SEVEN'S ROOM
by Angelina Vansen (angelina@gunmetaldark.com)

RATING: NC-17
CODES: J/7
SUMMARY: Back on Earth, Seven and Kathryn enjoy life.

It is the first time that I have owned a piece of the sunshine, and it pleases me. It falls though this window at 0700 every morning, and I like to be awake to watch it, to be in it. I watch dust particles as they dance through it, lit like sparks. This amuses Kathryn, but she doesn't mind, especially since I moved our bed into it so that I could hold her gently in the bright warmth, every day. I love to watch it play across her milky skin, and I watch her, watching me, her fingers in my hair, the stands of it almost white in the light. After so many years in space, things like this mean a lot to us.

Everything satisfies us more now. With my head against her belly, I listen to her food, digesting. She is fuller, rounder, softer now. Now she eats with passion, filling herself with pleasure as she does so, smiling and speaking with her mouth full at the large, mahogany table we "rescued" from Mark. When we make love in the evenings, I notice how her belly is fuller, and her thighs fatter. I notice how her bosom is bigger. I loll my head against it, listening to the rhythm of her heart, slow and certain. I take her swollen nipple between my full lips and suckle. She sighs, contented, my Kathryn, my Kathryn, not Captain any more.

If only they knew, she moaned once while we made love, and then gave a throaty chuckle into the pillow she was biting. I didn't know what she meant, but I liked the sentiment. If only they knew. To me, it spoke of togetherness, it spoke of secrets between us, something we would share. Us, only us. If only they knew. If only they knew how their Captain moaned while making love, if only they knew how she looked when naked. I smiled and she turned on her back, opening her lips over mine and squirming her plump wet tongue between. I took from her, plundered that sweetness with everything I had.

Every day, we spend a long time deciding what to wear, picking out colours for the other, sometimes doing each other's hair. With no uniforms, clothes have become important to us. Sometimes Kathryn will change several times a day, redoing her make-up and perfume as well. The smile on her lips is so alive as she eagerly strips down to her underwear, throwing the previous outfit to the floor. She wants to see herself in green. She wants to see herself in silk. She'll go out for an hour, and come back with waist-length hair. I'll help her pin it up, already thinking how beautiful it will be to release it and spread it softly over the pillow later, a wave of winterfire.

Some nights, we go walking together. Nowhere particular, just walking out in the air, across a field or a beach, through a town. Always somewhere different. Familiarity is stifling to us after Voyager. Similarity suffocates us. Sometimes, out on a cold continent, she'll stop and look up into the night sky, up and out at the stars. I always wonder what goes through her head. Sometimes I worry that she's yearning for a life of adventure again, that she wants to be the Captain again. But then she'll kiss me, and she'll hold onto me with a ferocity that leaves me weak. I hold her right back, and I don't dare let go first.

Times like that, she's always playful when we get back. A force of nature. I hold her down, biting at her neck, my superior strength exciting to her. Masculine maybe. Sometimes I worry about that, as well. But if she wanted that she wouldn't love my femininity so eagerly, wouldn't flip me over and spread me and drink from me like a woman dying of thirst, and then come up laughing, ravaging over my body like a hurricane, all her energy, all of her heart. All of my Kathryn. We make love and it leaves me compelled. She's a goddess.

Everything's a first for us, since we got back. The first time we saw snow, the first time we had Christmas, even the first time she cried out with orgasm. This is our house, this is our room. Now there's no crewmen in the corridors, there's no Chakotay right next door. We turned a corner that day, I think, after starting out gentle and having it build, wild and free, oh so unexpected. She arched right off the bed, had sobbed out and wailed, her voice was pure, her pleasure clear as a bell. The most beautiful sound I ever heard in my life. Afterwards she lay there crying for an hour, unconstrained at last. Released. I held her close and she sobbed into the sweet strawberry of my hair. She'd been so scared, for all those years, so scared she couldn't say. She hadn't realised. But now, she sobbed, now she was free. Then she kissed every inch of my skin, and our lives began again.

Every morning, we wake curled up together like cats in a way we never did on Voyager. Naked always, always musky with love and the need to love again. Hungry for each other, and with the time and enthusiasm to give into that hunger. I get up and cross the room to watch her in the sunshine, to bring her something to eat when she wakes. A piece of fruit or some exotic spiced bread. Always something different, and never anything Talaxian.

Since the beginning, Kathryn has owned me, and I have owned her. It seems strange now, but we are not the only couple from Voyager who love this intensely. The need to cling to each other, the urge to possess has been quite common among our former crewmates. We have all become so fierce about our possessions, our houses, our clothes, even our food. The air we breathe, the sunshine falling through our windows seems so important now, important enough that people died for it, trying to get back here to it all. As Kathryn said one night, her voice grim and low, we have to think of them, we have to remember them, their bones lying cold in the soil of an alien world, or their bodies preserved out in the vacuum of space. We have to enjoy it all for them, as well.

Today I think I'll hope for rain. I want to see Kathryn out in rain today, out on the balcony, soaked to the skin, just listening to the sounds of it, feeling the sensations of it. I like to get her in afterwards, wrap her in one of the huge multicoloured towels and dry her, tending to her, combing through her hair. Then she'll turn to me, her eyes huge and wide, her face sweet and freckly with the kisses of a real sun, and we'll begin another lifetime's worth of love for all those good men and good women who gave up their lives for us to be here.

THE END

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