AN: Here we go, another chapter here. If you missed the last chapter that was recently published (since I'm not sure if all of you saw it, please make sure you read it!)
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl woke up before the harsh whistle of the alarm that would sound and tell them it was time to dress to go to work.
He woke sweating like he had a fever. He woke suddenly, sharply, and almost in unexpected and inexplicable pain.
It must have been a dream. He couldn't remember it, but it must have been one hell of a dream. His dick was so hard that he was uncomfortable in a way that he hadn't been since he was in his early teen years and the damned thing had first taken on a life of its own.
"Jesus," he hissed into the darkness over the throbbing need to fuck.
His mouth was dry and he couldn't swallow. His mind didn't feel like it was running entirely normally. He felt like he was still asleep except for one simple nugget of knowledge that was rolling around in his brain. He wanted to fuck more than he'd wanted anything in his whole, sorry life before.
He wanted to fuck more than he'd wanted food and water when they'd had neither on the road and he'd been sure they'd all die of starvation or thirst.
He couldn't very well roll toward Carol—who, right now, was sleeping next to him in the bed and was totally unaware that he would even have a dream like that about her, and he was certain it had to have been about her—and tell her that he was in what he was pretty sure was some kind of dire, and possibly fatal, condition.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself. Instead of rolling toward Carol, he rolled toward the side of the bed. He got up and went to the bathroom, gritting his teeth against the unusual sensitivity that he felt with every single movement that he made. He closed the bathroom door. "Computer—fuckin' lights," he growled. When the computer beeped at him, but didn't turn on the lights, he sighed. "Computer, lights, please!"
When the lights came on, Daryl looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked like a mess. He was sweaty. The dream had really gotten to him. He turned the sink on. Despite the discomfort of his ridiculously hard dick, the parched feeling in his mouth needed to be attended to before he could fix any of his other problems. With his hand, he scooped water into his mouth. He felt like he drank steadily for half an hour. The water tasted better than any water had ever tasted before. It tasted sweeter. It tasted fresher. It tasted like water directly from heaven or something equally ridiculous.
It was delicious and Daryl was so thirsty that his interest in relieving his dick took a back seat to his interest in drinking as much water as his gut would allow.
When he was so full of water that he was sure he could hear himself slosh, he commanded to the computer that it turn on the shower. He stripped out of his pajamas and put them to the side. He kicked off his underwear. He stepped into the shower and he took matters into his own hands—literally.
With his head against the side of their shower and the water beating down on him, Daryl concentrated on relieving himself. He closed his eyes. He told himself that it was OK to indulge in whatever fantasies got him through. Admittedly, he'd been doing that for years.
He imagined that Carol had come to the shower with him. He imagined that, instead of bracing himself against the shower wall and holding himself in his hand, he was bracing himself against the shower wall as he took care to fulfill every need she'd had since the last time he'd imagined doing just such a thing. In his masturbatory fantasies, he was always lucky that she liked and needed just what he liked and needed. Wrapped around him—in place of his hand—she found complete satisfaction. His brain, even, had stored up almost every sound of approval and pleasure that he'd ever heard from her make, to use those sounds for just such an endeavor.
He came so hard that he bit into his own arm to keep from being loud enough that the real Carol would become aware of what was going on.
After he came, there was an emptiness in his belly that not even all the water he'd drank could fill. It was an emptiness he was familiar with. He doubted if anything, really, could fill it—at least, he doubted if anything he could actually have would be able to fill it.
He showered off. He took his time washing with the sweet-smelling soap that Carol liked so much because, now, it was beginning to remind him of her. After a few days on the ship, as they both settled into thinking that this was truly going to be their home, the smell of the soap was starting to become comfortable and familiar. It was starting to make him feel surrounded by her as he moved through his day catching whiffs of it.
The whistle still hadn't sounded for them to start getting ready for their work shift, but Daryl dried off after his shower and decided to go to the mess hall anyway. He could use a smoke. He could use breakfast. And he could use the distraction that the goofy-ass Talaxian was a master at offering anyone who might need such a thing.
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Kathryn crossed her legs and immediately uncrossed them when the surge of electricity reminded her of her unusual sensitivity of the day. She looked around the bridge at everyone who was already starting to settle into their roles since the change of shifts.
She almost wondered if anyone could, somehow, read her mind. If they would have any way of knowing what she was thinking or feeling.
It was a ridiculous thought, but her mind seemed to be buzzing with ridiculous thoughts this morning. She focused her eyes on her PADD, but her attention was elsewhere. She was feeling unusually distracted. She was feeling hot. Feverish almost.
Suddenly she was aware of how restrictive her uniform felt and she tugged at the collar as discreetly as possible. She was sweating, and it made her regret the hot cup of coffee that she'd called breakfast this morning. She should have had iced coffee with the way she was feeling.
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled up the ship's report and scanned it quickly to see if environmental controls were somehow malfunctioning. The temperature on the ship did not feel like it was correct. Unless her PADD was also malfunctioning, though, the temperature was correct and environmental controls were responding as normal.
No matter what the PADD said, it was hot, and Kathryn was uncomfortably aware of the heat radiating out from her own body and getting trapped in the fabric of her uniform. She'd seldom thought about how little the fabric breathed but, at the moment, it seemed like a grand design flaw on the part of Starfleet.
She changed her screen to bring up the reports she was supposed to be reading from the last shift. She gritted her teeth for a split second at the sharp pain that jolted through her hand and she swallowed back the desire to laugh at herself that bubbled up in her chest and throat. She'd overdone it.
She'd woken up that morning desperately in need of touch.
That's how she'd felt when she'd first opened her eyes. She needed to be touched. She needed long-term touch. Steady touch. She needed more than the passing pat on the shoulder that she might get from Chakotay—because he was the only one that often touched her at all, since so many seemed to regard her as, literally, untouchable.
Chakotay.
Even a fleeting thought of him and her mind latched onto him, hard.
It had latched onto him, too, when she'd woken with the painful desperation to be touched. Held. To feel the friction of skin against her own. Namely, she'd desired to feel the friction of his skin against her own.
She'd very nearly cried into her pillow over her want for something so basic. She hadn't felt that kind of tantrum-like urge to cry and scream about her unhappiness since she'd been very small and her father had promised to be at her tennis match, but hadn't shown up because Starfleet had demanded his time instead.
Kathryn Janeway had only avoided crying into her pillow because she'd laughed at herself for acting like a brat over—over what? Over waking up and realizing that nobody had touched her in a long time and, in some overwhelming hour of need, her bed was empty—and was likely to remain so for the rest of her life.
There was nothing she could do about it, because it would be improper for her to proposition anyone. It would be an abuse of power. Even voicing her interest could be seen as duress.
She didn't want anyone who was there out of a since of duty or obligation—not even Chakotay. Not even if her dreams were haunted by him, and her body ached to know his touch.
She wouldn't want to ask, or even to suggest, because she'd forever feel that his actions weren't genuine. They weren't sincere.
And the crew would, very likely, disapprove. She was their captain. Her only concerns should be their safety and happiness. Getting them home. She shouldn't lie in her bed and wish for companionship and affection.
So, in the absence of anyone else who could touch her, she'd touched herself. She'd indulged her fantasies and pleasured herself, perhaps, a little too thoroughly.
Now, she felt as if she needed to slip down to sickbay to ask the doctor to check her for a fever—since she was sure that was what was making her slightly dizzy and causing her to sweat—and something inside her bubbled up with the humorous thought that she should ask him for something to treat the wrist and fingers that she almost felt sure were sprained.
She could tell him it was an old tennis injury. He didn't need to know the truth. She doubted he'd have anything, after all, in a hypospray that could take away any and all of her baser human needs and desires.
"Neelix to Captain Janeway."
Kathryn's combadge howled at her and drew her out of her daydream. She was glad for it, even though her face grew warm at the realization that she'd been so focused on what she'd been thinking that she didn't even know how long she'd been sitting there not really paying attention to what was going on around her.
There was an anomaly near the ship—something on their radar that they were going to explore—but it looked like a cloud or a nebula. It didn't appear to be anything to worry about and, until they got closer, there was nothing she could really do about it anyway.
"Go ahead, Mr. Neelix," Kathryn said.
"We could use a hand in the mess hall, Captain," Neelix said. "Namely—I could use a hand. If—you've got one to spare, that is."
"What kind of hand, Mr. Neelix?" Kathryn asked, stifling her humor at the Talaxian's stammering. "What's wrong?"
"Well, it's not exactly wrong, Captain, per se…it's just that…"
"Spit it out, Mr. Neelix," Kathryn said. "We haven't got all day."
"Yes, Captain," Neelix responded. "It's just that certain crew members are being…well, they're being openly affectionate, Captain. And I've asked them to stop, but…they seem to be doing the opposite of stopping and, really, it's beginning to make everyone too uncomfortable to enjoy the breakfast casserole that I prepared with Brevalian root vegetables from our airponics bay."
"I'm sending someone now. Janeway out."
Kathryn had no idea what had come over whatever crew members were in question. Though she could understand the driving force, perhaps, behind their actions—especially given her own current feelings—she could not condone strong public displays of affection or indiscretion.
"Lieutenant Tuvok?" Kathryn requested, turning around to see the Vulcan who was already passing off his station to an ensign.
"I will take a small team, Captain," Tuvok offered.
"Just—send them to quarters and bring me the report," Kathryn said. "I'll call them to my ready room."
"Aye, Captain," Tuvok responded.
Kathryn was just about to touch her combadge and scold her first officer for his tardiness—since he still hadn't shown up for his shift—when Chakotay stepped through the doors as Tuvok walked out of them.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Captain," Chakotay offered, quickly walking around to take his seat and bring up his screen.
"I presume you have a good excuse?" Kathryn asked.
"Fraternization in the turbolift," Chakotay said. He somewhat blushed and tried to hold back a smile that still made his dimples prominent. "I feel like I'm downplaying it by calling it that. Indiscretion. I stopped the crew members to have a talk with them. I told them that we wouldn't tolerate such behavior."
Kathryn laughed to herself and Chakotay raised his eyebrows at her in question. He already looked amused, even though he couldn't be sure of what she found humorous.
"Mr. Neelix just called for Tuvok," Kathryn said. "It seems there's some indiscretion in the mess hall, as well."
"Maybe it's something in the water," Chakotay offered.
Kathryn's combadge chirped again.
"The doctor to Captain Janeway. Your presence is requested in sickbay, Captain."
"What's going on?" Kathryn asked.
"I'd rather not say," the doctor said. "But I'm requesting that you not put off your arrival for too long, Captain."
Kathryn made a face at Chakotay.
"You might need some backup," he offered quietly.
Kathryn sighed. She had no idea what she might be walking into.
"I'm on my way," she said. "Janeway out." Even as she got to her feet, Chakotay was getting to his. "Mr. Kim, you have the bridge. Tom? Let me know if anything new arises surrounding that anomaly."
She heard Tom's happy "yes ma'am" as she left the bridge with Chakotay practically following on her heels.
