Admiral Kathryn Janeway couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to be talked into this. Her sister really was one of the most annoyingly relentless people in the galaxy and when teamed with B'Elanna Torres to persuade the elder Janeway to do something she didn't necessarily want to do… Well, it was inevitable that Phoebe's latest plan had swept up Kathryn and deposited her on the pleasure planet of Risa. Janeway had to admit it wasn't all bad: the tropical climate made a wonderful change from the dreary San Francisco February she'd left behind and the resort Phoebe had chosen was clearly one of the best. Even better, Kathryn had been registered as "Katie Maguire," so as long as no one recognized her face from the newsfeeds and insist on her admitting it, Admiral Janeway did not officially exist on Risa.
Kathryn took a long sip of the fruity drink the gorgeous Betazoid server had offered when she entered the pool area and stretched out further on her ergonomic lounger, enjoying the heat of the sun on legs too long trapped beneath a desk. A visit to the holodeck was wonderful when she could find the time, but nothing beat the reality of R&R on a planet dedicated solely to pleasure. She smirked a little as she thought about the ways "pleasure" was defined here. Truth be told, she found herself a little titillated at the possibilities Phoebe's plan had left open to her. The anonymity, the lack of repercussions to her reputation or career, the sheer, unbridled possibilities made her wonder, just how far she should go? Seven years of enforced celibacy in space and another eighteen months of missing any romantic opportunities because she was working too hard had left her with an itch she barely remembered how to scratch. Maybe, just maybe, this trip was her chance to work out some of the kinks. Or work in some new kinks, her naughty nature whispered in her ear. That brought a secretive grin to her face, even as she blushed a little at her own imagination.
"Ms. Maguire?" A good-looking, well-muscled employee in hotel livery appeared next to her lounger as if summoned by her thoughts.
Starting a little, Janeway lifted her sunglasses, "Yes?"
"We have you scheduled for a massage in ten minutes at Quantum Touch."
"A massage? I didn't request…"
"No, ma'am," the staff member smiled, "your secretary commed earlier this morning. She said she wanted you to have, and I quote, 'the very best Risa has to offer.' She booked you for a full service, three hour appointment at Quantum Touch, the most exclusive body works studio on Risa. I don't know how she managed to get you in with so little advance—they're usually booked weeks ahead."
Kathryn's eyes narrowed for a moment. "My secretary?" She waited for the young man's nod. "Did she mention her name?"
"Why, yes, Ms Maguire, she told me to tell you B'Elanna was sending you the best present she could think of."
Against her will, Janeway's ruby-red lips curled upwards. Why she had ever encouraged her sister and her former Chief to get close was beyond her now, but she supposed she'd just have to enjoy whatever the two of them had come up with now.
"Very well," she answered. "How do I get to this Quantum Touch?"
"Oh, no worries, ma'am," the handsome young man grinned. "Quantum uses site to site transport. Just lay back, relax, and leave the flying to them."
That brought a chuckle and Janeway quickly searched for and found an appropriate credit to tip the man. He bowed, smiling, and left her to her sunbathing, but she found herself tingling too much with anticipation to really settle back down. "Full service" at a Risa massage parlor left a whole lot to the imagination and three hours of full service could definitely do a lot for those "kinks" she had been considering earlier. The ten minute wait seemed inordinately long, but she had settled down some, closing her eyes and doing some relaxation exercises, when she felt the buzzing energy of the transporter gathering her up.
When her molecules realigned, she was lying on a silky-soft sheet in a darkened room with soft music playing in the background and cool, lightly perfumed air wafting over her. The darkness and coolness sent a genuine shiver through her and she realized that she had probably spent too long in the bright sun beside the pool. Her fair skin burned so easily that her "secretary" had probably saved her from a bit of discomfort later. Pulling off her sunglasses, Janeway sat up and looked around. The room was sparsely furnished with only a minimalistic side table laden with what appeared to be massage oils beside the massage table she lay atop. A curtained doorway opened in the far corner beyond her feet.
"Hello?" she called, tossing her glasses onto the empty table.
"Please remove your clothing," a clear, female voice instructed. "We will begin with a massage."
Janeway frowned. An automated message or a hologram, she wondered. Something about that tone seemed faintly robotic. Shrugging it off, she stood and peeled her lime green bathing suit away. Turning back to the bed, a thought struck her.
"Face up or face down?" she asked, and then repeated herself a little louder so that the attendant or computer could hear her.
"Face down, please."
Definitely a hologram, Janeway decided, lifting the sheet and sliding in on her stomach. That lack of intonation had to be artificial.
The curtain rustled, but Janeway looked around a moment too late to catch more than the impression of a tall, female form, clad in a sarong or some sort of loose dress. A live human, it appeared. That reassured her—why go clear to Risa for a glorified holodeck massage. She didn't mind holograms, but she had always preferred having a live masseuse and a woman was even better. There was something less awkward about being nude and vulnerable around another woman. Probably all those years of shared locker rooms and dorm rooms, she thought, easing herself into a comfortable position to wait. In a moment, warm, slender, strong hands lay themselves like a blessing on her bare shoulders and Kathryn heaved a pleasurable sigh. This was going to be great.
The massage was expert and thorough, but after several minutes of total silence, Kathryn, though blissed out by the touch, felt a little awkward.
"I'm Kate," she murmured. "What's your name?"
There was a slight hitch in the hands massaging her. "I—I am called Ashokt."
"Well, Ashokt, you give a wonderful massage. Have you done it long?"
Ashokt's hands swept down over her ribcage one last stroke, and then moved to uncover her left leg. Janeway wiggled, parting her legs further to allow her attendant more room to work.
"Eight months, thirteen days," came the crisp, uninflected answer, but Janeway barely heard. Ashokt's thumb had found her stiff hamstring and she concentrated on not fighting back against the slow push that eased the stiffness away. It felt so good that she found herself allowing the luxurious sensations to ease her into a state of near bliss that overwhelmed her need for conversation again.
Skilled hands kneaded and caressed, moving and adjusting her limbs with such exquisite care that she thought she'd melt into a puddle. As Ashokt worked her way around to Kathryn's right side, the admiral surfaced from her languor again to mumble.
"You're really good at this. Where did you study?"
Again, the faint twitch indicated the masseur had not expected the inquiry and Janeway's sated curiosity stirred a little. Surely, the woman must get asked these questions all the time. What was causing her discomfort?
"I did not complete a formal course of study," Ashokt answered in those crisp, precise tones so at odds with her hesitancy to answer. "Risa does not legally regulate the services offered here at Quantum Touch."
Janeway frowned. Lack of regulation was exactly what Risa was famed for, but she hadn't really thought about that extending to the professional services being performed. Then again there were all sorts of "professionals" on offer, her libido reminded her. She shrugged internally. Ashokt's massage was extraordinarily good; what did it matter if she had a diploma hanging on the wall somewhere?
A muscular thumb found a particularly tender spot beside her scapula and Janeway's inquisitiveness short-circuited under the purely physical response.
"Ohhhhh, that's divine," she mumbled, feeling the tension she'd carried for months—if not years—melt under the careful ministrations. She had to admit, her sister and B'Elanna had been right about needing to take a vacation. And she'd have to send them both some thank you gifts for this added indulgence. Her mind wandered pleasurably as the attendant continued to find and release all those nagging knots of tension in her back and shoulders.
"Are you prepared to turn over?" the clear voice inquired after an indeterminate passage of time. Janeway, pulled from her nearly meditative reverie, managed a noise of assent, but found the masseuse's hand cupping the back of her head. "We recommend an eyecovering now. It's important to maintain your relaxation and even this low light could stimulate your retinas. May I?
Still groggy with pleasure, the admiral merely nodded and a silky scrap of material, smelling of the massage oil and a faint underlying perfume, fell over her eyes and was fastened at the back of her head. Unseen hands lifted the sheet, allowing a cool breeze to touch Janeway's skin like a caress, and Ashokt murmured, "Turn over, please."
It wasn't done as gracefully as Janeway could have wished, but her body, frankly, felt as if all the bones had been melted down and she had a hard time getting any leverage to lift herself over onto her back. It amused her on some level, but she hoped she didn't look too awkward. Her body wasn't in the kind of shape it had been when she had been aboard Voyager, but she still worked out regularly to keep her desk job from going straight to her hips.
"Your session today includes Tarronian pressure point work," Ashokt announced, and again something about her clipped accent struck Janeway's ears as familiar, but she was too busy trying to recall where and what "Tarronian" was to really follow it up.
The fourth moon of a gas giant akin to Jupiter, Tarrono had joined the Federation during the period when Voyager had been lost. Janeway's knowledge of their culture was limited and she didn't think she'd ever met a Tarronian in person.
"I've never heard of Tarronian pressure points; Is it something new?" she asked.
"It is… very popular," Ashokt commented neutrally. "I am considered particularly skilled in this method."
Janeway shrugged, "Sure, why not? I'm here to have new experiences. Let's give it a try."
At her agreement, Ashokt peeled away the covering sheet, and Janeway, a little shocked and hit with a wave of bashfulness, heard the younger woman move to dispose of it. Naked as the day she was born, the admiral tried to fight her rising blush. Okay, Katie, you wanted to try new things. Go with the flow. Apparently, this is how they do it on Tarrono.
Ashokt's hands were still warm when they landed palm beside palm on Janeway's bare breast bone and as they began large, soothing circles up to her shoulders and out and down her arms, the slight apprehension Janeway had felt oozed away with the pleasure. Despite being so exposed, she quickly fell back into the relaxed haze she'd achieved before, where all that mattered was the physical sensations of being touched.
I've been touch starved, she thought with sudden revelation.
Before Voyager, she had thrown herself into bodily enjoyment with little thought. Her personality, while never promiscuous, had always been sensuous. She had enjoyed her sex life with Mark—gentle and unadventurous as it had been—to its fullest. She had visited the spa near her condo in San Francisco and luxuriated in massage room, the heated pool, the steam room, and even the cool plunge pool. Friends and family hugged and cuddled her; active sports jolted and impacted her body; food, art, music and life had engaged all her senses and stimulated them even as her work had stimulated her intellect and her imagination. Then she had lost her ship in a distant quadrant of space and suddenly all that carefree enjoyment had been buried under the burden of getting ship and crew back to their rightful place in the galaxy. Her life had been abruptly circumscribed, and self-denial and rigid regulation had made it nearly impossible for her to give herself up to sensuality and pleasure like she'd done so readily before.
You're home now, she reminded herself, and you deserve to enjoy some of the pleasures you've missed.
This massage, for instance, was nothing like the purely therapeutic ministrations she'd so rarely accepted from the Doctor on Voyager. His massages had been strictly medicinal, but this slow, precise, deliberate stimulation was beginning to border on the sensuous. Careful manipulations, repeated strokes, and barely felt pressures seemed to be drawing all of her nerves nearer to the surface of her skin. The touches seemed random, but her response grew with such steady force that Kathryn knew there must be some secret pattern guiding the whole. Nothing was left unexplored: clavicles, the tender pits of her elbows, the long, elegant lines of her fingers, toes, knees, the promontories of her hipbones. Kneading, rubbing, palming, manipulating eased into stroking, fingering, caressing, even the faint, faint stroke of a light fingernail along a tingling line of nerves.
Tension was a faint memory by now and her muscles felt pleasantly exercised, yet invigorated. Warmth flowed from limb to torso and back, building not to heat, but to a thrumming, burring rumble of energy within her flesh. She imagined herself a huge cat, lying in a pool of sunshine, being stroked by a gentle hand, and then the fantasy shifted and she felt like she lay naked in a pool of slightly warm water while gentle hands laved her with silky oil that clung and smoothed. Her fingertips tingled and the soles of her feet and then the stroking fingers touching her seemed to gather those random sparks of sensuality and draw them in toward her center, her chest, her stomach, and subtly, her groin.
She fought not to squirm at the heightened awareness of her sex. It was just the leftover frustrations of all that time without sexual release, she reassured herself from the tiny corner of her mind not awash in physical response. Anyone in her circumstance might respond erotically to this kind of bodily gratification. However, as her limbs were rearranged and re-explored, Kathryn knew something had shifted in the method of the "massage" as well. Light strokes spread over her calves and thighs, moving upward as if guiding the energy she felt towards the center of her pleasure. A moment later, palms circled her ribs and spread as if they would cover her now-straining breasts. Delicate caresses led away again, almost teasing, definitely arousing, always traveling before the wash of sensuality became fully intentioned. Floating in the deep relaxation, she tried to summon some control over her burgeoning arousal.
"Do not resist," Ashokt's low voice seemed to flow with the touches. "Allowing the body to respond is key to the success of this technique."
Janeway's mind, lulled and desirous, decided that the direction was well worth following. The tones were relaxed and enticing, somehow as reassuring as the gentleness of the hands making her feel this way. She had teased herself earlier with this possibility—finally allowing herself some sexual interaction—though she hadn't expected it to be with another woman necessarily, but the opportunity was before her and her internal alarm systems seemed to be completely offline. Inhibitions sank beneath the surface of the warm pool she'd fantasized about floating in and her bodily response took control. Her natural sensuality flowed along her nerve endings, turning the warm glow into a lava spill of desire. When long fingers blessed her inner thighs, they parted without a moment's resistance, and when the touch mapped up over her torso to her nipples, she responded with an exhale of satisfaction.
"Yes," the disembodied voice washed over her with a shower of tender caresses. "Open yourself to the feelings. Your pleasure centers are aligning."
And how pleasurable that felt, Janeway thought with a measure of joy. Her nipples tightened and she felt the blossoming of her labia as it moistened and spread. Exquisitely light touches gave way to firm caresses and passionate molding of her flesh by hands knowledgeable and eager. Her body heated and firmed and arched. The swell of craving built from the base of her spine and she gave herself to it, sighing as her nipples were lightly thumbed, then tugged gently.
"Oh, yes," she whispered, elegant hands fisting in the silken covering of the massage table.
Wet warmth that could only be a mouth engulfed one nipple, even as a digit, slightly cooler, insinuated itself between her legs and slipped easily inside her body. A strong tongue stimulated the stiffened nubs, wringing tiny sounds of pleasure from her, as the exploring finger discovered nerve centers ignored for too long.
"Please," she pleaded as the burgeoning wash of orgasm lapped along her nerves, relentless as a tide.
A body joined hers on the narrow table, pressing itself to her side, seeming to affirm the touches she'd been experiencing. Slender, soft, yet muscular and longer than her own, she felt sheltered by it, protected, yet slightly overwhelmed by having another person so intimately near. She was moving now, meeting the thrusts, waiting impatiently as the first intruding finger was joined by a second that spread her further and ignited a buzzing joy of familiar signals.
"Oh, more," she groaned, voice caught in her lowest register, and felt an instant of embarrassment that she sounded so needful, so wanton, but her request set off a rush of answering passion. She felt it in the quickened movements and rush of body heat from the woman beside her.
She was so close now and she gasped when the sucking mouth moved to her other breast, treating its exquisitely sensitive tip much less tenderly, but answering the incoherent demands she was now making in a breathless, pleading undertone. The slightly rougher handling, the tiny nips and bites, the speeding thrust between her legs brought her rushing nearer to orgasm and she gasped out,
"You're going to make me…."
"Yes," the uninflected voice now nearly broke with excitement, "yes, Kathryn, come for me!"
And she did, tightening and pulsing, crying out unexpectedly with the ravishing completeness of it. It roared through her helpless mind, exploding like a super nova over all the rationality and discipline and reducing her to a vulnerable mass of over-firing nerve endings.
For an immeasurable time, she allowed herself to rest in the near coma of pleasure that the orgasm engendered. The room, the world, the stars, all disappeared as she drifted, supremely content in the aftermath. Another's warmth all along her side, arms that held her close, the soft wetness of a mouth at her throat and kissing her lips, all this was a part of the languorous dream state she floated in, long-missed and deeply fulfilling. Then something innate and analytical inside her brain, something she hadn't even been aware was working, made connections she wasn't even aware were possible: The voice, so crisp and uninflected, yet familiar; the overly-precise answer to her question about how long the masseuse had worked; the strong hands and expert abilities with no "formal training"; the broken whisper of her full name—never spoken in this room—at the moment of fulfillment; and, finally, perhaps, even below the edge of consciousness, a recognition on a chemical level of smell and touch and energy that had let her relax so completely in the presence of a stranger whose face she hadn't even seen.
Ashokt.
Ashokt…
That wasn't how it was spelled—that was how it sounded!
It was actually a seacht. Seven. Seven in Irish Gaelic.
She practically leapt to her feet, putting the massage bed between herself and the other woman.
"Seven of Nine!"
The former Borg rose more slowly, hands raised in a warding gesture. Her long blonde hair was in its accustomed up twist, though a little disordered by her time on the bed, and her optical implant and skeletal reinforcements gleamed in the low light, but dressed in a midnight blue sarong that ended at mid-thigh she looked very different from Janeway's bio-suited Astrometrics Officer.
"Captain—pardon me, Admiral—Janeway."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Serving a client at my place of employment."
"You genuinely work here?"
Seven nodded, lowering her hands to clasp them behind her back in a movement so familiar that Janeway felt her outrage nearly stutter to a halt. She'd missed Seven so much… The cool blue eyes across from her dipped momentarily, though, and focused at chest level and with a wash of embarrassment, Janeway remembered her state of undress. She whipped the silk sheet off the massage table and draped it around herself.
"Just what kind of game do you think you're playing?" she demanded.
Seven didn't bother to hide the regret in her eyes as her former commanding officer shielded her compact, womanly form from view. "No… game, Admiral. More of a tactical stratagem."
"Come again?" Janeway snapped in confusion.
"A tactical stratagem. I ended my romantic relationship with Commander Chakotay more than a year ago. He found me… insufficient in sexual matters and I found him… less than monogamous as a result."
The cold recital of fact knocked the wind out of the sails of Janeway's fury. Chakotay had cheated on Seven? Because he didn't find her "sufficient"? Kathryn's heart squeezed with sympathy. Her poor Seven!
"I decided that I needed further instruction in human sexuality. B'Elanna Torres suggested I come to Risa. I have been here ever since."
"You've been here?" Janeway repeated, dumbfounded. "Doing what?"
"I am employed in the pleasure industry," Seven made a small sweep with her hand. "I do massage; I provide companionship; I participate in sexual intercourse with clients."
Kathryn felt her legs go out from under her and hurriedly made her way to a seat on the massage table. Seven, solicitous as ever, moved to her side.
"You're a…!" The squawk of astonishment cut off in Janeway's throat and she gathered her scattered wits, not wishing to sound judgmental. "You're a sex worker."
Seven shrugged, uneasy at her Captain's response. "It seemed the best way to improve my sexual desirability since Chakotay felt that I was… frigid and unresponsive. I concluded that sexual inexperience had led to that negative outcome, so I sought more experience."
"And B'Elanna knew you were here?"
Seven nodded. "After I had resided here a month, B'Elanna tracked me down. She was surprised by my choice to join the workforce. Apparently, she had merely meant for me to vacation in Risa and have what she termed a 'fling' to get over Commander Chakotay. She was initially dismayed that I was working in the pleasure industry, but I explained my reasoning and she agreed that 'a little practice never hurt anyone.'"
Janeway pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture Seven recognized as reflecting dismay and frustration. She hurried to reassure the admiral.
"I must say that it has been very informative and I do think that I have a better understanding of the requirements for human desire than I did before. I also understand that my lack of interest in Chakotay was natural—I am a lesbian."
Janeway's gaze flew to the calm, lucid blue eyes of the woman facing her. "You discovered you prefer women?"
"Oh, yes." Now, Seven smiled beatifically. "I have learned exactly what I want from a sexual partner and I know that Chakotay was right to call me unresponsive. His masculinity did nothing to excite me. But with a woman…." For the first time Janeway could ever recall mischief glittered in Seven's ice-blue eyes, "With a woman, everything is exciting."
That comment sent a jolt spiraling through the admiral that she was totally unprepared for. The thought of Seven engaging in sexual play with strangers was frightening to Kathryn's protective nature, but the memory of Seven making love to her caught her squarely in her no-longer-dormant libido.
"I—I see," she stammered, trying to regain her perspective, "but, Seven, that still doesn't explain what you're doing here—with me."
Seven froze for an instant and now the shoe seemed to be on the other foot. Kathryn could practically see the former Borg seizing upon and discarding possible answers,
"You are my client," Seven answered, hesitantly.
"But I'm not here under my own name," she pointed out. "How did you know that your client Katie Maguire was actually me?"
"I… recognized you when I entered the room."
"But you chose not to make me aware of your presence?"
"I—I did not wish to disturb your relaxation."
Janeway's steely blue eyes narrowed. "Why would your presence disturb my relaxation? You are my friend. I would have been happy to see you after so long apart."
Seven seemed to deflate suddenly, her posture collapsing under emotional weight, shoulders rounding, clear blue eyes fixating on the carpet beneath her feet. "I told B'Elanna Torres this would not work." The seeming-non sequiter sounded mournful.
"What wouldn't work?" Kathryn asked, gentling her tone.
"I … confided in B'Elanna Torres about my sexual orientation and my romantic interests. She knows how I feel about…women. She knows that I have been considering my future both in terms of career and in terms of… romance." Astoundingly, a faint blush swept over Seven's nanoprobe-regulated skin. "She contacted me a week ago and informed me of your impending visit. She asked me what I was going to do about your being here."
Janeway felt suddenly adrift. "What does my being here have to do with your romantic future?"
The question brought Seven's eyes up in astonishment and cool, robin's egg blue met the gunmetal blue of Janeway's gaze.
"B'Elanna Torres knew that I…." Seven's usually-so-controlled voice shook, "…that I wished to pursue a romantic relationship with you."
Kathryn gaped. In fact, her mouth opened and closed several times like a heavy-breathing guppy before she was able to form a word, "What?"
"I have known for some time that my romantic interests… my attraction… my desire lay with you, Kathryn," Seven confessed, her gaze never wavering as it held Janeway's. "My experimentation with Chakotay was based wholly on my inexperience—I used the databases to plan my romantic encounters with him. I had no idea how to feel or what I truly wanted. I merely followed a rigidly designed agenda. Once I broke things off with him, after his betrayal, I began to realize that the nearest thing I'd ever had to a real 'romance' was my relationship with you."
Involuntarily, Janeway shook her head, "We were very close, Seven, but it wasn't romantic."
Seven smiled, "No, I know it wasn't." In a gesture she would never have made aboard Voyager, Seven lay her hand on Kathryn's forearm. "What I mean is that once I knew that I was attracted to women as sexual partners, I looked back over my limited experience up until then and I realized that the interactions that most engaged me, that brought me pleasure, and that made me feel the most, were my interactions with you. I didn't know then what sexual attraction was, so I was never sexually attracted to you. Once I made the discovery of what desire felt like, I knew that you were the one I had desired all along."
The admiral felt some measure of relief that she was already sitting down. Seven had always been able to "floor" her with her blunt assessments and unvarnished truths, but Janeway had never allowed herself to imagine the sort of plain-spoken declarations Seven was making now.
She'd always felt a current of attraction for her blonde protégé. From the moment the Borg had activated the terrifying, statuesque drone from her specially designed alcove aboard the Cube, Janeway had been fascinated. She had instantly identified the species under all the technology and she had wanted nothing more than to liberate her fellow human from the grip of the Collective. When Seven was severed and aboard Voyager, the Captain's powerful protective streak had responded completely to the terror and loneliness and anger Seven had displayed. Janeway wanted to keep her safe, to teach her about the humanity she had lost, to return her successfully to her own birthright. The fact that Seven fought her every step of the way, insisting that her journey toward human-ness be completed in her own inimitable way had merely aroused Janeway's admiration and empathy. That somewhere along the way, they had forged a friendship was only natural, given Janeway's caring nature and Seven's unwilling need for a guide. That the friendship deepened to something more was a secret that Janeway had never thought to have revealed.
"How did you…When did you…"
Seven, propped against the massage table to Janeway's right, eased nearer, moving to lean on her left arm, her hand mere millimeters from the admiral's rump. "Six months, seven days ago. After an appointment with a petite, redheaded freighter pilot from Montana named Marjory O'Connor. Apparently, I called her 'Kathryn' at an inopportune moment during our sexual encounter."
Janeway stared at the woman beside her, unable for the moment to take in the changes in demeanor between her formal, inexperienced, oh-so-innocent Seven of Nine and this casual, knowledgeable, oh-so-human woman who had solved her discomfort with human sexuality by becoming a sex worker in the pleasure capital of the Alpha Quadrant.
"What did you think would happen this afternoon?" the admiral asked, frowning. "You said you weren't going to tell me that it was you."
Seven's expression turned bashful, yet her eyes took on that mischievous sparkle Kathryn had seen earlier. "I intended to complete your session," she revealed in a low tone that sent goose bumps skittering up her listener's spine.
Kathryn swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "And that means…?"
"The Tarronians identify several intensive pleasure centers on the humanoid body, and their technique stimulates those pleasure centers. For humans, the stimulation often leads to orgasm. That was merely your first." Seven's full mouth curled into a wholly unfamiliar smile, "I have been told that my technique in Tarronian pressure point work is… exceptional."
Kathryn closed her eyes against the shudder that shook her at the casual, sexy confidence in Seven's tone and the clear memory of coming unglued under the other woman's hands and mouth. "You intended to bring me to orgasm?"
"Oh, yes," Seven smiled. "I intended to pleasure you completely."
The throbbing response to that declaration left her no doubt that her body had made decisions that her mind was having difficulty catching up with. This is Seven, her conscience tried to protest, but something deeper answered, Yes, and you've wanted her for a long, long time. She attempted to erect one last barrier against the flood of desire and response.
"Yet you were not going to tell me who you were?"
"I had hoped that your anonymity here—and my own—would encourage you to participate." Seven's mouth quirked into a sheepish half-smile, but she continued, "I intended to reveal myself to you at the end, after this shared pleasure, when you were… unguarded, perhaps more receptive to my confession of my romantic intentions."
"So that was the real reason for the blindfold?"
Seven gestured. "Humans, particularly those reared on Earth, often like to be blindfolded during this therapy. It seems to release them from the… cultural inhibitions that interfere."
Kathryn's inhibitions seemed to be nowhere in evidence as she caught herself watching Seven's long, slender fingers. As if reading her mind, Seven continued,
"I would still like to give you pleasure, Kathryn. Your knowledge of my identity has not changed that."
"But what about your romantic intentions?"
That earned her a long, serious look and Kathryn felt herself nearly falling into the limpid ice blue gaze. "You know how I feel about you," Seven said simply. "You must decide how you feel about me. I do not think our sharing pleasure together would be a hindrance to that decision. Do you?"
And there it was: the choice, the fork in the road, the decision that must be made. Janeway had never been called indecisive; she had never failed to follow her gut; and she had managed to keep her crew mostly alive and her ship intact during seven long years by acting at the right moment with the right choice.
"No, Seven," she smiled, wide and full and joyously, "no hindrance at all."
The Borg-enhanced hand, Seven's left, reached slowly toward her, giving her time to move away before it grasped a generous fistful of the silken sheet and pulled it slowly away from Kathryn's nude form.
"Then let us move on to the next pleasure center," Seven's voice had never sounded more mellow with inflection.
Kathryn grinned, a white flash behind wine-dark lips, "Belay that. I believe that the game stands at 'Advantage, Seven of Nine.' Time for me to even the score." Her slim, elegant, deft hands reached for the clips holding Seven's blonde hair. "I've never lost yet."
Strong hands seized Janeway's waist as the golden head bent to ease the task. "I do not think either of us will lose this time, Kathryn."
"No, darling," the admiral smiled into the gorgeous face so close to her own, "I don't think so either, but I do think this is going to be a long, long match."
Epilog
"She's not saying anything!" B'Elanna Torres fumed to her lunch companion as they were seated in one of the small restaurants that filled the busy Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. Four hundred years before it had been filled with counter-culture hippies and Torres' companion was determined to carry on their mission.
"I know," Phoebe Janeway replied. "She's been home a week and all I've heard is a polite 'Thanks for insisting I take some leave, Pheebs' and a little smug teasing about how much more tanned she is than I am. Do you think Seven chickened out?"
"The Borg?! Chicken out?" B'Elanna scoffed. "Not likely. Janeway must have shot her down."
"How is it possible for my sister to have risen so far in Starfleet and still be a complete nincompoop?" She accepted the menu handed to her. "Has she seen Seven of Nine?"
"You know your sister, Phoebe," B'Elanna muttered, staring at her menu, "Starfleet to the core. Willing to deny herself what she wants if she thinks it's 'for the best'."
"Yes, but her 'best' and Seven's 'best' are obviously meant to be 'besting' each other," Phoebe skipped directly to the dessert section. "Sometimes I just want to strangle her."
"It is not an uncommon reaction to your sister's personality," injected a third voice, freezing both Torres and the woman addressed.
Clear and green, Phoebe Janeway's eyes were round as saucers as they rose slowly to take in the tall, voluptuous, blonde form standing beside their table, but she recovered immediately.
"You're not our usual waitress," she offered cheekily.
"Neither am I," came a throaty drawl from over Seven's shoulder before the maligned Admiral stepped around her former crewmember.
"QI'yaH," B'Elanna Torres muttered.
"H-hi, Katie!" Phoebe tried to sound delighted to see her older sibling. "Care to join us?"
Both Seven and Admiral Janeway took seats at the small table while Phoebe and B'Elanna shared a panicked glance. B'Elanna looked rather pale, despite her café au lait skin, and Phoebe had a rather fixed grin pinned on.
"I'm sure you're both wondering how we found you," Janeway began, "and what Seven is doing here."
Two nods came with such synchronized speed that it looked like the same puppet-master controlled both heads.
"I have left my position at Quantam Touch," Seven announced. "I will be seeking employment here on Earth. Perhaps with Starfleet."
B'Elanna's eyes widened. "Really? Leaving the pleasure trade and returning to science, huh? Where are you going to be living?"
"Seven will be staying with me for the time being," Janeway stated.
Phoebe tried desperately to look coolly interested instead of madly curious, but the Admiral's steel-blue gaze cut through the pretense, daring her sister to give voice to the questions obviously beating at her vocal cords to get out. In the momentary lull while the sisters battled silently, Seven took up the burden of explanation.
"We have embarked upon a romantic liaison which I hope to persuade Kathryn to make permanent. Our sexual compatibility is extraordinary and our intellectual compatibility has never been in question. If we can continue to get along in the enforced togetherness of sharing a bed and a condominium, Kathryn believes that we will be well on our way to laying the groundwork for a long-term relationship. We hope to survive our 'honeymoon period' without outside interference, if we succeed today in 'putting the fear of God' into you. Do you now fear a deity, Phoebe Janeway?"
Phoebe, caught between the delight of watching her unflappable sibling turn bright red and the terror of Kathryn's implacable glare, nodded. "Yes, Seven. I definitely fear a deity right now."
Seven smiled and turned to B'Elanna. "And you, B'Elanna Torres? Are you in the grip of religious terror?"
"Absolutely, Seven."
Admiral Janeway's grin held equal parts chagrin and joy. "While we appreciate what both of you did to bring us together, we think we can handle things from here. We'll do our best to keep you updated on our progress, but I think Seven and I have some… catching up to do. Please allow us some privacy to get reacquainted." B'Elanna and Phoebe did the synchronized nodding again and Janeway got to her feet with one of her signature graceful sweeps. "Then we'll leave you to your lunch, ladies."
Seven rose as well and gave each of the other women a solemn nod before Janeway's hand landed in the small of her back and the Admiral smoothly directed her toward the exit.
"They're holding hands," B'Elanna whispered as the diner door swished shut behind the couple.
"Waitress!" Phoebe Janeway shouted. "Champagne!"