Disclaimer: All characters belong to Paramount, the order of the words belongs to me.
Rated R
The storm bursts out of the dark sky and we are drenched within seconds. Chakotay looks at me, his face laughing and shining wet.
"Come on," he says, and a thread of joy suffuses his voice. "Don't just stand there, Kathryn. The meeting room we visited isn't far away; we can shelter there." He takes my hand and tugs. I have to run with him or be pulled off my feet.
Our feet pound the gray pavement as we hurry along, passing the market stalls with their bright cloth covers. It seems the Movarrans know their weather well; they've vanished as if they were swept off the streets by a giant hand. Movarr's two moons turn the road to silver underneath our feet as we run. How can there be moonlight in all this rain, I wonder absently, as we turn a corner. Where are the clouds?
"Damn." Chakotay stops abruptly by a doorway. It's the meeting room where we shared a warming drink not an hour ago. But now it's unlit, the windows shuttered and drawn, as inscrutable as a Vulcan and just as closed.
The rain slicks down Chakotay's cheeks, dripping off his uniform, and flattening his hair against his head. Without his normal immaculate style, he looks softer, less the officer I work with. Now, he's simply a man.
I tamp down my insidious thoughts before they can run away with me.
Chakotay grins at me, as his hand rises and gently moves a strand of wet hair from across my lips. His fingers brush my skin and I shiver.
His expression changes and the teasing light fades from his eyes. "You're cold."
He backs into the darkened doorway and pulls me in after him. Settling back into the alcove he pulls me closer, so that I topple against him, my back against his chest. Even through our damp uniforms, his body is solid and warm. Arms wrap around my waist and he settles me more firmly against him.
I stiffen reflexively. For too long I've resisted this. My head tells me he's simply warming a friend, sheltering her from the rain and wind, but my heart thinks treacherous things. My heart thinks of caring, and nameless, dangerous moments. Oh, we've hugged before--brief gestures that are over before they've really begun. We've touched before--outwardly casual touches that are anything but unplanned. But somehow, Chakotay's deliberate move is different. We're alone here; there are no crewmen to come whistling around a corner from the turbolift, no Neelix to bustle up with a question, no Tom to turn from the pilot's chair and stare at us with his old, knowing eyes.
So I stiffen, and Chakotay notices. He nudges me with his knee, pushing it briefly into my leg so that I have to adjust my stance to avoid falling. He takes the moment to draw me even closer.
"Relax, Kathryn," he whispers, and his voice slides over my ear. "You're cold, that's all."
I nod jerkily. Just cold. Oh, how I wish that were all it was. Because here, in this darkened doorway, with the rain-slicked streets of an alien world only inches away, my resolve is crumbling. Maybe it's because we're off the ship, maybe it's because I'm wet and cold and my uniform is clinging clammily to my skin.
Or maybe it's just him.
His arms tighten around my waist, and we're now so close that I can feel every line and plane of his body. His heart is pounding a deep rhythm against my back, and his muscles are taut when I place my hands on his forearms. Such beautiful arms; I've seen them often. It's one piece of him that is often revealed as we work. His breath hitches, then resumes. It's fast and uneven against my cheek. And against my backside something is stirring.
I freeze, unsure of how to get us out of this. He's my first officer. I should push him away, make a comment about how the rain is easing, and stride off down the street expecting him to follow me. Ignore it. But the rain is still falling in torrents, and he knows I've noticed, and god help me, he's still thickening against me. I know what I should do, but for a few moments more I'll pretend I haven't noticed.
It's been a long time since I've felt anyone react to me in this way. Gradually, my stiffness slides away like the raindrops running down my face. My fingers relax on his forearms. Just a few seconds more, and then I'll move away, pretend everything is as it should be. Pray that my voice remains steady.
He moves first. Slowly, deliberately, he presses his hips into me. I can feel every inch of him, every thick, turgid inch. I swallow, and try and force the words through my lips, the ones that will restore us to normalcy, back to the captain and first officer of the starship Voyager. They won't come. Instead, I'm melting, turning to quicksilver in his arms. My hips start their own press-backward, to where he swells against me.
I think I'm expecting him to back off. I'm expecting him to shift away from me, alter the angle of his hips, and make a neutral comment about the rain. He'll accept this for a moment of unguarded weakness on my part, and he won't continue it.
But he does.
His arms tighten, and then his hands run urgently down to my hips, and he pulls me flush against him. His erection throbs between us. I gasp, more at the unexpectedness of his gesture-at the audacity of him. But then his lips drop to my neck and move over my skin. His fingers splay over my stomach, and his lips travel down to the collar of my uniform.
I should stiffen in outrage, wrench myself from his grasp. I should let an ice-cold "Commander" bring him back to his senses. I should kick back with my boot into his kneecap. Instead, instinct takes over as reason and protocol fade into a crimson haze. I angle my neck so that he has unrestricted access.
He bites, hard enough that his teeth graze my skin, and then follows it up with a gentle suckling. It tickles. I squirm, a puff of a laugh, and he takes that as encouragement. He moves quickly and silently for a large man. Our positions are reversed, and the rough stone is cold against my back, and he's facing me so I can see his eyes. For a moment they bore into mine; there's a question in them, I realize, but a flicker and it's gone. And then it's just him and me and the dark, rain-swept alien night.
There's no question anymore. I realize the time for demurring, for excuses, is past. So when he lowers his head and takes my mouth, I rise onto my toes, grab him around the back of his neck and open my lips under his. He's not gentle, but I don't need gentle; I need him. He plunders my mouth, his tongue dancing around, tasting me, forcing me to kiss him back. And his hands are sweeping over my body, long, gliding strokes that cover every single inch. It's as if he's mapping me for his memory. He brushes my shoulders, down my arms, traces my fingers, then they return and his palms cover my breasts.
I've dreamed of this. He must feel my nipples digging into his hands. He stoops slightly, and his thigh pushes my legs apart. And I'm raised up, and riding on a glorious mount, rocking in a rhythm that I would like to make reality. His hands still travel; curving around my bottom, down my thighs, and then up, and he palms my sex for a moment.
Surely, he can feel me liquid and ready for him, even through my uniform. Somewhere, in the last few minutes we've passed the point of no return. And with that realization, I start to touch him, really touch him, rather than simply clinging on to his solidity. He may be content to feel my uniform, but I want his skin. So I push my way underneath his jacket and top, and let my fingers stroke his flesh. He's burning, as if his passion has licked him with tongues of flame.
And still he kisses me. The moon comes out behind my closed eyelids, and I can feel its cool light on my cheek. I open my eyes, and indeed, the doorway is bathed in slanting, silver rays. Outside our shelter, the rain has stopped, the streets are gleaming, and the moisture evaporates like the curls of steam from my morning coffee.
Chakotay raises his head, and touches my cheek in a gentle gesture. It warms me for its love and simplicity. His passion is there, trembling in his fingers as they rest on my face. He draws a deep breath, then another, and his smile spreads slowly like the moonlight.
"I don't want our first time together to be in a doorway," he says.
I love him for his confidence.
"No," I agree. I touch his fingers for a moment, then take his hand in mine. "Let's go home and see what we can be."
(((FIN)))
Feedback? Please. Shayenne
© Shayenne, February 2005 Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.