Chakotay's breath escapes in a rush. "Good," he says simply, and ducks in to capture her mouth in a fierce kiss, holding nothing back, his hand holding her chin as they fall further into each other. Her arms come around him, and she folds herself into his body.
When they come apart, they are both more than half lost already, heavy lidded, burning. She tugs his arm, pulling him up, and he manoeuvres her to sit on the end of the bed once more, settling on his knees again in front of her. Resetting.
She lies back and raises her hips to help him remove her pants, then sits up when he reaches to undo her unfamiliar uniform jacket, her hands on his shoulders.
"Do you know how many times I have imagined this?" he says into her ear as the fingers of one hand skirt the length of the hidden zipper. Finding the pull, he draws it down, then slides his hands inside her open jacket.
"I ... oh ... I can ... guess ..." she stumbles, the words falling between little rushed breaths. "I have ... some experience ... in the imagination department."
Visions of her imagining him, them together, dance through his mind, a race of heat accompanying his thoughts and his mouth curls in a soft smile. "I always hoped that was the case."
His flattened palms skim upwards over her undershirt, deliberately applying more weight when proceeding across her breasts, and a whimper escapes her.
She drops her hands from him and leans back a little, her eyes closing, clearly giving herself over to enjoying the sensations he is producing in her.
When his fingers reach her shoulders, he works for a few moments at the knots he knows are there, at the base of her neck, into the muscles above her shoulder blades, down the top of her spine, and she slackens into him with a sigh.
"Still so good at that ..."
He laughs softly. "You remember."
She gives a little snort. "As if I would forget. As if either of us would."
"Not a second," he agrees, prodding at the memory and for the first time finding it friendly. His smile reaches his toes.
He draws her to him as he works to push the jacket from her shoulders, down her arms and off, the contact and proximity sending her in search of his lips again, forcing his to give in, their teeth clashing a little, tender amusement rippling through them both, their desire beginning to burn even as they both struggle to slow the heat, to wait in it and luxuriate.
They both reach for the hem of her undershirt at the same time, and together, fingers tangling, lift it up and off her. Their matched breaths coarse and heavy, he pulls away from her to speak.
"Lie back," he says softly. "And keep your eyes open. I want you to see me love you."
He gets up and she rolls on her side to watch him as he undresses, taking in each centimetre of skin as it is revealed to her. She notes how comfortable he is in his body, how much he clearly enjoys her watching him. And when at last his thumbs hook into the waistband of his boxers and this last article of clothing is discarded, her breath is brought up short as she sees the extent of his desire for her.
Her eyes rake up his torso to fasten onto his, finding them glittering in soft delight at her obvious appreciation.
"Come here," she orders, her voice honey thick.
He lies down on the bed next to her and draws her close, his arms encircling her, and that first touch of skin on skin, the full length of their bodies aligned, is like flame.
He reaches around to undo her bra and she stiffens. He lets go of the clasp to hold her a little more tightly. "Okay?"
"Yes," but she can't quite keep the uncertainty from her voice.
"Tell me."
"I ..." she hesitates, her voice muffled against his heart, and he waits with her. "I ... I'm so much older than you, Chakotay." She stalls. "It matters what you think about me," she says finally, and her arms wrap around him more securely.
He pulls away from her, tips her chin so she can't avoid him. "Why is that?" he presses.
"Because you are so important to me. Because I always wanted ... for you to see me at my best. Because ... I love you." That this is the first time that she is saying this is not lost on her and she shakes a little from the power of it.
"Kathryn," he says on a breath. "I know you are older. Your life is there in your imperfections. That is beautiful to me." A hand ranges softly over her back, up and down. "I love you. Exactly as you are. Always as you are. I love you, Kathryn Janeway."
She bites her lip and makes a gentle noise, turning her head in an approximation of a shrug before facing him again. "The hell with it," she mutters with a slight roll of her eyes. She wriggles herself back from him on the bed, pushes herself into a sitting position, ensures she has his gaze, and reaches to unhook her bra with one hand, using her other to hold it in place for a moment.
She looks down at him, then tosses the item of clothing away, before lying down next to him on her back, extending her arms above her head, stretching out, and when he realises what she is doing – displaying herself to him – he is humbled by the gesture and aroused beyond measure and his eyes cannot do anything but rove her. A hand soon joins his eyes in exploring the magnificence of her body, showing her how he sees her.
"You are so beautiful, Kathryn, but that doesn't even begin to cover it."
His fingertips skim the exquisiteness of the imprinted, silvery stretch marks that run across her stomach, her breasts, her hips, trace the less defined lines of her muscles.
"I'm going show you just how lovely you are ... Look at yourself as I touch you."
His fingers dip into her curves and hollows, trace the wrinkles, creases and lines that she worries about, and her eyes follow his slow manoeuvres, her lips parting, her breath coming in ever-shorter increments.
"I'm going show you just how much I want you, how much I've wanted you ... since the day we met ..."
She is moving now under his hand, struggling to keep her eyes open as the pleasure builds in her. His touch adores her, soothing over softer places, noting the satiny shift of her looser skin covering bone, and falls, eventually, to the white lace that is the only thing she now wears, hand curving over her mound, his fingers stroking at her quivering damp heat through the fabric.
"I will make you feel it so you can't deny it."
A finger pushes against her, just deep enough to part her lips and they both moan, her hips angling to press into his hand before he takes it away to move his body over hers, his desire hard and insistent against her. Her arms come to encircle his neck and once more she draws him down to kiss, letting her hands rove his back, enjoying the novelty of his muscles flexing under her fingertips. Experimentally, she runs her nails across him, and is rewarded with a low rumbling in his chest and his head rearing away from her as he groans his pleasure.
He pushes up off her, leans on one arm and drops his mouth to a breast, his free hand coming underneath to lift it up to meet his adoring tongue, which slowly runs circles around her darkening areola, the skin puckering at his care. He watches her eyes cloud, a sound of desire escaping her, and keeps his gaze on her, letting her watch his tongue swirl over her with slow, maddening strokes and flicks, dipping in every now and again with alternately pliant then hard open-mouthed kisses to suckle her, take her nipple between his teeth and bite.
The fire is spreading now, scorching through her in deep, sweeping pulses radiating out from his mouth, every small alteration he makes to the detail of his caress flaming a path straight to her centre.
If he keeps this up ... she thinks she might come just from this – from what he is doing, from watching him do it, from watching him watching her – it is unbelievable, glorious, something she never even imagined could be possible.
When he reaches across her, lowering his head to honour her other breast just as diligently, she shifts under him, her whole body unfurling for him like she is a desert plant burning up under the sun and he the rain.
"Chakotay ... ah ..." Her hands are in his hair, the sensation of his head moving underneath her hands as he licks and bites and cajoles her breast almost unbearable. "If ... you ... don't stop ..." she gasps.
"And that would be bad ...?" he queries with a grin before descending to her once more.
But she doesn't answer, she cannot, because the touch of his mouth is suddenly, unbelievably, completely unbearable, and she is wailing his name, with nothing beneath her but wide swathes of white heat, a swirling tide of light all the way from his mouth to her clit that just rolls and rolls and goes on and on and feels like nothing she has ever felt before.
When the waves pull back, leaving her wrecked on the shore, and she can direct her brain to open her eyes, she finds him grinning and humming with incredulous, unbound joy, completely awestruck.
"Oh ..." she manages.
"Oh?"
She lets out a puff of breath. "Oh, you are good at that," she elaborates, her fulfilment evident in her slight drawl, in the difficulty she seems to be having locating words.
"Just good?"
"Very good," she tries, mind still whirling.
He chuckles and slides up to kiss her, and she finds herself thrilling at the friction of his body along hers, her desire rising once more, as if she wasn't still recovering from the strongest, most intense orgasm of her life ... without even a touch to her centre. If he can do that, just what else might he be capable of? She pushes her hips up into his and he moans into her mouth, losing focus, his lips leaving hers and his head tipping back. It is the most beautiful thing she has ever witnessed, the look of fire and surrender on his face, and she has to see it again.
Her hands trail his hot skin to his waist and lower, reaching between them, and he pushes up and off her to allow her access, even though his look warns her that this is unwise, that he's already too far gone for this to be a sensible course of action.
He hisses as her fingers find and curl around him, his face clouding with want.
She strokes him.
Once.
Plays her thumb across his tip, catching the tear of moisture there. His eyes roll back into his head.
"Kathryn ..." he groans. "Wait ..."
Twice.
"Ohhhhh ..." a shudder rocks him, "I won't be able to ... If you don't stop ..."
"And that would be bad ...?"
He lets loose a laugh, a heft of breath, and looks down at her as her hand stills for a moment, still enthrallingly clasping him. "Yes. My recovery time ... isn't what it used to be."
Her eyes glint wickedly. "Something tells me that's not going to be a problem."
Before he has time to realise what she is doing, she pushes his shoulder, unbalancing him as she intends. He rolls off her and onto his back. In a heartbeat she has straddled him, palms flat on his chest, her grey-blue eyes fixed to his.
"Your turn to watch," she purrs as she leans in, begins trailing her mouth down his body, revelling in the intoxicating taste and scent of him: sweet, deep, so familiar, everything.
She reaches his cock.
As beautiful as the rest of him. Large, well proportioned, and, she entertains, potentially intimidating – to some. She smiles up at him from beneath her eyelids. His face has stilled in anticipation, eyes wide, breathless. She wets her lips, keeps her eyes on him, and lowers her mouth to him.
The flat of her tongue courses his entire length in a single long sweep, root to tip, and his whole body roils. Taking time to mimic his earlier ministrations, she circles the tip and delights in the little jerks of pleasure that each flit of her tongue across that most sensitive of places elicits. Finally, taking note of his muscles tensing all around her, she takes him slowly into her mouth, whirling her tongue around his girth, and begins to slide up and down.
His hands are suddenly holding her head, just shadowing her movements, all tight, strained restraint. She smiles and huffs an exhalation over him, increasing the pace.
In no time at all, his breaths are hard gasps and he is striving not to lunge into the lush warmth of her. He feels his orgasm start to gather in him, coiling, strung. Her hands are at his hips, silently giving him permission to move and he allows himself to thrust into her, as gently as he can given he has barely any reason left at all. There is just her and him and warmth and heat and the fire that is slowly engulfing and burning them up.
"Kathryn," he says, struggling. "I'm ... I'm not far."
In response, she redoubles her efforts, hollowing her cheeks and sucking him hard.
She feels him contract, and slides a hand up and behind his balls, pressing in behind them in just the right place at just the right moment and he crashes and comes apart for her, bursting into her mouth and filling her with his life, crying out her name. As he falls back into time, she swallows his sweet-salty seed, slows her movements and gently releases him, wiping at her mouth with a hand as she rises on her arms to more thoroughly take in the vision before her.
Truly the most gorgeous man, and even more so in the aftermath of her loving him, head thrown back, full lips parted, eyes fluttering, great solidly muscled limbs askance, completely vulnerable, completely beguiling.
To say she missed him before this would be an understatement. Now she knows she won't be able to go on without him.