Title: Just Once
Author: Ky (venom69)
Fandom: Star Trek: Voyager
Rating: ADULT.
Summary: Ignorance is bliss, they say.
Character/Pairing: Janeway/Chakotay
Spoilers: None… the show’s ended!
Warnings: None.
Prompt Number for fic101: 55 - eyes
Author’s Notes: Song belongs to Billy Joel. With many thanks to justace for temporarily jumping fandoms to help me.
Disclaimer: Usual guff. Not mine, promise to put them back where I found them.
Date: 31/01/07

***

I know you’re an emotional girl
It took a lot for you to not loose your faith in this world
I can't offer you proof
But you're going to face a moment of truth

***

You don't let yourself think about the protocol that you're breaking as you key in your override code and enter. You don't let yourself think about how this would look to the crew, or to him. You tell your mind to shut down and let your clit do the talking, for once.

Ignorance is bliss, they say and tonight ignorance is your friend.

The sound of water beating down on the tiled floor - and a hard, muscular body somewhere in between - reaches your ears and you stand just inside the door, waiting.

You can't quite recall how you got to this point.

How you came to be standing here with nothing but a thin robe covering you from the curious eyes of the crew that saw you enter. You know that it's been one of those months - full of the type of weeks that make you curse your own stupidity for destroying the Caretaker's array in the beginning - and in your exhausted mental state, this had seemed like the perfect option.

And you're here now.

It doesn't matter how or why.

It could be seconds, minutes, hours or days later, but the sound of the water finally stops.

Your breath doesn't hitch, your nipples don't tighten in anticipation - there may be some tingling though - and you don't feel the slightest urge to run before he sees you and wants to haul your clearly insane ass to sickbay.

Half a heartbeat - or is that half an eternity? - later, he emerges.

He clutches the towel around his waist and drops of water slide down his shoulders and chest, coming from his wet hair as the beads of liquid cling stubbornly to his skin.

His cheeks are flushed and you briefly imagine him in the shower with the temperature too high to be comfortable as he wills the tension to leave his body. You know that it doesn't work.

You tried it yourself just half an hour ago.

He opens his mouth, poised to speak - to question you and your reason for being here - but you shake your head. His words will not help you and you can't bring yourself to let him try.

Moving forward, you rest your right hand on his chest, feeling the opposing mixture of warm skin and cool liquid, before pushing him back until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

You push a little firmer.

He takes the hint and let's himself fall back into a sitting position.

Keeping your hand on his chest, you hold the bottom of your robe out of the way as you straddle his thighs, your weight supported on your knees and his hands as they move to hold your hips.

His face shows his confusion, his dark eyes concerned even as he holds you steady.

Part of you wants to speak; to explain to him that it has been one of those months - which he will understand - and the only way you can think of to keep your sanity is by doing this.

Part of you wants to offer him an out - though you'd be prepared to hit him on the grounds of stupidity if he accepted. Who refuses a half-naked and willing woman? - but you just can't bring yourself to open your mouth and form the words.

Pushing the edges of his loose towel away, your left hand moves between your legs and you hold yourself open for him while you other hand clutches at his shoulder.

Just once, you promise yourself as you lower your body and loose your mind.

His eyes widen as you wince - By God it's been a long time - and you suck in a quick breath and hold yourself still, waiting for the sharp sting of your self-inflicted pain to fade.

The stretch and pull of your internal muscles is exactly what you were looking for; a reason to feel something other than apathy or self-hatred.

Focusing on a point over his shoulder - specifically his pillow and the pair of boxer shorts that rest there - you move slowly, using your knees and thighs, aided by his hands, to pull yourself up before lowering yourself again. You repeat the action, stubbornly ignoring his eyes as he tries to find your gaze.

Every movement is slow, focussed, controlled.

In short, everything that you don't feel.

You concentrate on the next breath, the next heartbeat. You ignore the sting of tears in your eyes and concentrate on the feeling of being full, followed by the feeling of loss when you pull your bodies apart.

Your robe sticks to you in places, pulled against your skin as beads of sweat form and roll down your body as your movements pick up in speed while you cling pathetically to your tentative control.

The sticky sound of sex fills your ears and you can smell yourself - And him - and every indrawn breath heightens your senses.

It's not going to take long - is that a sign of your forced celibacy, you wonder, or simply your desire for him? - and you find yourself squinting to try and keep the pillow in focus as a sweet ball of tension forms low in your belly.

A thumb moves to your clit - Yours? His? Does it matter? - and three quick flicks across the bundle of nerves sends your falling over the edge of a precipice that you'd hadn't known you were on.

Your thighs tremble around his body and you shut your mouth firmly to prevent any sound escaping. When you feel him come beneath you - and in you, oh god… - you have to shut your eyes tightly against the wave of emotion.

Just once, you remind yourself sadly as you open your eyes and finally meet the worried - though slightly subdued - gaze of your First Officer.

You want to smile at him, to reassure him of... well, whatever, but you just can't do it and the sheen across your eyes would give you away if you tried, so you push the need to talk down and rise from your position.

Moving to his bathroom, you clean yourself up quickly and when you return to the bedroom, he is still sitting where you left him, flaccid penis laying against his thigh, covered with a mixture of your combined juices as he stares blankly at the wall.

"I..." You don't get past that and clearing your throat doesn't help your vocal cords or the knot in your throat.

You'll hate yourself for it later - and you already do now, a little - but you leave his Quarters and walk back to your own, amidst the startled looks as even more crewmembers see you.

Slipping into your dark Quarters, you wait for the doors to close behind you before you sink to the floor and finally let the tears escape, surrendering to a weakness that you don’t like to feel.

Just once.

***

End