Equilibrium

When I sleep, I dream of green and Janeway. Intense, demented images of my desire for her. Captain Janeway tastes bitter and fruity like hot black coffee and replicated wine. Her fingers curl about my collarbone, she twists them deeply into the biosuit that covers up my skin. She is rough and indelicate; her teeth are pulling, her tongue, wet. She grasps my skull hard, holding me steady as we grind together with our mouths. Her kisses drag me under and I drown willingly. I am panting, insane. I want her.

Take me, Captain. Claim me.

"Computer, initiate privacy lockout for Captain's Quarters. Authorisation: Janeway -Omega - Three."

This is no dream. She is solid in my hands, real. Voyager locks the doors behind us. The starlight through the warp field pokes feebly at the darkness. I kiss the Captain again. I slide my fingers through her hair. The strands are silk, warm. She groans into my mouth, deeply. She presses me harder, crushing my breasts against her own. I tremble with anticipation. I caress her through her clothes. She does the same to me. Her fingers press me here, and here, and here. I feel myself grow warm and moist between my thighs. I am nervous, irrational, wild. I stroke her neck with my cold metal hand. I feel the tension, that scorpion urge; assimilate her, assimilate her, assimilate her. Resistance is futile. Captain Janeway's kisses cease abruptly. Her gaze is startled, bright, wide. She pulls her body back, separate. Away from my hold.

"God, Seven - what are you doing!"

I stare at my metal hand in horror, the sting in my tail. The silver tubules retract into my skin. Commander Chakotay was accurate. I cannot deny the scorpion inside of me, it is a part of who I am. It is my nature. I am metal. Cold. Machine. I scream without sound. I rage, I grieve. See what the Collective has denied me. "Captain...Captain..." I cannot speak between the catches in my breath. I feel pain. It is twisted, vile, green.

The Captain's hands, gentle and guiding now. She leads me to her sofa and pulls me down beside her. Janeway cradles me in the starlit darkness, stroking in swathes along my hunching back. She bids me rest my head against her shoulder. I stain her tunic's band of red with the bitterness of my tears. I hear the Captain soothing me, calling my name, over and over. "Seven, Seven of Nine."

My breathing evens with the passage of time. My lungs burn with the numbing fade of anger. I have cursed the lurking greenness until there is nothing left for me to say. I am empty, tortured. I rise, defeated. I will return to my Cargo Bay. I am a fool to believe I can be human. I am Borg. One of nothing. This broken drone; Seven of Nine.

"No Seven, don't leave." Janeway rises up alongside me. Her slender fingers wrap around my forearm. She tugs me close, until I am facing her. Her muscles tremor where she swallows at her throat. "Stay with me tonight, Seven."

Her voice is harsh, desperate. "Please stay."

"Captain-"

"- Kathryn."

"Kathryn, are you certain?"

I move my metal hand between us, a reminder of what I am. I feel sick inside. I am Borg. Borg. Borg.

The Captain clasps my hand in both of hers. She is love and lust and nanoprobes. I find it difficult to comprehend. Janeway drives me crazy, wanton. Demented with desire. She presses the metal to her lips. One kiss for each cold fingertip. My nanoprobes swarm against the hot, wet touch. My blood rushes, pulsing, frenzied. So skillfully does she arouse my desire for her. "I love you, Seven," she says, "For everything that you are."

"Borg?"

"Yes."

"Imperfect?"

"Yes."

"Flawed?"

She presses her forefinger against my lips. "Yes Seven. Everything. Believe me."

Her declaration forces clear bright tears from my eyes. I drag her to me. Devouring her with my teeth, my eyes hard shut. It is a slow, tormenting burn. Treacherous, red, dark. We stumble, tearing now at one another's clothing. I am pulled under, held tightly. The heat of her fat round breasts against my bare skin is intense, searing like ice. I impact violently against the frame of her bedroom door. The corner is a distinct slice of pain against my back. Janeway's tongue is sticky heat, sliding on the pulse point at my throat. Absorbing me. I am raw and naked, surging. I pound with lust and nanoprobes. Her mouth closes over my breast. Her small hands are bruising, urgent. Perfection. I tear my fingernails across her shoulderblades. She sucks me roughly. Tasting my sweat with her hungry tongue. She is pleasure, insanity. I feel the scorpion in my veins. I am slipping, drowning, losing control. Echoes of the Collective scream inside my head. I am a slave to the metal. I am Borg. Machine. Resistance is futile.

No!

I will not comply.

The mattress crumples as Janeway drags me down onto her bed. Her tongue is in my mouth again; demanding, passionate. I cannot get enough. I push our clothing down, away onto the deck. She has hair, red; between her thighs. I want to stroke my fingers through it. I want to press my body against her breasts and sink my teeth into her curving neck. She is perfection, heat, love. Her eyes are dark and blue and stormy. She takes my trembling fingers in her hand and presses them between her thighs. "Touch me here, Seven." She commands. She rubs my fingers back and forth over skin that is slick and heated, and soft as velvet. I follow the rhythm that her fingers provide me. She is a vision; beautiful, perfect. There is a crease of concentration in her brow. She colours me red with passion, we slide together, sticky with sweat. Her other hand rises to press between my thighs. I jerk, electric. Her fingers stroke me as I do to her. I press myself against her fingers; wanting more, needing more.

Claim me, Captain. Assimilate me.

A thread of sound escapes my throat. Janeway's fingers slip inside of me. They are solid, intrusive. My nanoprobes surge, I cannot think; only feel. There is nothing left now, save for the pressure of the Captain's fingers and the pounding in my veins. Her flesh is slick and wet and warm. Her body grinds against me; hard and hot and fast. She is love and perfection and darkess and desire. I burn, unbound, out of control. I cannot resist her. She is everything. I scream her name. It is a pure, metal sound. "Kathryn, Oh, Captain..."

I feel the heavy metal rush. Silver filaments reeling back into my hand.

No...

The Captain's skin turns green and grey. Assimilated. Cold. Borg: like me.

Kathryn regards me with her dull blue eyes. Her greying lips curve upward in a wicked, wicked smile. She speaks to me, I hear her in my mind. Her voice is dark, soft, sweet.

"Welcome to Our Collective, Seven of Nine."

#END#