All-In
A Flaw In The Glass
The whiskey is stronger than she remembers. Real alcohol is limited to replicated (weak) stashes, and alien experiments. So when her fingers graze against the bottle Mark had thrust into her hands the day of Voyager's launch she is suddenly filled with both elation and home sickness. She'd entirely forgotten about the bottle after being ripped away to the other side of the galaxy. Discovering it four years later shoved inside an old bag in the back of her closet she thinks it's a miracle that she didn't find it in pieces.
She brings it out into the living area and sets it reverently on the coffee table. There is a flicker of anxiety in her chest when she looks at it. It's too strong a link to... before. Funny, she wonders when she stopped openly talking about Earth, even in her head.
She crosses back into her sleeping area, stripping her uniform off as she goes. The urge to connect to who she was seizes her. She walks back to the closet and changes into her under utilized civilian clothes. She's forgotten how one goes about picking an outfit, choice has become overwhelming. She slips on tight black pants and a matching tank top, she looks at herself in the full length mirror and rolls her eyes. She might as well be wearing her uniform.
She crosses back out to the coffee table and picks up a dirty glass. She pours a finger of the scarce liquid in. She inhales the scent and downs the liquor in one go. It burns all the way down. She'd forgotten how good it could be. She sits down heavily on her sofa, bottle in hand, the weight of it satisfying on some level. She pours again and puts the bottle down. She nearly fills the glass, breathes in the scent and then begins to greedily gulp half of it away.
At home she'd barely been a social drinker, for the first time in her life she's almost afraid that she won't know when to stop. That flicker of apprehension disappears as she swallows another mouthful.
She turns to stare out at the starscape through the viewport. She kneels down on the sofa, and puts one hand gently on the glass. Ever since they'd gotten the stars back, clawed their way out of the dark, she'd had a hard time dragging her eyes away from them. She wanted them to be comforting, like they once were, but she'd...lost something in the void. Or uncovered something in her that she was struggling to keep buried. Something that made it hard to face every morning, that made the stars feel lifeless and remote. Maybe it was her own reflection getting in the way.
Her door chimes suddenly and she hopes it's Chakotay and not some poor crewman who is about to stumble in on their intoxicated Captain. She stands upright quickly and instantly regrets it, the room tilts at an awkward angle and she suppresses the urge to growl in frustration. "Come in." she calls.
"Oh good, Captain I was afraid you might've gone to bed already." Tom Paris barrels into the room with almost no regard for decorum. He's staring at the padd he's holding and manages to bash his shins on her coffee table before even realizing how far into the room he's entered. The Captain let's out a snort of laughter and Tom looks at her sharply. He smiles and then winces while he rubs his smarting shins. And then he notes the bottle on the table.
"I can, uh, come back later Captain." He nods toward the liquid sloshing in her cup as she sits back down with a sigh.
"Tom, what did you need?" Her glass comes to rest with a low thud as it meets the table.
"It's stupid, just a new holoprogram that I wanted to talk to you about, training exercises and things. But, your busy." He's backing away now, a ghost of concern flitting across his face. It fills her with regret suddenly, and something else.
"Care for a drink Mr. Paris?" this stops him in his tracks, he's surprised and she feels a little triumphant at being the cause. She shakes the bottle at him, "it's real," she sing-songs. She's toying with him now and he knows it. But she's got him, he's not one to back down. He smirks as he grabs a coffee mug off her desk and sits down with her on the couch. He holds the mug out and she pours him two fingers obligingly.
"Well who am I to turn down such a tempting offer?" He tosses the padd on the floor and throws his feet up on the table. She gracefully tucks her legs beneath her and turns toward him.
"Good man Mr. Paris, I'm pretty sure it's against regs to let your Captain drink alone."
He nods in response, "I'm sure it is. So...know any good drinking games?"
She laughs and sinks further into the couch, it's good that it was him at the door, he could still make her do that. "Oh, I don't know, most of the ones I know involve movement, are you up for a little...activity?" She glances at him from beneath her lashes. She's thrown a gauntlet. Tom downs the rest of his drink quickly, and brings the mug back down to the table.
"I can take whatever you can dish out Captain."
They'd dragged her small dining table into the middle of the room, it's not the best platform for this sort of thing, but they've both gotten used to 'not quite right' in the last four years. The assortment of glassware on the table is mismatched and Tom is certain that it's arranged in such a way as to give her an advantage. Cheating, he's quickly realized, is not beneath her.
Her face is flushed and she sways as she aims with the small white ball, she's bringing it closer and farther from her face as she tries to find the perfect trajectory. Tom is sure she is attempting to apply physics to the situation but calculation at this level of intoxication rarely works in one's favor.
She releases the ball from her hand and it lands with a plop into one of his cups. She'd just scored one of the more difficult shots, and she is grinning wildly.
"Drink, drink, drink!" She is chanting and clapping, and Tom has to fight to stop himself from pouting because she is beating him soundly. The gall of this woman.
He picks up the glass and fishes the ball out before downing the liquid, it had stopped noticeably burning about three drinks ago and he knows that that's a bad sign.
"You know, I am open to forfeits," She slinks towards him as he ruefully puts the glass back down.
"Of course you are, it's my turn." He is watching her hands as she grips the table, the fact that either of them are upright at this point is a small miracle. The fact that she can give him that look of taunting, and challenge and...provocation. Tom ends that line of thinking. This is why drinking with your Captain is bad. This is why drinking with your willful, exciting, challenging and attractive Captain is very bad.
Tom steps back from her, he throws the the ping pong ball at her selection of cups, and misses miserably. "And here I thought pilots were good with their hands." She taunts.
"I'm better at other things!" he protests lamely, folding his arms with a snort.
"Of course you are" She encourages, she picks the ball back up, and begins to aim. Tom doesn't think he can take another drink at this point.
"So what would your forfeit entail, exactly?" She plunks the ball into and empty mug thoughtfully, gleeful at his admission to her vast superiority at their modified beer pong.
"You know, I hadn't actually thought that far ahead." She stands with her hip cocked out, the star light glints off her hair in the darkened quarters. She picks up one of her full mugs and stares into it with an almost predatory leer on her face. Tom finds that he appreciates the expression. His own excitement rising.
Tom has an idea that this is the point where he should excuse himself, he can feel the evening changing and he isn't really sure it's not for the worse. He should thank her for her hospitality, for the whiskey and put himself quickly to bed. It's not good to stay into the wee hours of the morning with a woman whose first name is taboo.
The Captain's eyes catch something in the viewport and her smirk fades. She downs the drink in her hand, and doesn't notice Tom's look of concern wash over his face again, or she doesn't care to.
"Well lets mull over a proper humiliation then," he says with decisiveness. His upbeat tone is a little forced, but she favors him with a small smile and it's worth it.
He sits heavily on her sofa again, and she joins him. His weight dips the couch towards him and she ends up leaning right into him. Their thighs flush against each other. She throws her head onto the back of the sofa and Tom stares at the pale column of her throat.
Her voice is husky as she mutters, "I intend to get full satisfaction from this Paris." She's referring to the forfeit he knows, but his mind wanders a little at the statement. Wanders towards the possibilities. Her threat is a joke. Its intention is friendly. He watches as her chest moves methodically up and down as she breathes and Tom is certain that he will regret this.
They had tossed out the obvious forfeits, him handing over his replicator rations, doubling his sickbay duties, scrubbing plasma manifolds, but all these options had been deemed too obvious and tedious for either of them. They were an inventive and intelligent pair, as such the forfeit should produce something a little bit more interesting.
At some point she propped her feet up in his lap and he began to rub them gently. He'd suggested he be her personal masseuse for a month, and his eyes had twinkled mischievously. She giggled, he balked at hearing his Captain giggling, and was able to recover himself enough to remember just who he was with. He acquiesced that he wouldn't want to step on the Doctor's territory. Around 0300 hours they'd finally settled on him building her a complex and elaborate holoprogram. The Captain had thrown out ideas for him that became more absurd as the last drops from the bottle vanished when he'd decided it would in fact be a surprise. She had pouted sulkily.
He reluctantly disentangled his limbs from the Captain's and staggered over to the replicator, two waters appeared and he handed one sloppily over. He sank back into the couch and attempted to slosh some of the liquid inside his mouth.
She toasted him with her glass, "Very sensible," She muttered. She snuggled down next to him, her head resting gently on his shoulder.
"Well, I thought I might try it out." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, her skin was hot to the touch.
"I'm surprised you didn't have other plans this evening Mr. Paris." He tried to focus his gaze at her, the room was decidedly a little hazy, but her eyes sparkled up at him.
"Well, I'm glad I didn't-" he stopped as he suddenly and horribly remembered that he in fact did. He stood up swiftly, spilling his water all over his uniform jacket, and depositing the Captain on the floor.
"What the hell! What is it?" She stared up at him as she unceremoniously slid to the floor. Her knees hitting the carpet.
"Oh, sorry, I just, I forgot," he was panicking a little, "I was supposed to meet B'Elanna after I talked with you, and...obviously I didn't." She stood up next to him, wobbling a little. He had a look of terror on his face.
"Well, you must, uh, must be mistaken, she would have commed." She tried to reassure him, sloppily patting him on the shoulder.
"Oh I am so dead! I better, I uh," He was having a hard time articulating just how bad this was, he felt he should contact B'Elanna immediately, control the damage somehow. He was just about to slap his comm. badge when the Captain batted his hand away and covered his mouth.
"I think it's a little late for apologies," she slurred. He could feel how hot her hand was against his lips. Her other hand was resting gently on his chest. She was leaning into him, using him to steady herself. She was staring into his eyes. His panic subsided a little. She slowly pulled her hand from his mouth.
"You're all wet Tom," She whispered, her hand flitting gently across his chest.
They were swaying together, anchored by her hand. His own came up of its own accord to gently rest on hers. He stepped closer, and brought both his hands around her back.
"You should probably change, you'll catch your death." She giggled again, that she could joke right now seemed like the most amazing thing.
Then she stood up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.
They stood like that for a quiet moment before she stepped back quickly, her eyes boring into his, the amusement gone from her face. She stumbled and he caught her again, he pulled her tight against himself and his mouth descended on hers. She opened her mouth under his, her tongue darting out, tracing his teeth. Her hands roamed his back, she dipped lithe fingers into the waist band of his pants, pulling the material of his jacket up. Her hot hands blazing a trail down his spine.
He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His hand raked through her short hair, pulling at her scalp. He walked them over to her couch, and they tumbled heavily down, his hips pressed sharply into her belly, and she moaned at the pressure of his pelvis against hers. She drew her slender legs up his torso, knees digging into his sides.
His stubble was rubbing her jaw raw and her teeth nipped at his lips. He was pressing into her farther, meshing them together. The fabric between them was making her frantic, she attempted to push it off them both without losing contact.
He elevated himself above her and with stumbling fingers unzipped his uniform jacket, she struggled to get her tank top off, and the sight of her pale flesh mesmerized him. The image imprinting on his mind. Her hips were bucking gently into him. He covered her body with his own again, his lips catching hers. Their bare skin felt charged as they met, slick and hot. He groaned as her hands came around and grabbed his ass, and he heard her dry chuckle low in her throat.
He began to fumble with the fly of his pants and realized that he'd have to use his eyes to solve the puzzle that his zipper was now creating for him. He pulled away from her again to look down, and smiled when she gave a frustrated growl. It reminded him of B'Elanna.
He inhaled a sharp breath and looked up at her. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were heavy lidded and darker than he'd ever seen them. She was exquisite. And Tom knew that he should never have seen her like this.
She looked back at him and lifted her chin. They held the moment. Something flickered in her eyes and died, she shifted slightly, and he got up slowly. The connection broken, the charge gone. She swung her legs around and sat up, she rubbed the back of her neck.
"I'm so sorry Capt-"
"Don't, Tom." She raised a hand to cut him off, though her voice was soft. He nodded mutely. He needed to go, he was having a hard time convincing his legs.
She picked up the forgotten bottle off the floor, placing it gently on the coffee table. She stared past him, into the dark. "It's nothing, forget about it," She shrugged her shoulders limply and turned her back on him.
"Captain-" Tom started, he didn't know why he wanted to fight her.
She looked back over her shoulder, her look stopped him, "You know where the door is." She turned away again.
He backed out silently, sure he had ruined something, he was used to it.
Kathryn stared out the viewport, it looked cold out there.