Slow Seduction - Voy
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Title: Slow Seduction
Author: Ky (Venom_69)
Fandom: Voyager
Category: Smut.
Pairing: J/C
Rating: Adults Only
Summary: He tells her that incredible story that she knows verbatim, he takes her hand and she thinks I love you.
Archive: My site. Anywhere else, sure, just let me know where so I can come visit.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, never will. Promise to put them back in the state I found them. Song’s not mine either. That's DJ Sammy's - "Heaven"
Author’s notes: Every JC writer seems to have a Resolutions Fic: This is mine. For the insanely beautiful [info]valeria_sg_1 Sorry it took me so long babes, hope you like this. *kiss*
Date: 23/04/06
Copyright to Venom, 2006


Baby you're all that I want
When you're lying here in my arms
I'm finding it hard to believe
We're in Heaven.
And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart.
It isn't too hard to see
We're in heaven.


He tell her that stupid story and she thinks I’m not allowed to listen to this.

They've been nowhere near anything remotely related to Starfleet for well over two months, consciously having very little red or black in sight, but she still sees herself as The Captain first, Kathryn second.

She doesn't actually answer to 'Captain' anymore, but she still hears it sometimes when he calls her name softly. She suspects that if there were ever an emergency in their New Earth, he would call for his Captain first, Kathryn second. She is stronger as the Captain. Less likely to crumble to her fears and insecurities.

He tells her that sweet story and she thinks How the hell did I get so lucky?

She's never known a man to be so patient and caring before. At least, not with her. He never pushes, never assumes that ‘She who is silent is understood to consent’ and it's only her own simmering desire that makes her suggest 'defining parameters.' They are more for herself than for him.

As much as she wants him, there is still the ‘Fleet part of her – but perhaps more the scared, emotionally scarred woman – that screams obscenities whenever she realistically entertains the idea of asking him to join her in the bath. Or crawling into his bed naked. Or stripping and laying herself open to him and whatever he wants to do to her.

She’s had a lot of time to think about this.

He tells her that thoughtful, heartfelt story and she thinks God, just fuck me until we both scream and or die.

For two weeks after, she feels it.

His eyes on her.

Always on her.

Logically, Kathryn knows that she can't actually feel them, but the weight of those deep, expressive, eyes follows her around like a cloud of oxymoronic, welcome oppression.

She thinks that if she kisses him, he will taste of passion and masculinity.

Emotions, by definition, are a feeling, not a taste, but she still expects it.

She wants to feel it. To know it. Him. She wants to see him above her, she wants to feel him in her. She wants to watch a train of sweat slide down his torso – and she has seen that too many times already as he works on something or other – and she wants the freedom to follow that droplet with her tongue.

He tells her that incredible story that she knows verbatim, he takes her hand and she thinks I love you.

A tear slides down her face when he finishes.

They share a soft joke, a sweet smile, and his eyes gaze at her tenderly as the drop of saltwater races for her chin. She doesn’t know how long they sit there, holding hands.

His thumb caresses hers in sure strokes and she wishes that the intimacy of the moment would dispel the erotic images that spring to mind but they don’t and her face grows hot as he looks at her.

Her face grows hot a lot in the two weeks that follow, but he never calls her on it. Kathryn imagines that he knows exactly where her thoughts head each time they make eye contact, but he never says a word and he never pushes and she bathes in the warm feeling that his trailing eyes give her.

You can't go on like this! The traitorous voice of a lonely woman whines.

What choice do you have? Whispers the Captain.

She ignores them both and plants Talaxian Tomatoes instead.

Every day she tends to her garden.

Sometimes he sits beside her – never doing anything more than keeping her company – and they talk, softly and reverently, of their childhood years.

He does most of the talking while she gets dirt under her nails and loves every second of it. She thinks that she would have liked to visit Trebus before the attack and one day he confesses that he wishes she could have seen it.

She’s not sure when it started, but he helps her stand when she announced her gardening finished for the day. His gentle hands close around her dirty ones and he pulls her to her feet in one smooth motion.

It’s innocent, at first. The touch of a friend and nothing more. But then as she moves towards the house, his hand strokes her hip. It’s light, at first, just a brief touch that sends only a small thrill through her.

Slow seduction, she thinks gleefully, the man is full of patience.

But he gets bolder each time until the day when his hand cradles her hip for several moments. She knows that there will be a slightly dirty handprint on the bodice of her soft green dress. She doesn’t care and he obviously doesn’t either.

“Kathryn.” He says quietly and she thinks it’s more of a question than anything else.

A plethora of meanings in a simple word.

“I’m not ready.” She says honestly. “But don’t stop.”

He smiles gently and nods, once.

He understands.

The closest that they have come to verbally acknowledging the simmering attraction that they feel. Kathryn knows that she has nothing but time, but she doesn’t know how long she can wait until her body makes the decision for her.

Every night they sit at the table and have dinner together. He cooks because she hates it and the food is always exactly what she needs. They eat in silence because they don't really need words and even if they did, Kathryn likes that she can be silent with him.

She remembers her mother's words; "Kathy, you know you've got it made when you can sit in silence with someone and still be happy." And she thinks that she's got it made.

Whatever 'it' is.

After dinner, she showers and puts on the heaviest nightclothes she can find – her nipples are permanently erect now and he may know it but she doesn’t have the courage to let him see it yet – and they continue their nightly activities. They work in silence, mostly.

He works on his sand paintings, she reads or makes a halfhearted attempt at scientific research. She’s stopped hoping for a cure now.

If she’s honest with herself – which she is a lot more these days – then she gave up on the idea of leaving that night that he held her under the table while their home fell to pieces around them.

Kathryn is always the first to bed. She says goodnight softly and even in her shapeless clothes, she watches silently as his eyes roam over her body, full of promise and temptation. Most nights she wants to let the garment fall from her, but she never does.

As she walks away from him, his eyes still on her, she feels the desire swirling within her.

She goes to her half of the sleeping area and rubs her clit until she reaches a weak orgasm and she sobs his name pathetically into her pillow.

She feels the dissipation of pressure in her belly, she feels the rush of wetness, she feels the tingling in her clit from the rough treatment, but the orgasm is always followed by a sigh as she thinks, why did I bother?

It’s never enough, no matter how she pictures him as she rubs. Her body finds its release but her mind shuts down in protest to the self-satisfaction when there is a perfectly willing and abled body on the other side of the wall who could do it so much better.

Sometimes her own piteous attempts make her cry for far longer than she would like to admit.

If he hears any of it, he never says anything.

Kathryn is hardly surprised that it only takes another week of this routine before she thinks I can't go on like this!

The woman and the Captain agree and she goes in search of him.

He had not sat with her today as she gardened. The touches to her hip have extended to the curve of her buttocks and today he could make no progress save from cupping her. He obviously thinks that she is not ready for that yet and she loves him just a little more for it.

It doesn’t take long to find him.

Chakotay has been working on some extensions to their home, a larger living area to be connected to the front. His workstation is set a way back from the house in case of another ion storm – they don’t need to have logs hitting their roof – and she sees him before he see her.

When she enters his peripheral vision, he stops working on milling the log and stands, turning to face her.

She’s suddenly shy under his silent scrutiny, unsure of how to proposition her best friend.

Kathryn doesn’t slow her steps though, the Captain wont let her. He says nothing as she enters his personal space, says nothing as she pressed her body flush against his.

There is a hardness against her lower belly and she is shockingly grateful that she is not the only one so affected. She is equally grateful that he doesn’t need to ask what she’s doing.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

Kathryn reaches down, grasps his hands, and places them on her hips. Where they belong, she thinks. When she is sure that his hands will stay there, thumbs idly moving back and forth, she reaches up and pulls her hair from the braid.

Chakotay smiles, softly. She knows that he loves her hair. The way that he stroked it so tenderly before massaging her neck is still fresh in her mind. “I think we should go inside,” He says gently. “Before I push you against that tree.”

"Good idea."

"I think that primate is watching us." His amusement is clear, and his words put her at ease. "I don't fancy giving him a show."

“Maybe later.” She smiles coyly, and is surprised by how feminine she feels with him, like this. It’s a good feeling, she decides, as he takes her hand and they walk without hurry back into their home.

It’s mutually, but silently, decided that his bed is the one they will head for. He has a larger frame and whoever packed their beds obviously accounted for that fact. As they stand before it, Kathryn doesn’t feel the nerves that she’d anticipated.

She observes his sleeping area silently, never having been in there for any length of time. It's basically the same as hers; bed, though larger, dresser, a chair, the backrest that he made. A small, intricate, totem rests on his dresser and she thinks that she will have to ask about it's origins.


A strange sense of peace has settled over her and her body. She has known – since that very first moment on the bridge – that they would end up here.

She hadn’t expected it to happen quite this soon, and she really hadn’t expected that there would be this much emotion behind their actions, but she is deliriously happy with how everything between them has played out.

Chakotay pulls his shirt off first.


She stands back a little, watching with hungry eyes. Shoes; he uses his feet to work them off and keeps eye contact with her. Socks, too. His pants are next, the soft brown material pools at his feet and he steps out of them. She wonders for a beat what he will do next. But he doesn’t hesitate to pull his boxers – that answers that question – off.

He stands naked before her, unashamed of his body or his aroused state.

Kathryn is a little more hesitant. Gravity has taken its toll on her breasts, her belly is rounder now than a few years ago. She is only thirty-six, but is aware that she is no beauty queen.

She is painfully aware of her faults, but knows that no judgment will come.

An irrational thought pops up, Thank God I put good underwear on this morning! and she would laugh at herself if she didn’t have to explain it to him.

“You have no reason to be shy.”

She loves that he can read her mind, and she pulls her dress up and over her head in response.

Her hair is heavy when it’s out and it catches on the neck of her dress. For a brief moment, she is worried that she’ll get stuck and embarrass herself, but it comes off with a harder pull.

The black bra is next, and her hands inadvertently brush her nipples on the way to the front closer and she gasps. His eyes twinkle, not in amusement, but a deeper arousal.

That is enough to bring her the courage to finish stripping. She kicks her sandals off, not looking at where they land. Slowly, she tugs her underwear down, bending to slide the scrap of lace down her legs before finally stepping out of them.

Her curls glisten slightly in the low light, her own arousal, more subtle than his, but still evident. “You’re beautiful.”

Denial is instinctively on her lips but she bites it back. “So are you.”

Chakotay stretches a hand out, touching her cheek. She leans in to the caress, eyes closing of their own accord. The backs of his fingers trace her skin, sliding down her neck. They continue a maddeningly slow path; collarbone, slope of her right breast, side of her breast, ribs, stomach, hip.

He stops there, and his hand changes position until he holds her hip once more. The touch is now so familiar that it comforts her. “You’re so white.” His voice is awe-struck.

She has fanaticized about the difference in their coloring too.

Slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, she steps towards him again. Like she had in the woods, she doesn’t stop until their bodies are touching and his erection is nestled in the swell of her belly. She steps up on to the tips of her toes – and the movement against his arousal causes him to groan. She likes that sound. – and brings their lips together for the first time.

The kiss is slow, lazy. He tastes of everything and nothing that she’d expected. His tongue plays with hers gently, it tickles her taste buds and traces her teeth. His lips cover hers, she is in no doubt as to who dominates this exchange and she loves the loss of control.

Chakotay pulls back from her and she whimpers at the loss until he changes the angle and kisses her again. This time, he nibbles at her lips, pulling them towards him with his teeth. He uses enough force to dent them and turn the surrounding area white and though he never breaks her skin, the danger sends a jolt of desire through her.

Kathryn really wants this time, their first time, to be slow and loving, but the pooling wetness between her thighs is insistent, and she feels a matching desire in the throbbing erection against her stomach.

Their bodies and their lips never break contact but he somehow manages to walk them backwards – eyes closed – until she falls in a controlled move onto the bed. He is right there with her the whole way, until he is cradled between her spread thighs.

There is very little finesse here, there is very little need for it.

Not with them.

When he enters her, she has to grit her teeth against the sting of pain. She hasn’t been with anyone since Mark – over two years – and he’s a lot bigger than she’d expected. He knows this, somehow, and he stills within her, giving her body the chance to stretch around him. It’s only when she moves her legs higher up his body that he begins to move.

He uses slow, steady, strokes. Her own desire is lubrication enough but she can feel how careful he is being.

The muscles in her thighs pull with each movement, protesting at the unfamiliar activity. They burn a little, but that only heightens the multitude of thoughts and feelings that swim through her at the speed of light. A pressure builds, low in her belly, strong and overwhelming. Her breath comes in pants, she can’t suck in enough air to her lungs but the sensations are so intense that she no longer cares.

Kathryn knows that it wont take her long. She is even more certain of that fact as his hand brushes across her belly, searching through her curls until he thumb dances in circles over her clit in a rhythm that matches their fast coupling.

Their eyes meet and that's enough.

She screams for a deity that she stopped believing in long ago. He slows his strokes, bringing her down gently as she rides out the orgasm, her internal muscles clenching around him. The pressure dissipates, and a familiar rush of wetness escapes her. It’s nothing like her own self-induced orgasms from the previous weeks.

This one leaves her gasping, crying, sobbing in relief at the sheer intensity of it. Her legs twitch, she has to fight to keep them locked around his body.

Her own body is demanding sleep now, any energy she had has long gone. Save for the welcome hardness that is still within her, Kathryn thinks she could contently sleep for a week now.

It takes a few moments but the shuddering in her body finally slows and his pace picks up again.

Chakotay’s thumb moves back to her clit and she moans weakly, low in her throat. “No, please, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

And she has a bad – but very very good – feeling that a second orgasm for her has just become his goal.

He thrusts into her harder now. The pace is rough and demanding, pushing her further into the soft mattress.

Every breath feels like it’s being forcefully pulled from her lungs now, accompanied by a sound that Kathryn didn’t know she was capable of making. She feels so full, so incredible full, and when she tilts her hips upwards and feels him penetrate her deeper, she thinks she might die.

More to the point, she thinks she might want too.

Her second orgasm catches her completely off-guard. She doesn’t know if she screams – she’s not even totally certain that she remains conscious throughout it – but she knows that Chakotay calls her name as he empties himself inside of her.

He collapses on top of her, her face next to his, their cheeks touching as they both try to draw air.

Her hands stroke the length of his sweaty back and she can feel the muscles twitching as his orgasm fades. “I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too,” he pants out. “So very much.”

They lie in silence for a while, content to remain connected. He is heavy on her, but the weight is welcome. She feels complete, now, like she has come home to a place that she hadn’t realized she missed.

“Do you hear that?” He asks.

She doesn’t, at first.

But then her heart heads south to her stomach, tears prick at her eyes and her throat tightens. She knows that sound. She knows it so well even after living months without it.

A combadge.


And crappily enough, we all know what happened next.