SHADOWBOXING
by Angelina Vansen (angelina@gunmetaldark.com)

RATING: NC-17 ;)
CODES: J (with J/Mark)
SUMMARY: Janeway is alone. You know ... by herself. With no one else. It's a wank-fic, okay? This is dedicated to Mandy, who shouldn't encourage me, but does. I love you, babe!


Kathryn Janeway sat in her chair, reading her book, dozing slightly in the peaceful warmth of her quarters. After the long and busy day she had just endured, she was certainly ready for some time to herself, particularly considering that tomorrow was shaping up to be just as hectic.

It was only after she had spent fourteen straight hours on the bridge, directing repairs to the damaged structural integrity field grid that she had finally admitted defeat. Well, in actuality, she had been forced into it by her first officer, Commander Chakotay, who had barely stopped short of manhandling her into the turbolift after seeing how tired she was.

She had to admit it, though, it was nice to have her thoughts to herself for a while, and after a lovely, deep, foamy bath, she had dressed herself for bed and settled in her chair for a nice cup of coffee and a read of her book.

Now, however, she was definitely ready for bed. She got up, leaving her book on the chair for another time, and dimmed the lights before slipping down between the cool sheets of her soft and inviting bed. Her head nestled into the pillow and she turned over, laying on her stomach, loving the feelings of her lethargy as it was sated, drifting, drifting.

She wrapped herself in her own arms, curling into the warmth of the blanket. Rhythmically, her fingers stroked her own skin, comforting herself, helping herself to fall asleep. In a way, it was the way that Mark had used to hold her in the middle of the night, and it was nights like this one that she would think about it the most, that sweet, simple utopia that had been the feeling of lying curled up and entwined with the man she loved, a part of each other.

But of course, that was torture, because it led to thoughts of sex, to thoughts of some of the moments they had shared. The natural, easy sensations of their lovemaking in the stillness of the summer dawn one morning, in the softness and familiarity of her bed at home on Earth. Right now, if she tried hard enough, she could picture it, feel it, feel the weight and warmth of his body on top of hers between the sheets. She could remember being hazy and sweaty and flushed, naked with him, breathing his breath as he kissed her, aching at the delicious sliding of that part of him which he had pressed hard inside her. The friction, the heavenly rubbing, the way it made her hot, made her crazy, made her cry out when he went fast, and writhe when he went slow. Feeling how palpable the sensations were to her now, how quickly they came back to her, it was sometimes difficult to believe that he was half a galaxy away.

She turned over on her stomach once again, feeling more alone than ever, needing comfort, needing a reminder that she was still a woman, and a very lonely one at that. It might not have been practical or desirable, but right now, she needed a man, just someone to talk to, someone to soothe her, someone to share a glass of wine and a pillow with at the end of the day.

But all she had was herself, and right now her tensions and frustrations needed a little release. Although she felt a little strange sometimes about doing it, a little foolish panting away in her quarters alone after a hard day as the Captain, her thoughts began to drift towards self-gratification. She let her hands slide over her skin, skating, passing under her nightdress, closing her eyes and letting the build up to her masturbation begin, deliciously slow, just as she liked it. Her sensations peaked and arched, building into pleasure, and she knew that soon, she would be writhing with it. In her life, she had been to bed with a number of good lovers, of which Mark was among the best, but it would have been fair to say that in all of her life, no one had made Kathryn Janeway come like Kathryn Janeway herself.

Of course not. She was her own ideal lover, totally consumed in her own bodily sensations, responsive and free with herself, uninhibited. Now she was turned on, warm and flushed in the face, and one of her hands passed beneath the covers, drifting sensual and deliberate between her legs, stroking lightly over her most intimate places before settling, firm and deliberate, onto that place, that point that gave her the most delicious pleasure. Her back arched and her hips squirmed against it, the sensation of those first few sensual kneadings white hot. Muscles in her legs quivered and palpitated. It had been too long since she had been aroused, she thought. It was almost too strong for her to bear.

Surrounded by the sound of her own breathing, she pulled her nightdress up even further, taking it up and over her head, discarding it onto the floor next to the bed. It was nice to be naked, as well, she thought, her whole skin responsive and tingling against even the sheets of the bed. She passed her free hand over her breasts, which were swollen and engorged, flushed a blush pink with arousal, her nipples erect.

She took her hand away from her sex now, aroused enough to let the rocking of her pelvis do the rest. Sucking in a hot breath, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed, she rose up, resting on her elbows, her hips in motion, pressing and rubbing herself against the mattress of the bed. She was hot and wet and slippery inside now, she could feel it, her body ready for consummation, for penetration. At this point, the thoughts she had been harbouring about Mark made the longing for that act almost unbearable, although it was only rarely that her masturbation involved any form of penetration. She thought about using her fingers to simulate the feeling of intercourse, or the long handle of her hairbrush, which she sometimes did, but it wasn't the same. This was definitely one area in which actual sex had the advantage.

She continued to let her hands play with her body, smoothing and stroking, tickling her skin and then twisting her own nipples quite hard, sending ripples of delight through her. It was nice to feel like this, so consumed in her own physical pleasure for a while, spending time on her own needs and desires. The pleasure had come quickly to her, as well, roaring up inside her like an enormous fire, producing this, this red hot poker of a sensation that had her toes curled up and her face frozen in a mask of ecstasy, and as it continued to mount, the thoughts started racing though her mind, thoughts that told her it would be too much, that she would die from it, that she couldn't possibly cope with the impending spasm, that the pleasure would drive her insane.

Oh my God, I'm coming, she thought suddenly, and she was. The pleasure built beyond her ability to contain, and she let it go, letting the orgasm shake her, crying out with it until her mind went blank and she fell silent, its strength at that moment quite beyond her comprehension. Then, in a mixture of thankful bliss and regret, that first wave was vanquished with a little quiver of her loins, and her shivery panting began again. Each wave took her upwards, but each was a little lower and quicker than the last, and each time her spasmodic jerk of the hips was closer to the one before until the convulsions were all that was left of her orgasm.

THE END (what more is there to say?)


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