rest of us had better watch out, as there wouldn't be a man or a woman on this ship who would be safe if that happened. Together, they could rule the world; Voyager was just a stepping stone.
No, Chakotay waged a campaign for her that was ballsy and direct. Once, he left the bridge at the end of his shift and paused at the turbolift, staring intensely back to where Janeway lounged in her chair, her slim legs over the central divide, her boot heels gouging into the leather of his chair. "I'm off duty, Captain," he said. "I'm going to take a shower. Care to join me?"
She laughed, a soft, appreciative sound. "I don't think so. Hot water has such a draining effect on a man."
He took a half step back toward her. "I'm not just any man."
"I'm sure you're not, Commander, but you're still not man enough for me."
With a growl, he swung around and stabbed at the 'lift button. We all clearly heard his words float back over the bridge: "Janeway, I could fuck your pretty little body until you screamed for me to stop."
I was close enough that I could see her eyes darken to a midnight navy. "Tempting, Commander, tempting. But not tempting enough." With a laugh, she arched her back, thrusting her breasts into the air and oh-so-coincidentally putting a small rip in the seat of his chair with her boot heel.
I could smell her. Waves of lust and musk and femaleness. She was a predator, and we were all her prey, one way or another.
Once, Harry told me that he'd passed the door of her quarters, and the doors had opened, just as they had when I'd walked by that time. He'd halted, and peered into the gloom inside. The lights were so low as to be smoky and dark. But on the far side of the room, he could make out her pale, blurred shape, an incandescent glow in the dim room. She was astride someone-something-the latest alien of the week, picked up like a side of beef in the marketplace of the last planet we visited, and she was riding him hard, her slim body rising and falling over his while he grunted and squirmed beneath her.
Harry said he stopped in his tracks, hardly daring to move. He didn't know if she'd meant the doors to open, or if she'd simply forgotten to remove that particular piece of programming. But after a minute, the doors had closed of their own accord, leaving him outside with a head full of images and the thought that if she knew he'd seen her, then he might as well climb into a torpedo casing, drape it in a flag and space himself to save her the bother of phasering him.
I wonder what would have happened if Chakotay had been the one to pass her door that day? His quarters are next to Janeway's, so it was possible. Hell, it was more than possible; it was probable.
Maybe she'd meant for him to pass, for him to see her?
They spent time together, Janeway and Chakotay. There was a particularly vicious Klingon training scenario on the holodeck, and I noticed they used it often. She must have loved that, Janeway, loved being up close to him, dressed in her tank top, sweat leaking out of her and him. I bet she teased and he growled, and he propositioned and she rejected, and she probably kicked him in the nuts a few times as well. It was her way of keeping us in line. And it usually worked.
Chakotay's idea of subtlety was to push himself in front of her at every opportunity. Showing her what she was missing. He'd touch her too, running fingers down her arm to the cuff of those sleek gloves that she never removed. He'd touch her back, ushering her with a surprisingly gentle touch to the turbolift. He'd touch her thigh, as they lounged together in those big command chairs in the center of the bridge, a touch that was simultaneously a caress, a statement of possession, and titillation. Once, I turned around from the con, and caught him with his fingers running purposefully up her inner thigh, just a few inches above her knee. I saw the slow drag of his fingers, could almost hear her swift intake of breath. The atmosphere was as thick and heavy with sex as a Risan pleasure dome.
Her eyelids closed slowly. "Commander," she drawled, and I waited for the sharp scythe of her words to cut him down. But instead, a shudder ran through her slim frame, and I could see the sudden outline of her nipples underneath the clinging black turtleneck. "Commander," she said again, and then, "Better. You'll almost do."
He smiled, a slow, deliberate rictus of a grin, and withdrew his fingers. "I'll more than 'do', Captain. And you know it."
I couldn't keep looking and expect to live. I swung back to the viewscreen, but not before I'd seen the gaze she'd given him. The heat from the pair of them should have sent them plunging and burning through the deck plating, down to the deck below. The rest of the bridge crew also knew when to keep their eyes on their consoles, and their fingers flying on the controls.
Chakotay had also tried to make her jealous-or maybe he just wanted to get laid. I'd seen him flaunt his own alien of the week in front of her. Once, I'd come across him in a corner of Sandrine's with some petite dusky skinned alien from the world we were orbiting. He had her pressed against a wall in a darkened corner and they were kissing. Hell, he was devouring her. His hands were on her buttocks, her feet were off the floor, wrapped around his waist and he was grinding himself into her. They were pressed together so tightly I couldn't see if their clothes were pulled aside, if he really was fucking her, right there in front of all of us.
I sat down at a quiet table and watched them. Hell, a lot of the crew was doing the same. It's not often you get a free sex show on the warship Voyager; random acts of violence are more usual. The girl was really getting a pounding. I got hard just watching them, imagining what it would feel like to grind my cock into that pliant body, knowing that even if they weren't fucking now, they soon would be. Very soon, in the darkness of his quarters, in the fuggy dark, his big cock thrusting into her.
And then he lifted his head, his lips shining wetly from their kiss. Letting go of the girl, he ignored her when she slumped against the wall--and yes, her clothing was disarranged, and you could see skin and juices through the rents in her underwear--he spun and addressed a far corner of the room.
"Like what you see, Captain?" Deliberately he adjusted his own pants and sniffed his fingers. They gleamed as moist as his lips.
Then I saw Janeway in the corner, a large tumbler of dark liquid in front of her. She raised it in salute to him. "Not one of your better performances," she drawled. "Your partner appears a little the worse for wear."
Indeed, the alien female was now slumped against the wall in some distress. Chakotay looked back at her and his lip curled. Hoisting her up, he threw her over his shoulder. "Guess I should take her to the holodoc. Obviously our species aren't as sexually compatible as he said."
"Is she worth wasting the med resources on?" Janeway asked, idly running a finger around the rim of her glass.
Chakotay grinned. "No. I'm going to give Doc a lesson in sexual compatibility. This is the second time he's got it wrong. It's unnecessarily wasteful."
"Turn on his pain parameters before you do," she suggested. "Make the lesson one he'll remember."
"I'll do that."
She didn't appear jealous. On the contrary, she seemed to have enjoyed the floor show. As Chakotay adjusted his slight burden and strode out of the holodeck, presumably in search of holodoc, she was smiling into her drink.
I wondered if she was as turned on as I was. For a nanosecond, I wondered what she'd do if I went over to her, and lifted her hand, kissed it, and placed it on my aching cock. Only for a nanosecond. I'm not totally stupid, and I like my equipment to function. It's been on the receiving end of her boot before, and it takes a man a while to recover from something like that.
So jealousy didn't seem to work on Janeway. On the commander, however, it was a different matter. One time, I was working the transporter room when Chakotay led in his latest alien conquest-a male this time, tall and fair, nearly human looking. Apparently Chakotay was sending this one back in one piece. Janeway strolled in, just as Chakotay was placing him on the pad, giving him a hard kiss goodbye.
Janeway raised an eyebrow. "A bit different from your usual tastes," she remarked. "Maybe I should take a look." Walking up to them, she pushed Chakotay out of the way and inspected the hapless alien from all angles. Her cold, assessing gaze appeared to be pricing him by the kilogram.
"Not bad," she drawled. "Maybe I'll take your leftovers on this occasion." She turned to me. "Beam him to my quarters, Lieutenant." And she strolled out of the transporter room, leaving Chakotay standing foolishly on the pad as the alien disappeared in my transporter beam.
As Chakotay wiped his mouth, and stepped down, I saw his expression: cold, closed and shuttered as an asteroid. But for a second, I saw something else, something coiled and secret and swiftly hidden. It was a fraction of vulnerability, as he gazed in the direction she'd left. A longing that seemed to go beyond the animal.
I filed the knowledge away, sure that I could bring it out and put it to good use some time.
He saw my smirk and growled, "Stow it, Paris, or I'll stow it for you permanently."
Of course, it was inevitable that eventually they would get together. Eventually she would be desperate, or bored enough to try him, or he would push that bit harder, show that bit more force and her resistance would be broken. I wondered how long it would take, and while I thought the commander would eventually gain the upper hand, there was always that frisson of doubt, that element of risk that, once again, Janeway would be the conqueror.
I don't know when they got together, but I do know that they did. Whether by accident or design, I know without a knife-edge of doubt that they did. Hell, maybe it had all been an act and they had been lovers from the first. I don't know.
This is what I saw.
I was returning from the holodeck in the dead of night. One of those times when I couldn't sleep, when I wondered what I was doing here, when the twin demons of right and reason couldn't be subdued so easily. So I'd gone to Sandrine's to drown them in bourbon and I was weaving my way back in the small, dark hours of night. My feet were unsteady, and I wasn't the quietest, but I didn't care.
I passed her quarters, and the door glided open, just as before. I stopped, my feet welded to the deck, my upper body wavering as I tried to focus in the low gloom. And I saw her-them-inside.
She was sitting on her couch, facing the door, her back arched, her legs crossed hiding her sex, her hands-still wearing those damnable gloves--covering her breasts. Her hair was down, coiling over her shoulders like Medusa, and her eyes were closed. She looked dangerous. As if any second her eyes would snap open and pin me to the wall. As if she'd drag a phaser out from between her thighs and sweep me into oblivion with a single blue blast.
Because she had commanded my whole attention, it took a few moments before I saw Chakotay. He was behind the couch, fully dressed, as far as I could tell, but his eyes were on her body. The heat in his gaze, the avarice, the ownership…. I don't think I've ever seen such possession in anyone's eyes, before or since. It was the look of a man who knew he would have her. Maybe he already had.
I trembled in my boots. I wasn't sure which of them would eviscerate me first if they happened to look up and see me hovering in the doorway. And then she moved, turning toward him, dropping the concealing hands, and all thoughts of discovery were swept away in the maelstrom of emotion present between them.
"Pretty," he drawled, and his face moved closer to her, leering over the back of the couch. "And oh so fragile. Such white skin. Such delicate, tiny limbs."
She smiled, and the feral, malicious smirk that was her normal pleasure face was gone. Her smile was natural, a gentle uplift of the corners of her mouth. "Not fragile, Chakotay. Never think that."
He loomed over the back of the couch. "Fragile," he repeated. "Breakable."
Her movement was so swift, so assured, that for a moment I wasn't sure what I'd seen. But in a blur of white limbs, smoke and mirrors, she had him pinned by the neck to the back of the couch. His arms flailed trying to break her hold, but she controlled him easily, forcing his face down into the cushioning.
"I don't think so," she snarled, and the gentle smile of the moment before was gone. "No one breaks me." Casually, she increased the pressure on his neck, leaning her whole weight onto him.
He grunted and there was another flurry of movement. She let him up, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and eyed her.
"Well?" she said, conversationally. She could have been asking his beverage choice from the replicator.
"Not so breakable," he said, and rising he paced to the viewport.
I held my breath; if he turned, if she did, if they saw me I was worse than dead. I knew, as well as I knew thirty-six ways of breaking someone's leg, that the door was not open by design. One of them had forgotten to alter the programming. If they knew they had been watched during such a moment... I swallowed hard; it didn't bear thinking about.
I thought about making a break for it, sprinting hard and hoping I made the turn in the corridor before either of them could investigate. I thought about creeping away. I thought about coughing, and pretending I'd just that second walked up. But I did none of those. Instead, I stayed frozen and silent, watching the scene unfold in front of me.
She came up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist from behind. Absently, I noticed that she was wearing a pair of impossibly high heels. They made her legs look long, slender and firm, and her ass bobbed high and inviting.
Her next words were spoken into the fabric of his tunic. "You can be with me, Chakotay, or you can be against me. There are no half measures here."
He was silent, but I noticed that his hands rose and met hers, around his waist. They stood together in front of the viewport for long moments.
"I should take you," he said. "And when I've had you, I should take your warship."
She laughed, and it was a chuckle of pure amusement. "You know you can't have the ship." Her words were said with a casual tenderness.
"Not yet," he said.
He turned, and I held my breath, muscles tensing for flight. But his whole attention was focused on her. She moved into his arms easily, and I realized, with a shock, that it obviously wasn't the first time she had been there. Maybe they'd been lovers all the way. Maybe it was only an occasional thing, but it wasn't a new thing.
He bent his head and kissed her, his dark head moving over hers, his tattoo gleaming with the light of stars at warp. When he wrapped an arm around her waist, his other hand already slipping down to the shadowy cleft between her thighs, when she gripped his shoulders as his fingers moved to and fro between her legs, then I could see that they were perfectly in accord.
Maybe, they always had been.
I knew I couldn't stay any longer, not if I wanted my balls to remain attached to my body. As silently as I could, I snuck away, one cautious footfall after the other. As I reached the perimeter of the door's sensors, they slid soundlessly closed.
My head was clear. The liquor I'd consumed in Sandrine's seemed to have evaporated in their flame, but my mind was still spinning with what I'd witnessed. There had been real tenderness from both of them, in between their expected roles. Was it a sham? Or did the command team have some shared little weakness, some nugget of vulnerability? Something that I could work at, pry open with my fingers until I turned them inside out and broken in front of the crew. For a moment, the little kernels of right and reason that I thought I'd successfully drowned in Sandrine's bourbon earlier resurfaced. What this ship could have been, with strong and forthright leaders. What we could have achieved, and without such a blackening of souls.
My feet marched on, following the familiar corridor to my quarters. Ruthlessly, I beat down those little demons again. Right and reason had no place on the warship Voyager. But now I knew Janeway wasn't as impenetrable as she pretended; now I knew that Chakotay could be led. Now I knew that together, they weren't stronger.
Now I knew that all I had to do was wait my turn.
(((FIN)))
Feedback? Please. Shayenne
© Shayenne, January 2009 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.