Chapter Text
It’s been a long time since she slept in her clothes. Her body protests as the light around her begins to increase. When she opens her eyes, Chakotay says softly, “Good morning.”
“Nnngh.”
He props himself up on his elbow to look down at her, then brushes a stray piece of hair out of her face. “Let me kiss you.”
It’s dangerous, doing this outside of the holodeck, but she can’t bring herself to deny it. “Yes,” she says, and he’s already leaning down to fit his lips to hers, to stroke her jaw until she opens her mouth to him. The kiss is slow, searching, and she lays her hand on the back of his neck to hold him there.
The computer announces, “It is time to wake up.”
Chakotay pulls away with a regretful smile. He kisses the tip of her nose and this is so far beyond what she intended—she should have known better than to leave the holodeck with him. Then he rolls out of bed and walks to the replicator. “Coffee, black.” He hands the cup to Kathryn and she inhales deeply. “You may want to do something about your hair before you leave here,” he says.
Kathryn gropes at her hair with one hand while downing the cup of coffee. It’s escaped from the usual coil, pins snaggled in it. “What do you think they would say if I walked onto the bridge wearing a braid instead?”
She sees the flush on his lips, his neck. “You know what they would say, Captain.”
Of course she does. She drains the mug and passes it to him. “How long do we have until we need to be on the bridge?”
“Thirty minutes, give or take—” He shifts a little. “Why?”
“I’d like more coffee,” she tells him, and he gets it for her. When she’s finished that cup too, she goes to the replicator herself. “Get back on the bed,” she says, and she sees the slight shiver, the way his shoulders relax and his nipples start to harden. “On your hands and knees.”
“Yes, Captain.” His voice takes on an almost liquid quality and he obeys.
She contemplates taking off some part of her uniform, decides against it. There’s a certain thrill to having him undressed—vulnerable—in front of her when she’s still fully dressed. The lubricant is still sitting by his side of the bed and she picks it up before kneeling on the bed behind him. His sleep pants slide off his hips easily and she lets them pool around his knees. “Spread your legs wider.” She strokes his spine, feels the ridge of each disc as she goes, until her finger is just touching the rim of his hole. “I saw you last night,” she says. “Getting around my order not to touch your cock.” She presses the tip of her finger in, tests the resistance, and then pulls away and opens the lube. “I could make you do this yourself, you know. You should be grateful.”
“I am.” His voice is raspy, and he jumps a little when she touches him again with a slick finger. She circles around and around the rim, pressing down, almost tugging a little, but never pushing inside, and he says “Captain—” in that liquid voice, like he’s drunk on whatever she’s doing.
“Really, I don’t have time for this,” she tells him, and now she does work her finger in slowly, in and out, a little further each time. She withdraws her finger, adds more lube and slides it all the way back in before she says, “Can you take another now?”
“Yes,” he promises, and she feels him open to it, feels the way he relaxes around her a little until she’s pumping two fingers in and out. He’s so hot inside, so soft, and every breath ends in a kind of quiet little noise, barely audible.
“You’re being so good,” she tells him, and that’s when she takes out the butt plug. “I’m going to put this in your ass. And then you’re going to put your uniform on, and you’re going to walk onto the bridge and stay there with it in until I call you into my ready room.”
He turns his head to look back at her and she twists her fingers in his ass, spreads them a little. His mouth opens for a minute in a silent O before he says “Yes, Captain,” with a delicious kind of quiver in his voice.
“Tell me now if you can’t do it.” This had damn well better be a quiet shift. “If you can’t handle it.”
He’s still staring back at her. “No—I can.” She pulls her fingers out to the knuckle, scissors them again and he gulps, says, “I can,” again.
“Good.” The plug is thicker than her fingers, the flared base bulbous. She shows him as she slicks it up, until it’s dripping lube, and then she works it into his ass. He resists a little at first, the ring of muscle clenching tight, but she’s patient, tells him, “Breathe, relax,” and waits until he nods to push it the rest of the way in. It goes smoothly now, until all but the base has disappeared inside him, and she pushes his cheeks together for a moment to hide the base before releasing him. “Get dressed and get to the bridge,” she tells him. “I need a shower.”
Kathryn is running high on it by the time she reaches the bridge, another cup of coffee (is this her third or fourth? They seem to end up empty as soon as she refills them). She masturbated when she got out of the shower, just to take the edge off, but Chakotay hasn’t gotten the chance. He’s sitting very carefully in his chair, and every so often he shifts position a little and gets a bit redder. Thank god the Doctor isn’t here on the bridge to announce dilated pupils and increased pulse to everyone. After saying her good mornings to everyone, and after fifteen uneventful minutes have passed, she says, “I’ll be in my ready room” and stands. When Chakotay starts to follow, she shakes her head, and she watches the line of his throat as he swallows hard.
It's even better in here, imagining him trying to get comfortable, distracted by the unforgiving weight spreading his ass open. She makes him wait another thirty minutes before she comms, “Commander Chakotay to my ready room.” When he walks in, she engages privacy mode and stands up.
“Captain,” he says. She thinks he might be sweating a little.
“Bend over the desk,” she tells him. He obeys. Kathryn stands behind him and slides her hand up and down the crack of his ass, finding the slight bulge of the plug base through his pants, and presses hard.
He makes a noise like it’s been punched out of him. “Captain—”
Kathryn reaches her arms around him to unfasten his pants, pulls them down with his underwear just enough that she can find the base of the plug and pull it out of him very slowly, enjoying the sounds he makes. When it’s all the way out, she pushes three fingers into his ass and says, “There, that’s what I wanted. You’re still slick and open, I could put anything in you. For now, though—” She listens to his moan as she removes her fingers, puts the tip of the plug to his hole and then fucks him with it, fast and hard and he just takes it, arches his back and spreads his legs wider and says “please, please” again, until she presses it all the way back in and leaves it there. She can almost feel his disbelief and she says, “We have to keep you ready for the next time I get bored and decide to call you in.”
He shivers at that. Kathryn returns to her seat on the other side of the desk and looks at him standing there, pants around his thighs, cock hard. “I’d like to watch you come like this,” she says. “Just don’t make a mess.”
Chakotay’s breath catches on the inhale. “No, Captain.” He’s already closing his hand around his cock, fucking into his fist and bracing himself on the desk with the other hand.
When his eyelids flutter closed, Kathryn orders “Look at me,” and suddenly he’s staring into her eyes as his muscles tense and he speeds up. She barely remembers to warn “Don’t make noise,” hypnotized at the sight of him, and it only takes a few more strokes before he’s coming into his hand, his entire body shaking. She knows he’s feeling the plug in his ass as he comes, clenching around the shape of it. He lets out a long breath.
Kathryn stands up again and walks to him. She passes him a cloth to clean up—he looks at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it—and rearranges him, pulls his underwear and then his pants back up. “Good,” she tells him, and kisses the side of his neck—damn it, where is this coming from—and then his jaw, until he does tilt his head down and kiss her mouth. “Get back onto the bridge until I call you in here again. Try not to look so much like you just came.” He staggers away, a little dazed.
She’s wet, so wet, after seeing that. How long is reasonable to wait before she calls him back in here? There’s something in here that wants to do more, wants to fuck him open with more than just the plug. Kathryn looks around her ready room for something—it’s full of mementos, of gifts, of decorations—until she sees it. It’s a statue, just barely, metal with the barest suggestions of decorative whorls, all gently rounded. Maybe ten inches and she won’t put the whole thing in him by any means, just wants to watch him as he sees it, as he feels something entirely new entering him.
Kathryn puts the statue on her desk as a display, replicates some oil just in case, and waits another thirty minutes to call in both Chakotay and Tom Paris. Tom reports on the status of the shuttles, three of which have been under repair for what seems like an eternity, and Kathryn half-listens while waiting for Chakotay to notice what’s changed on her desk. Tom wraps up with, “That’s a nice statue, Captain. Are you redecorating?”
“Trying out a few new things,” and she sees the realization hit Chakotay, watches him lick his lips a little nervously. “Thank you, Mr. Paris. You’re dismissed.” When the door shuts behind him, she says, “How are things on the bridge?”
Chakotay tilts his head a little. “Proceeding normally.” He offers her a few padds.
“Put them on the desk,” she says. He does, and then stays bent over the desk, waiting. Kathryn cups his cheek in her hand. “Good, you knew what I was going to say.” He nods as she stands and walks around the desk, and he’s already unfastening his pants, already pulling them down and spreading his legs. She strokes his hip, trails her hand down to his inner thigh, whispers, “You’re beautiful like this,” and feels the way he presses against her hand. Then, very slowly, she pulls the plug out of him. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, Captain,” and the way he shivers when she rubs her thumb across his rim with slow, firm pressure tells her that he still is.
“Can you take it?”
He turns his head to look at the statue. “Yes, Captain.” That’s his drunken voice again, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Good.” She pours oil in her hand and spreads it over the statue—it’s heavy for its size and smooth, no edges that might hurt him. He gasps in a deep breath when she starts to push it into him, one hand holding him in place and the other gripped around the base. “Relax,” she reminds him, and she sees the way he’s already stretched obscenely around the unforgiving weight of it. “You’re doing so well,” and she presses it in another inch, then pulls it all the way out and watches his hole close. Kathryn pushes it in deeper this time, just holds it there, and then she takes his hand and wraps it around the base and says “Go on.”
“Captain—”
“Fuck yourself with it. I want to see how much of it you can take.” He makes a sound that doesn’t qualify as a word and takes a deep breath, then pushes the statue in slowly, inexorably, fucking it in and out to take it deeper. “God, you’re so good, you’re perfect,” Kathryn says, and she keeps one hand anchored on his hip as she watches him doing it. “The way you open around it—you don’t have to take it all, I just want to watch you—you should see the way you look—” and she doesn’t know where these words are coming from, when she says “I want to keep you like this forever,” what she even means by it, what he means when he chokes out “yes” and gets it inside him down to the base.
He slides the whole length of it in and out, over and over, until he’s gasping and then he says, “Please—let me touch you—”
She must be losing her mind but she wants his mouth on her desperately, and so she undresses just enough to give him access, braces herself against the desk as he repositions—god he’s going to do this with that entire thing stretching his ass open, after wearing a butt plug for the last two hours—and his mouth goes straight to her clit. He doesn’t bother with finesse or trying to drag it out, just licks fast and hard and she says again, “You’re perfect, you’re perfect” as she comes.
They’re quiet for a moment, and Kathryn tries desperately to regain control of herself. “Can you come again?” she asks him.
“I can try.”
“Sit back,” she tells him, and he must realize what she means because he rearranges himself until he’s sitting directly on the base of the statue, legs extended, so that she can straddle him and slide all the way down on his cock. They both jolt from the feeling of it and this position puts their faces very close together, so close that when Kathryn begins to fuck herself on his cock, he keeps kissing her in between gasps, open-mouthed and messy until they’re barely kisses at all, just mouths touching. Her body is still singing from the first orgasm, from the knowledge that everything he’s done today has been because she told him to do it, the knowledge that forever after this, after she’s cleaned the statue and put it back on her shelf, she’ll remember what she made him do with it. He’s moaning aloud, into her mouth, and she can’t bring herself to tell him to be quiet because she loves the noises that he’s making.
This time when she comes, she pulls his head to one side and bites the juncture of his neck and shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and it must work for him because she feels him coming too, pumping desperately inside her as she manages to whisper, “You’re so good for me” into his ear. The Kazon could attack, the Vidiians, the Borg—nothing could induce her to end this moment.
It has to end eventually, of course. She lifts herself up off his cock and then pushes him onto his side so that she can gently pull the statue out of his ass. He sighs in relief when it’s out and she kisses the place where she bit him—already purpling—and says, “I think that’s enough for today.”
Chakotay turns his head enough to catch her mouth in another kiss and there was never supposed to be this much kissing but it’s so good with him, the particular way his tongue strokes against her own, the way he smells when their faces are very close, the tiniest scratch of stubble even when he looks clean-shaven. “They might be wondering where we are,” he mumbles.
“Tuvok,” she says.
He teases, “No, it’s Chakotay,” and she l—she likes that smile.
“Tuvok can handle it for another ten minutes.” She sits up anyway and tries to rearrange her clothes. She’ll almost certainly have to replicate a fresh uniform.
Chakotay lifts his hips enough to pull his pants back up, then sits up too with a slight wince. “Your hair is—let me help you.” When Kathryn doesn’t refuse, he takes it all down, picking hairpins out and combing through it with his fingers. She luxuriates in the feeling, allows him to braid it back gently, not at all the way she was wearing it before. “There.” He kisses the top of her head quickly, like he knows it’s the last kiss for now, and stands up. When he offers Kathryn his hand, she takes it and lets him help her to her feet.
“Good work, Chakotay,” she says, absurdly.
He smiles wryly. “I aim to please my captain.”
“You always do.”