She Bops
by ragpants

Oh god, Janeway thought as she flopped backwards onto her bed. No one ever told me that there would be days like this in Command School. If she had known, maybe she just might have decided to stay in Science. Never once during the whole three months of intensive coursework was anything at all mentioned about semi-nude trade negotiations, erratically vanishing officers and alien races whose concept of personal space could be measured in microns.

She reached down and undid the straps to her sandals and kicked across the room.  They thumped  with  a satisfactorily loud bang when they bounced off the wall. Next she took off her communicator. Out of habit, her hand went to her left pectoral, but her fingers encountered only soft flesh. She looked down and Boop was right there,  exposed for all to see. Shit. Had she walked all the way from the transporter  to her cabin like that? She couldn't remember. Fuck. Well, her crew knew she was female, though most of them probably could have done without the personal confirmation.

She found her communicator pinned high on her right shoulder and removed it, laying on her night table beside the bed. Next, she loosened the cincture of the chiton and dropped it on the floor, along with the gauzy fabric of the garment itself. And her panties. Yes, she worn panties, Vicassian traditional garb be damned.

She looked down at her chest. 'Had quite an interesting day today, didn't we Boop?'  she addressed her left breast. 'Especially the full body pat down at lunch.' She shivered at the memory. The sensation of all those hands touching her was very odd. She could understand curiosity, but that touching didn't feel curious, it felt....salacious. And even worse, she had no idea who was doing it. Whenever she looked around, there didn't seem to be anyone nearby.

She had wanted to ask Chakotay about it. When she'd looked at him during the luncheon, he'd had this peculiar shell-shocked look on his face. She wondered if the same odd thing was happening to him, but he'd bolted off to god-knew-where before she had a chance. And when he returned, after a much too long absence and after sticking her the with tedious task of negotiation, he smelled like, well not like sex, exactly, but something very carnal.

She rolled off the bed, sighing. It was days like this when she desperately missed Mark. 'Right, Boop?" she asked in confirmation. She remembered how he used to nuzzle one breast then the other, making antique car horn sounds: beep, boop, beep, boop as he switched between one and the other until she was giggling so hard she could hardly breathe. Then she would wrestle him onto his back and tickle him and somewhere along the line the tickling would change to...well, never mind. There wasn't going to be a man in her bed tonight.

Or anytime in the foreseeable future.

She sighed in resignation. 'So, Boop, shower or tub? Shower? Good choice. Tubs always dry me out too much.'

*^*^*^*

It wasn't working.

Kathryn gritted her teeth, spread her knees a little wider, rocked her hips forward and adjusted the placement of the vibrator. She had hoped for a couple of quick orgasms so she could relax and get to sleep, but it seemed it wasn't going to happen. The thrumming between her legs had ramped up at a exponential rate as soon as she applied the device to her pudendal flesh, but her climax had never come. Now her clitoral nerves were shutting down and going numb in self-defense as the vibrator continued to buzz away at her. With a frustrated groan, she reached down and turned off the appliance. If technology wasn't going to solve her problems, she just have to resort to old-fashion hands-on methods.

She rolled on her side, insinuating her right hand between her thighs and guiding three fingers into the slippery channel of her labia. Gently she coaxed her abused flesh to respond, touching lightly and delicately. A fingertip pressing here, then gone. A finger easing inside, then farther inside, before retreating slowly. Better. She found herself relaxing, felt the heavy blood of arousal pooling in abdomen. Yes, better. Her clitoris shyly peeked out from it hooded retreat under Kathryn's tender ministrations. Better. Much better. Maybe now....

Ten minutes later, her shoulder ached and her wrist had gone stiff from the awkward positioning. Her belly felt cramped and achy from constant, unfulfilled arousal. Kathryn clamped her thighs together over her wrist and clenched the muscles of her pelvic floor around her three thrusting fingers.  Nothing,. God dammit, nothing.

She rolled, sweaty and pent-up, onto her back, flinging her arm above her head.

Fuck it. She threw herself out of bed.

She need a drink and walk. Or maybe a walk and drink. Either way, there was no way in hell she was going to lie here and writhe in frustration any longer. She got dressed and headed out the door.

^*^*^*^

It was 0200 and as she had foreseen only a few third shift crew still occupied the halls. Even so, she took a circuitous route to Holodeck One. She wanted privacy.

She raised her hand to peck in the code for Fair Haven. It was the middle of the night there too, but Michael never complained no matter what the hour. That was one of the nice things about holograms:  they're always so biddable and undemanding, unlike First Officers who never had an opinion when one  was wanted and too many when one wasn't.

"Tough day?" Chakotay asked behind her, nearly sending her into fatal cardiac arrhythmia. He had a knowing smirk on his face and she felt a nearly irresistible urge to slap him silly.

"More than you'd know, " she answered testily, her annoyance with his earlier disappearing act resurrecting in full. "The Matriarchs were shrewd bargainers at the negotiating table so now I'm all wound up and can't sleep."

"So you're going to Fair Haven?" Chakotay tilted his head in the direction of the now open door.

"For a walk," she said defensively.

"I'll bet," he murmured.

He stuck closer to her than Velian bloodleech looking for its next meal, always trailing just a half step behind no matter where she turned.  It was damned annoying.

She moved though the twisting streets and narrow alleys of Fair Haven in half-hearted attempt to lose him. She didn't dare make a serious attempt at ditching him because then he would know for sure why she had come. And that would be beyond embarrassing.

Finally she gave up trying and let him follow her into Sullivan's Pub. It was closed, with the stools upended on the tables, but she'd expected as much. Without pausing, she continued across the room, climbed up the steep stairs to the second floor and followed a darkened hallway to her room, or rather Katie O'Clare's room. She unlatched the door and fumbled in the dark for the matches to light the gaslight.

In the flare of the sulfur match, Kathryn saw that Chakotay had followed her into the room. She tamped down her anger. He had no right to be here, yet here he was, making free with her belongings. She watched as he ran his finger along the edge of her bookshelf, picked a volume at random, flipped through its pages,  then stacked the book on top of the shelf instead of reshelving it. She sent a withering glare in his direction, but he seemed oblivious.

"Is Michael coming?" he asked, lifting a glass snow globe from her highboy, shaking it, then putting down on her desk.

Kathryn crossed her arms. "That's none of your damned business."

Chakotay cocked an eyebrow at her and returned to puttering. He moved a small glass vase off her night table, then tilted up the frame of the needlepoint stand so he could look at the piece being worked there. He clucked his tongue over the sampler and continued poking through her possessions.

Kathryn felt her nerves fraying. 'Get out,' she wanted to shout at him, but she forced herself to remain calm and in control.  That's what captains did. They remained in control.

"Did you design this room? Or was it Tom?"

The question took her by surprise.

"No. Wait. Let me guess. You did. Tom would do a better job."

"The details are authentic. I researched them myself," she retorted, stung by his insult.

He turned lazily and leaned against the bookcase. "That's not what I mean." He gestured at the room. "I mean that as a seductress's lair, this place leaves a lot to be desired."

He waved away her unvoiced objection. "Oh, I know why you come here, Kathryn, and what you do here. That's not too hard to figure out. It's just that.....I expected more....creativity, a bolder sense of adventure, from you. Let me show you." He drew  her to the washstand and lifted her so she was sitting atop of it. "This is too high." he explained.  He insinuated himself between the vee of her legs, forcing her thighs apart until her knees curled around his ribs. The heat of his body resurrected her earlier, unsated  arousal and sent liquid rivulets of desire rushing to her center. He rocked his hips. His pelvis knocked against the wooden frame of the table and not willing flesh. "See, " he repeated, "Too high."

For a long moment, they form a tableau. She could feel his the faint warm exhalations of his breath on her face and she though he might kiss her.  In her mind, she could feel the smooth texture of his lips as they covered hers. The salty taste of his mouth. The firm probing of his tongue as it explored hers. His palm soothing over aching nipples. She almost arched her back under the his imaginary hands, but stopped herself when she realized that he wasn't in front of her anymore.

Chakotay had moved to stand beside the bed.

"And the bed is too firm." He bent over and pressed both hands against the feather tick that covered the rope sprung mattress. " Not enough give."

Kathryn slid off the washstand and joined him beside the bed. She mimicked his action. He was right. That bed had always given her backache.

"And it's too low."

His hand rested between her shoulder blades and it urged her to continue downward until her cheek rested against the worn cotton of the quilt. It was an awkward position with her ass stuck perilously in the air and her face down almost even with her knees.

"See. Too low. You're folded like an envelope and it can't possible be comfortable."

Chakotay's hand lightly traced down her back, stopping briefly to cup the top of her hipbone. The contact lasted for only the barest instant, but Kathryn's ready imagination eagerly supplied an abundance of sensory details. His pants bursting on the back of her neck. The possessive curl of  fingers gouging into her hips. The wet slap of flesh against flesh as he pushed deep into her over and over. His face screwed into an agony of pleasure as he climaxed inside her.

Chakotay rattled the tall stool she kept by the bookcase, breaking her fantasy and forcing her into the present. "Useless," he pronounced. "Unstable and prone to tipping over at inauspicious moments."

He tipped the spindle-backed wooden rocker as far as back as its rails would allow. The chair surged forward, jutting up and back, up and back, in a rhythmic counterfeit of sex. Kathryn watched the chair move, mesmerized, her mouth going dry at the images it provoked.

"Now this has possibilities," Chakotay declared, "But it need to be wider. Two will never fit. And, the squeaky floorboard has to go unless you want the entire village to know you're up to up here."

Chakotay shook his head in faint amusement, as if he couldn't believe she'd never thought of all the things he'd told her, as if he couldn't believe she was that stupid or parochial or naive.

He gave her a slightly mocking smile. "I'll be going now. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Vicassi was a rather unusual place, to say the least. But I see you're fine. You don't need my help....Want me to call Michael for you before I go?"

He didn't give her time to respond. He just walked away, leaving her door ajar and the light from her room spilling golden trapezoids into the hallway.

 Kathryn's hands curled into fists. God damn him, she thought. God damn his arrogance and his assumptions. She didn't come here just to hump holograms. She wasn't like that. She was a captain; she was in control. And she wasn't stupid. She wasn't naive or narrow. She... she...she was a woman, a vital, normal, healthy woman.

And the bastard had known exactly what he doing with every word he'd uttered in the room.

Kathryn pounded down the stairs after him, catching up with before he had gotten past the bottom of the stairwell. She grabbed at him, catching him by his left ear and pulling him back to her.

"Bastard," she whispered, her lips scant millimeters from his mouth. "The least you could do is kiss me."

"The very least," he agreed amiably.

The kiss was slow and open-mouthed, exploratory without being demanding. And good. Very good. Better than she'd imagined.

"So," he said, after they had separated,"Where do you want to start?"

"Not here," Kathryn answered firmly. She wound her fingers through his and headed toward the holodeck exit.