I wake that next morning with a dull ache in my bladder and it's at that point that I finally smell myself. It's been a day and a half since the last "sponge bath" that I received in Sickbay and I'm not leaving my quarters smelling like this. I feel his body spooned next to me. I feel his arousal pressed into my back and I feel myself growing wet. But, no I would not make love to him like this – especially not smelling like this. He kisses my neck, "no" I whisper, "not like this".

"I'm content to kiss you," he whispers heatedly as he feathers butterfly kisses over my ears.

I smile, "you might be, but junior there isn't!"

His dimples are showing, "Sorry".

"No you're not!" I laugh.

"You're right, I'm not. You're beautiful, sensual-"

"Crippled" I bitterly interject.

"Uh-uh" he shakes his head against my breast as he presses kisses over my shirt in between my breasts, "No interrupting. Now where was I? Oh yes, extremely sexy, and that voice! Just the sound of your voice, Kathryn, is enough to send me over the edge."

Now I am laughing – belly laughing – "My voice?! My deep manly voice that the kids at school used to make fun of? I had my suspicions, but now I know you're crazy!"

"Crazy for you." He grins, amused by his own cheesiness, and begins feathering kisses over my stomach.

"I need to take a shower."

"Sonic or Regular?"

"Well, I was thinking that Regular would be a bit more fun" I beam deviously.

This morning I am able to stand on my own and some basic functions are evident in my hands and arms. Still I stand motionlessly in front of him, still leaning into him. The room slowing fills with steam as the shower water pelts against the tile floor and glass shower walls. Neither of us speaks, for this is the place for our secret language. We want to savour this time. We want to catalogue every touch, every sight, every sigh and every taste. To begin, he appears almost hesitant. His hands skitter over my clothes as if he's afraid to touch me. And then, he gains his footing and lifts my arms, supporting them on his shoulders and he removes my top. He's breathless. He stares. He looks at me with those eyes. He regards at me with that gaze that I saw in my dream, only this time it's real. And then he smiles and unhooks my bra. I've always been insecure about my size – like the rest of me, they're puny. Justin made a comment once in passing. I don't think he thought it was significant at the time, but it fueled my inadequacy for a long time. I don't think Mark even noticed. I don't think Mark noticed much of anything other than Mark. But Chakotay looks at me and smiles; to him, I am perfect. He bends down, still supporting me – needlessly at this stage – and removes my briefs. I am used to the motion by now, but this time it takes on a different meaning. I am completely naked and he is still clothed. I am growing impatient and he knows it. Truthfully, he enjoys making me wait. It's only fair – I've done the same to him for the last four years. A crooked smile tugs at the corner of my mouth and he laughs as a removes his shirt. He looks different now: a little thinner, but still the same beautiful man. And then he moves to his waist, unbuckles his pants and lets them slide down his narrow hips. I smile when I see what's next. The man is truly insatiable and I am flattered, to say the least. He wags his eyebrow and I laugh out loud as he divests the last remaining item and now he stands as naked as I am. I look at him fully now. He's beautiful and I'll spend my whole life worshiping this body that holds an even more striking spirit and soul.

Slowly he leads me under the jets of warm water and I let the water sooth my weak muscles. He looks at me, staring right through me. I'm drawn to him, like a magnet. His mouth finds me. His hands cover my breasts and envelop them fully. He wants me. I want him. I want him so desperately that I ache. "Yes," I whisper. He knows. He smiles. Gingerly he backs me up into the wall behind me as his hands continue their reverent exploration. His right hand travels lower and tangles in the curls at the apex of my thigh, but I shake my head, "No, just you". He understands as he lifts me, draping my right leg over his left hip. He enters me with one swift movement. The speed of his undertaking allows me to evade most of the discomfort that a slower movement would have evinced. Five and a half years – longer really – is a long time. I press myself against his solid frame, and though he hasn't moved yet, I can feel the pressure and the release build. I cry out and he begins to move. I knew all along that our first time would be quick, but I have never in my life come this quickly or intensely and I suspect that he hasn't either. But, it doesn't matter. It is still wonderful. And then, even more intimate than the act that we just together committed, he does something else that takes me breath away. He washes me. He washes every inch of me, leaving nothing untouched. I knew he would, but the actual act of him doing it is poignant and for the hundredth time this past week, my eyes water. No one has ever loved me like he does. His love his pervasive. He sees every flaw, every scar, and every insecurity, and gently kisses them away.