EOM

Janeway sits at her desk in her ready room staring at the computer screen in front of her.  There is restlessness in her that she can’t understand.  She might if she tried but inside her, where the feelings live, has been shut down for some time now.

Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway

Yes, Seven?

Captain, I require five minutes of your time. Without interruption.  No Chakotay, no Tuvok and no Voyager for five minutes.

Janeway smiled and replied, Well, Seven that may be difficult but go ahead.

Not acceptable Captain.  Give me five minutes of your time uninterrupted or nothing.  Yes or no.

Seven, what the hell has gotten into you?

Yes or no.

Janeway couldn’t help herself. All right, Seven, do you want me to come to astrometrics?

Not necessary.  I require you to do the following

Tell the computer you are not to be disturbed for the next five minutes

Sit at your desk.

Read your computer screen.

Enjoy.


Janeway did not know what to say except “Computer, block all transmissions for the next five minutes.”

Next she looked at her computer screen.

Incoming transmission from Seven of Nine – accept or decline?

Accept.

 
My hand, my Borg hand is on your neck.

Fingers lightly dusting the stray hairs that grow at the nape.

My human hand is on your chin.

Stroking with feather grace.

Making every hair stand on end.

My stomach is pressed to you.

My breasts resting atop your head.

Suddenly my Borg hand moves to your neck.

Rips the pips from your uniform.

Throws them to the floor.

You are not my captain now.

You are my equal.

My human hand cups your breast through the uniform.

Kneading and playing.

Circling with intent.

Your nipples are bursting through the material.

Longing to be free.

Yet still my fingers circle and play.

Tease and taunt with every stroke.

Your head leans into my stomach.

Your mouth open, and you moaning softly.

You feel my nipples in your scalp.

Every inch of your skin is crying for my touch.

Every hair, every pore wants its moment.

I lean in even closer.

My Borg hand slides down your clavicle.

Brushing your nipples.

Tickling your ribs.

Grabbing at your thighs.

Spreading them wide, for me.

You spasm and jerk into me, again and again.

Still my human hand is circling.

Still my Borg hand is running up and down your thigh.

Closer and closer it comes.

But stops just at the gentle folds of skin between leg and pelvis.

Flicks and teases.

Runs across but not in.

A feather touch.

Exquisite agony.

You grab for me.

I move back.

Brush your hair with my breasts.

Rub your face with my cheek.

But still my fingers circle.

Circle.

And dust and rub and tease.

Your mouth is open.

Begging for release.

Still my fingers circle.

Circle.

And move to the centre, between your legs.

Every feeling you have concentrated in this one spot.

This one place.

This one moment.

My fingers glide across and up.

Inside your uniform.

Then down.

Over your skin.

Through your curls.

Over lips wet with desire.

And still my fingers circle.

Circle.

Search and find your clit.

Rub and flick and taunt.

And still my fingers circle.

Circle.

And dive in.

Into the heat and the wet, the softness.

The spasms, the shudders.

The soul of you.


EOM