Vulnerability
Chapter One: Seven of Nine
Summary: Janeway, Seven, and being able to feel vulnerable in front of each other.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Pairings: J7
Author's Notes: An argument with a supposed friend killed my inspiration for my WoW fics, and Korrasami is canon and they're perfect for each other. So seemingly this is what I'm writing now, since I can't bring myself to write Linorra or Sylvanas/anyone.
Even if I were unable to measure my systolic and diastolic rhythms, I would feel very aware of my heartbeat, which seems much faster and more powerful than usual. My throat is dry and I am certain the increased blood flow to my face is visible to Kathryn as a dark blush.
Kathryn is standing before me wearing nothing but a thin bathrobe made out of—no, I remind myself, focus on the emotions and the sensations, not "getting bogged down" in the details with which my remaining Borg implants provide me. That is what Kathryn calls it; "getting bogged down". Kathryn first mentioned this when we kissed for the first time and I became distracted by the fluctuating measurements of the pressure Kathryn was applying to my lips. "Just relax and kiss me," Kathryn said. "Don't think about anything that can be measured in units. A famous 20th century Earth physicist—Albert Einstein—once said that not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts."
"Earthly platitudes are irrelevant," I protested, flustered by my difficulty with this new skill that was supposed to come so easily to humans.
"But the unquantifiables of kissing aren't. At least, I hope not," Kathryn said, stroking my cheek with one hand.
It was not easy. When I managed to shift my focus away from units of measurement, I was overwhelmed by the influx of emotions and sensations I experienced through this new method of strengthening my bond with Kathryn, and I had become careless. I began accidentally damaging Kathryn, leaving bruises on her lips as I forgot to modulate my enhanced Borg strength. After a week straight of coming to Kathryn's quarters to kiss her each night had ended with accidentally damaging Kathryn—if not kissing her too hard, then it was my clutching hands leaving bruises on the captain's back or shoulders—our Sunday night together ended with my Borg hand cracking two of Kathryn's ribs. After the Doctor finished repairing the damage, I carefully avoided Kathryn for the next few days until she called me to her quarters and asked me directly why I was doing so. I replied that I had judged myself an unsuitable romantic partner for her, since I could not kiss her without inflicting damage. In response, she took me in her arms and kissed my cheek, telling me she hoped our bond was strong enough to maintain a relationship despite my clumsy attempts at learning to kiss. In recent weeks, I have become much more adept, and the experience is deeply pleasurable. Five days ago, Kathryn allowed me to trace her sternocleomastoid muscle with my lips for the first time, leaving a trail of kisses from the clavicular origin to the sternal origin. She finds my neck aesthetically pleasing and has done this for me many times; the fact that I reciprocated a gesture she performed only enhanced the pleasurable feelings I experienced.
But what is relevant now is that Kathryn is in my presence dressed in a garment so translucent that I can see the dark circles of her areolae, and she will shortly be removing it to get into the bathtub, where I will be joining her after I disrobe. This was my idea; after Kathryn began allowing me to kiss her neck, I shared with her that I find the sensation of her skin against mine both soothing and immensely enjoyable, and that I desire the experience of her undressed body in my arms, with me also undressed for maximal surface area contact. It is the thought of my beautiful Captain lying naked in my arms while we rest in the warm water that is causing my heart to race.
"Seven?" Kathryn reaches up to cup my face in her hands. "If you're having second thoughts, you may return to cargo bay 2."
"No!" The vehemence in my own voice startles me, and I reach for Kathryn, brushing my fingertips against her clavicles, aching for contact. She takes my hands in hers and kisses my palms. I begin to tremble. "You mistake my anticipation for reluctance."
Kathryn moves her hands to the tie of her robe and looks up at me. "If you do start feeling reluctant, let me know."
"I am currently experiencing the polar opposite of reluctance." My voice has become low and hoarse with what I identify as desire.
Kathryn undoes the tie and I watch intently as she slides her robe off her shoulders and the cloth pools around her feet, leaving her bare. I am unable to hold back a gasp as I take in the sight of her naked body for the first time. My eyes trace every line and curve I was unable to see accurately before, eventually settling on her breasts. They are small and round, the perfect size to be cradled in my hands, and for a moment—I could not give a measurement of exactly how long even if I wanted to—I imagine performing that action. I continue gazing at her, searching my mind for the appropriate adjective to describe her body. "Beautiful" seems inadequate; I settle on "exquisite".
It is only when she shies away from me that I realize she does not know how to interpret my silence. I reach for her again, taking her by the waist as gently as I know how, and I tell her succinctly what is on my mind: "You are exquisite, my Captain". Her head inclines involuntarily as she blushes.
"Come on, Seven," she says, giving a low chuckle that I can tell is not sincerely jovial. "Your compliments are always understated. Anything that…that complimentary has to be sarcasm."
I slide my hands from her waist to her lower back, luxuriating in the warmth and softness of her skin, the gesture bringing us into closer proximity. "I am entirely serious," I whisper. "I briefly had difficulty selecting the appropriate word to describe my perception of your body, but I stand by it." I move my hands slowly, wondering if it would be possible for me to grow weary of touching her. I hypothesize that the length of time such a thing would take would be immeasurable. My fingertips come to rest on her pelvic crests. "The Borg consider humans physically weak and inefficient. I have not extensively studied human physiology, but physically, I find you…" my breath catches in my throat and I find myself again studying her body. I am unable to keep my eyes off her breasts. I find it fascinating how their shape appears to have changed now that her nipples have stiffened. I am struck by a powerful desire, crashing over me with no warning, to move my hands to her breasts and touch the delicate flesh. I manage to quell this desire by telling myself that human women find being touched in such a way by a romantic partner inherently sexual, and I am neither emotionally nor physically prepared for intimate relations. I am curious, yes, but not prepared. I clear my throat and attempt to continue speaking. "Prior to this moment, I would have described your body as both aesthetically pleasing and in excellent physical condition. However, I believe I chose an accurate descriptor as motivated by my feelings for you."
Kathryn's eyes fix on my face, widened significantly, a softness in their expression that causes a pleasant warmth to suffuse through my body. "Seven, that might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."
Again, I can think of nothing to say. I squeeze her pelvic crests lightly and lean forward to kiss her forehead, hoping the gesture is sufficient to convey my appreciation for that statement. I consider myself inexperienced in the ways of romance and still harbor concerns that I am under qualified as a romantic partner for my Captain. I have found the Doctor's lessons to be woefully inadequate, especially when applied to Kathryn's and my relationship. Kathryn has taught me much, and I am relieved to see evidence that I am learning quickly, or at least well.
I am distracted from this train of thought by Kathryn's fingers playing with the zipper of my garment. "Would you rather take this off yourself, or is it all right if I do it?" she asks me in a low voice. I tremble in anticipation.
"I would enjoy you undressing me," I tell her. I turn around, and Kathryn slowly unzips my garment, giving me ample time to protest or change my mind, as she always does when we take a new step in our physical relationship. I have never seen her undressed before; I believe she has seen me naked when the Doctor had just removed all of the Borg implants that were not essential to my functioning as a human individual, but our relationship was vastly different then. I gasp inadvertently as I feel the fingertips of her non-dominant hand touching my neck and sliding down in the wake of the hand pulling on my zipper. The air in my Captain's quarters is 20 degrees C, but her fingertips feel infinitely warmer on my skin than does the air. As Kathryn unzips my garment to approximately my first lumbar vertebra, I feel her lips touch the skin covering my right shoulder blade, a small, chaste gesture that I find endearing. It is when I feel Kathryn's fingers tracing my spine when I suddenly remember why I had been considering proposing this new step in our relationship for weeks before mentioning it: my implants.
Of course, my Captain has seen my optical, cortical, temporomandibular, and humeral implants. She is accustomed to them, but I have concerns—perhaps irrational, but in matters of my relationship with Kathryn, I often have difficulty distinguishing rational concerns from irrational ones—about her reaction to seeing my remaining implants. When my cortical implant was failing and I expected to die, Kathryn assured me that should I die, she would mourn the loss of me as a person, not as the ex-Borg individual Seven of Nine she was trying to mold back into Annika Hansen. I believe she understands that I will never one day become human in the way she and the Doctor first expected, but how will she react when she sees my remaining Borg implants?
I find out almost immediately; she uses both hands to move aside the cloth covering my spinal clamp and traces it with her fingertips. The gesture is not hesitant or repulsed, but affectionate, curious, gentle. I feel her lips on my shoulder again. "Is this okay?" she asks me, circling the clamp with the pad of one index finger.
I have to take a deep breath before replying; her touch is very pleasurable, distractingly so. "The skin surrounding my implants is unusually sensitive. Your touch there is pleasurable, but much more pressure might be too much."
"I see." Kathryn carefully massages the skin just above the implant. Pleasure radiates along my lumbar and sacral nerves, and I gasp. "Too much?"
"No. That is...perfect."
"Is it like this for all your implants?" she asks me, kissing my shoulder again.
"It is reasonable to assume so." Suddenly I realize that I have been given an opportunity to flirt, and I feel a rush of pride that I saw this opportunity. "I believe I would enjoy you doing the same with the rest of my implants."
"Is that a request?" Kathryn's voice has taken on a tone I consider seductive. I quake at the though of her continuing to undress me, not only without the fear of her reacting negatively to my implants but with anticipation of her touching the skin surrounding them the way she is now.
"It is," I breathe.
Kathryn's fingertips apply the same pressure again, and this time I am prepared, and the involuntary noise I make is not a gasp of surprise but a moan. "Tell me if it hurts."
At first, the statement puzzles me, as I have already expressed nothing but pleasure in response to her stimulation of the skin near my remaining spinal clamp. Then I remember the day in sickbay when I visited her after the Doctor had removed her Borg implants after the destruction of Unimatrix Zero; she mentioned that she was still experiencing pain where her spinal clamps had been. Stardate 54014.4: the day I first initiated physical contact with my Captain, and it was for the purpose of comforting her when I could see she was in pain. "Do you still experience pain where your spinal clamps were once, Kathryn?" I ask her.
"Sometimes. If I sleep funny." She kisses the base of my neck. "It could be a lot worse."
"Please continue touching the skin surrounding my implant," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I feel as if I should express gratitude for braving the risk of her undergoing assimilation for my sake and for the sake of the resistance, but I am unable to choose the appropriate words. Kathryn continues kissing the base of my neck as she works her fingertips around my spinal clamp, new sensations shooting down my sciatic nerves as she reaches the sides of the oblong implant. Again, I make involuntary noises of pleasure. The sensations are almost overwhelming, but Kathryn's touch is soft and the experience is wholly enjoyable. But when she touches the skin below the clamp and I feel a jolt along my pudenal nerve, I cry out loudly in protest. The sensation might have been pleasant were I more accustomed to sexual arousal, but it was so overpowering as to be very unpleasant, almost painful, and I wonder if Kathryn had been worried about this.
A length of time even I find imperceptible passes between my startled noise and Kathryn wrapping her arms around me, holding me close to her and apologizing. The silky warmth of her skin against the exposed skin of my back is immensely soothing. I turn around in her arms and return the embrace, feeling myself relax even further as her hands slide up and down my back. I feel her lips move against my clavicles as she murmurs, "Did I hurt you?"
I rest my cheek against the top of her head. "It was not pain that I experienced. The stimulation with which you were providing me was very pleasurable, but when you touched me below my implant, I felt it in…in my…" I have never before hesitated to name a body part that human sensibilities would deem shameful or embarrassing, but it is different when I am discussing my sexual organs with a woman with whom I want to one day be sexually intimate. "…in my groin. My pudenal nerve was stimulated. Perhaps it would have been pleasurable to someone more accustomed to sexual pleasure, but for me it was overwhelming."
"I understand." Kathryn kisses my suprasternal notch. "Should I leave your implants alone?"
"No. Please, continue touching the skin surrounding my implants…with the exception of just below my spinal clamp. I do not believe I will experience the same aversive response again."
"I see." Kathryn steps back slightly from our embrace, her hands moving to the cloth covering my shoulders. "May I finish taking this off of you?"
"Please."
I watch Kathryn's face as she eases my biometric garment down my arms so its upper half hangs about my waist. Her palms slide tenderly down my sides to tug the material down over my hips. It falls down my legs to pool around my ankles, and I am naked. Kathryn gazes at me, lips parted, her facial expression one of wonder. It is an expression more suited to witnessing spontaneous stabilization of particle 010 than examining my unclothed body. She rests her hands on my waist and tilts her head up to make eye contact with me. There is a warm, loving, awed look on her face that makes me feel as if my gastrocnemius muscles might suddenly lose their ability to hold me upright. "God, you're beautiful," she whispers.
More blood rushes to my face. I have come to understand that humans often consider me conventionally attractive, but I have never taken pride in that or even given it much thought. But with Kathryn, I care very much that she considers me beautiful. Her facial expression is almost reverent as she touches me lightly below my suprasternal notch and trails her fingers down to my sternal implant. I follow her eyes, which linger on my breasts for a moment, but then they close halfway and she leans forward to kiss the base of my neck while her fingers begin carefully massaging the skin above my sternal implant. Pleasurable sensations radiate through my upper torso and I moan.
"You like that?" Kathryn asks me between kisses.
"Yes," I manage, feeling as though I am about to lose my ability to speak.
Kathryn moves her hand, fingertips now working the skin beside my implant, her knuckles brushing against my left breast. "Is this okay?" she murmurs. "I can move to another implant if you want."
I presume she is asking if I am comfortable with her touching my breast. "This amount of contact is acceptable."
"Just acceptable?" she slides her hand up to my shoulder.
"Enjoyable," I correct myself, abashed at my selection of an inaccurate word at such a moment.
She smiles gently up at me. "Why don't I get the water running?"
I accede, feeling as though—in human parlance—I could kick myself. I would have quite enjoyed Kathryn's continued touch on my breasts, especially if she were to allow me to reciprocate. I watch her as she perches on the edge of the bathtub and turns the antiquated knobs. She has a sentimental attachment to outmoded bathing technology and prefers bathing to sonic showers. While I do not understand such attachments to inefficient technology, I do understand how pleasurable a bonding experience it might take a bath with Kathryn, so we have added a bathtub to what we have begun calling our "intimacy room". When Kathryn first began teaching me how to kiss, she asked me to design a holosuite program containing a room where I would feel comfortable engaging in physical affection with her. She calls the result "surprisingly cozy".
I move closer as she tests the water with her fingers and I caress her back with one hand, sliding my palm and fingers up and down her spine. She turns to me, smiling. "I think the water is the right temperature. Want to try?"
I keep one hand resting on the gentle dip of her lumbar curve, reaching into the water with my other hand. "40 degrees C. This should be an excellent temperature for our purposes."
Kathryn climbs into the water and lets out a long sigh. My body temperature remains the same, but it feels as if it rises as I watch Kathryn relax completely, an expression of bliss on her face. After a moment of enjoying the hot water, she opens her eyes and holds out a hand to me. My heartbeat feels almost unbearably rapid and strong as I lower myself carefully into the water. The temperature feels too high for a few seconds, but I adjust to the novelty of it and understand why Kathryn finds it so enjoyable. I find a comfortable position, lying prone with my head resting against one corner of the tub, just my head and neck above the water. I am about to request further physical contact with Kathryn when I feel her hand touch my shoulder. She inches toward me, smiling, her eyes focusing on my face and her expression loving. "Is this your first bath since you were liberated from the Collective?" she asks.
"Yes. It is pleasurable." Lately, I have been using that word more frequently. It rarely seems adequate to describe what I am feeling when I am with Kathryn, but I fear that I cannot effectively communicate through the use of stronger descriptors. I am hampered by my usual sparse, pessimistic (at least, according to many others on Voyager) speech patterns; choosing words that accurately describe how I feel would appear disingenuous. Kathryn mistakenly thought I was mocking her when I described the sight of her unclad body and I sincerely hope I never again produce that reaction in her.
Kathryn kisses my cheek, then my neck, leaving a trail of kisses along my sternocleomastoid muscle. She does this often; I enjoy it immensely. Her kisses are much more cautious than usual, almost shy. I assume she is attempting to prevent me from being overwhelmed by new sensations, but instead of finding the sensation of being surrounded by warm water difficult to process, I find it soothing. I find her small waist with my hands and pull her closer, asking her if she will permit me to hold her. She laughs softly and says yes. I wrap my arms around her. She settles down in my lap, her head against the ball of my humerus. I recall that the Borg consider humans physically frail and inferior, and while I do not consider my Captain "frail" and not in any way physically inferior, she feels so small and light and fragile in my arms.
As recently as three minutes ago, I had considered myself emotionally unprepared to be sexually intimate with Kathryn. She shifts slightly in my arms, finding a comfortable position, and as I feel the movement and friction between my unclothed body and her warm, soft, beautiful skin, the knowledge is suddenly clear to me: I trust her completely with my body. She could lift me from the tub, carry me to one of the comfortable surfaces in our intimacy room, and ask me to "make love" (what she has called it when she have discussed the possibility) with her, and I would not only allow it, I would welcome it. I imagine her doing just that. I quake with pleasure at the thought of her strong, gentle hands moving over my body the way they have done on the occasions that she has massaged my shoulders after several games of Velocity. My illusion is quickly shattered when I remember that I could not even stand my Captain's touch near my spinal clamp; at this time, it would be impossible for me to experience sexual pleasure, no matter how gentle and loving Kathryn is with me. And I am still learning how to be gentle. While overwhelmed with desire, I would only damage her delicate human body.
Kathryn hears me begin to cry and, thinking she has upset me, begins to pull away. I cry out in protest—wordlessly, as I have momentarily lost the ability to appropriately verbalize my thoughts—and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly to me. She kisses my shoulder. "What's the matter, darling?" she asks in a low voice that rarely fails to soothe me. Now is one of those rare times when it does fail to soothe me.
"The Borg have taken so much from me," I manage. "My parents, my childhood, my humanity, and now I realize they have taken my ability to be intimate with you." My voice is choked. It is strange to hear it that way.
"Hang on," says Kathryn. I can tell that she wants to pull back and look at my face, but I have my arms locked around her so tightly a tractor beam could not pry us apart. "No clothes, in the bathtub together, this is pretty intimate right now. And it's not like the Borg are going to swoop in and beam you off the ship."
I kiss her hair. "I was using 'intimate' as a euphemism. I was specifically considering the possibility of us engaging in sexual relations."
"Seven," she says tenderly, "sex is certainly…nice, but it's not the end-all be-all of romantic relationships. If you feel like you haven't gone through enough…human development, or whatever you want to call it, and you aren't ready, that's fine."
"And if I'm never ready?" I say, unable to stop crying.
Kathryn kisses me in the sensitive place between my earlobe and mastoid process. She is trying very hard to calm me down. I feel briefly guilty that I am not calming down. "Then you will still be my Seven and I will still love you."
"But if I want to. If I am ready emotionally, but my body is too unaccustomed to sexual pleasure…"
"I thought you weren't ready." Her voice is still soft. It is not an accusation.
"As recently as a few moments ago, I was not. But, Kathryn, I…I desire you."
"I see. Does that…upset you?"
"It upsets me that I desire sexual contact with you but am unable to act on that desire because of…of my Borg nature!"
"Shh, Seven, shh." She hugs me gently. "You mean like what happened when I was touching your spinal clamp?"
"Yes. I was disappointed when you stopped touching my breast. I desired further contact. The thought of it was pleasurable, but I realized that I would only damage you if we tried to engage in intimate relations and I would also not be able to enjoy any pleasure you tried to give me."
"I can see how that would be frustrating. But it might not always be that way, and if it is, we'll find other ways to, well, physically express our feelings."
"I thought sex was integral to romantic relationships."
"I said it wasn't the end-all be-all, which would mean no, it isn't integral. It doesn't have to be."
"Kathryn," I whisper. "I want you."
"Is that just because of how you feel about me, or because you think you're supposed to want sex?"
I move one of my hands to her hair. Beautiful, thick, dark red hair. One of my favorite features of hers, immensely pleasurable to touch. "It is because I desire you."
"Okay." Her voice is still gentle. This time, it does calm me slightly. "We can work toward that, if you want. Is there anything you want to try now?"
When she was touching the skin surrounding my sternal implant, I wanted her to continue, but at the moment I badly do not want to stop holding her. "Not now. Perhaps the next time we use this room."
"One more question, Seven."
"Yes?"
"You aren't thinking about sex because you feel like I'm pressuring you, are you?"
"You have never pressured me," I insist.
"I never meant to, and you may know that intellectually, but did it ever feel like I was?" Her voice is so soft that I can only hear her with my enhanced Borg senses. That lifts my mood slightly; perhaps my Borg nature is not only a hindrance to closeness with my Captain.
"I have never felt any pressure from you to be sexually intimate," I assure her. "Our current position is causing me to think of how enjoyable I would find it if we…" Earlier, I erred in not prefacing my description of Kathryn's body by insisting that I was being unusually complimentary, not sarcastic. I will not make the same mistake twice. "Your assessment of our current position as 'intimate' is accurate. Being in contact with such a...a large surface area of your skin made me think of other similar possibilities. I truly mean it when I say I want badly to make love with you and am disappointed that I am physically unready for that."
"I would like that too." She squeezes me briefly. "When you're ready. And it won't be just you learning at that point. Did you know you're my first romantic relationship with a woman?"
I loosen my grip slightly on her, hoping my tight embrace did not damage her. "I suspected that, but you never explicitly told me."
"Can I kiss you?" She has noticed that I am not holding her as tightly.
"Please."
Kathryn leans up and kisses me deeply. I slide one hand over her back, touching her beneath the surface of the water, savoring the kiss. "A lot of this relationship is new for me too, darling. You aren't the only one who's doing some exploring here…and is a little nervous about it sometimes."
"You still have more experience than I. And I trust you completely."
Kathryn kisses my zygomatic bone just beside my cortical implant, and I feel the tip of her soft tongue trace it. I gasp with the pleasure of the contact. "Is that okay?"
"Yes."
She smiles and leans back, reaching for the shampoo. "What do you say we do more of that later? For now, let's actually take a bath. Your first bath."
"I would like that. Both of those suggestions." I blush again, and my cheeks stretch as I smile involuntarily at my difficulty with words when I am with Kathryn.
I watch her wet her hair and rub shampoo into it. She is beautiful. Speaking of my difficulty verbally expressing myself, I feel grateful for her expressing her nervousness. I am unsure how to tell her that. "Kathryn?"
She looks up from massaging the shampoo through her hair. "Yes?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For letting me know that I am not the one who feels…vulnerable."
Kathryn takes my hand—my Borg hand—and kisses it. "You're welcome."
A/N: So apparently this is my OTP now.
