shorty by vanhunks
Rating: R
Code: J/C
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Janeway and Chakotay.
Summary: What the title says. Sultry. Chakotay and the love of his life. She has him eating out of her hands.
**
SULTRY
I can see how the cool waft of air hardens her nipples, how her breasts seem to gain that extra little lift and swell as if they're begging me to touch them. They do, as a matter of fact. They always do. It fascinates me, the way she can set me on fire just looking at her, the way the itch in my crotch intensify until I can no longer control it.
My hand snakes out, long fingers closing in on silky smooth velvety skin. Even the finest dusting of hair - too light and blonde to be almost invisible to the eye - tremble beneath my fingers.
They dare come closer, closer, to make that scintillating connection where my skin and her skin merge. My hand covers a breast, a possessive action in which the fullness of it do my bidding as I apply the pressure of kneading. The hold though, is light, airy, yet full of promise that later, my mouth would venture the same exploration.
I love the taste of her skin - slightly, only slight salty, with the fragrance of body lotion - wild herb or pink rose or honey. I close the pores on her skin with my tongue, slithering along towards the hardness of her jaw. The action is bold, considering our location. Bold and erotic. My actions say nothing beyond the fact the I want her. I want her now.
Underneath my touch I feel her rhythmic pulsing, tiny, light purplish veins visible on translucent skin throbbing even as her senses journey with me to other exotic planes of her body. A small indentation on her shoulder where the strap of her bra had left its mark draws me like a magnet. I fabricate her pain, affirming the healing of my tongue and caressing of my fingers there. Then the hollow in her neck, the pulsing accelerating the moment I linger there. She arches her neck, allows me freedom of movement. Her hair, long and silky waves down her back like a curtain. A tiny sound escapes her. I hear her need, her clamouring desire for release of pent-up emotion and want.
In greedy haste I moisten my lips before marking her. It is a burning sensation and there's a flash, bright and blinding as I see the ancient branding iron scorching the skin of the beast, a mark of ownership declared.
But I'm not finished.
I suck my forefinger to wet it again and then I lean in towards her, flicking her lower lip with my moistness, watching the sharpness of her eyes turn liquid with heat, glowing like a cat in the dark. I can see the swell of the glow from dark to deep burnished orange. I try to halt my rampant breathing, but discover with wonder that it's not my breathing but hers - low, husky. Her lips close on my finger. I want it to remain there for eternity as her tongue flicks over my tip. I am about to burst, I feel. The strain is becoming too much.
I see her nostrils flaring, the brief flash of irritation as I withdraw my hand from her face to find new and old territory, territory which I know intimately, traverse with a blindfold to find the known oases with unerring pleasure.
She shifts slightly. It is a sign. I can smell her moistness; it reaches for me, invites me with diabolic pleasure to uncover, expose, experience. I touch her thigh, now moved a little away from its partner. I allow my thumb to graze the skin there. Again the velvety texture that sends me reeling, insane with desire. I venture further, applying pressure, watch with delight the indentation my touch leaves until the first hair of her glorious little tuft trembles on my thumb.
This time it's not the slow arching of her neck. She throws her head back, like a snap movement. Her breathing is erratic, erotic. My eyes travel from her face, the breathless, giddy, exultant look in her eyes almost my undoing as they thrust me with indecision: her flustered face or her folds. I choose to bind my eyes to her folds, her core. She's - wet, dripping, inviting as I see her rose opening, exposing the pink nub, the elixir of pure pleasure, pert and teasing. Silently I slide down to my knees and I bury my face against her and I sniff, unable to contain myself as my tongue teases her nub.
She's ready. I'm ready.
Her fingers dig into the back of my hand. I'm immune to the pain, but I look up, dazed and startled.
Kathryn's hand rests on mine. I stare bemusedly at her as she smiles at me - a sultry, smouldering smile. I'm back to reality as the bridge, the bulkheads, Tom's head and shoulders at the conn, the soft whirring of the ship at warp begin to come into focus.
It would all be only too real if these weren't my imaginings. For several heady minutes Kathryn was naked to me, even through her uniform. I want to shake my head to dispel her nudity from my brain.
I can't.
Kathryn is in uniform. She sits in her command chair on the bridge, right next to me. Her hand covers mine. She's aware of her seduction of me - a silent, stealthy strip show behind her red of command.
It happens every time. I can't look at her anymore and not experience her body fullness, its invitation to be ravaged.
I'm past feeling embarrassment as her eyes catch mine in a searing gaze. I know what she's thinking.
I watch her get up and walk to her ready room.
Minutes later my commbadge beeps.
"Chakotay, come in my ready room."
I smile.
It happens every time.
*****
END.