Sky This Blue
By Angelina Vansen (angelina@gunmetaldark.com)

RATING: NC-17
CODES: J/C
SUMMARY: Set in one of those a/us where Voyager was destroyed and everyone ended up on the Maquis ship, Captain Tshakotay and Commander Catherine Janeway experiment with the power of the akunah.


1. Things You Just Do When You're Bored


"Oh. Oh yes ... more ... yes ..."

Mumbles. Words against her skin. "You sure?" he asks.

"Yes."

Muscles in her belly tense, waiting. A hiss of flesh, and then the pain. Burning. Then her own voice. "Ohhhhh ... oh God yes ...."

Her hands tied above her head with the stockings she was wearing earlier. Blindfolded with a scarf that had once been B'Elanna's.

"More," she hears her voice begging.

"That's enough," he says.

His mouth, moving down her body, between her legs. Biting her, tugging her pubic hair with his teeth. Spreading her legs and holding her ankles apart, hard.

She wants him, so badly she's almost crying.

He lowers his mouth to her and plays with her sex. Laps at her from anus to clit and back again. Teasing, toying, driving her crazy.

"What next?" he says.

"Cock," she mumbles, incoherent.

He laughs. She hears him reach off the bed for something, and screams out in surprise as her belly is splashed with the vodka they were sharing. The places where he burned her with the candle wax are agony. She loves it.

He is on top of her now, filling her mouth with vodka and drinking it from her lips. Getting between her legs.

He pulls the knots on the stockings so her hands are free, yanks off the blindfold. He likes to fuck her as an equal.

After he's finished torturing her, that is.

He rubs her wrists, massaging the blood back into them. Then he twines his fingers with hers and holds her hands while he penetrates her.

She moans. Wraps him securely with her legs. "Oh ... yes. Hard ... please. Hard ...."

He always does her hard. Tshakotay has a lot of frustrations. He likes to take them out on her, his captured, useless Starfleet prize. The woman he loves, but can't take outside his quarters. The woman he can't claim if they get back home, the woman he can't keep if they stay in the Delta Quadrant.

He loves to hurt her pale, pathetic Starfleet flesh.

She loves it too, but for different reasons. This was always a part of Catherine Janeway's sex life. Him, being his prisoner, has just provided an excuse.

Him, pressed inside her, on top of her, big and overpowering. His hair flopping forward onto his sweaty brow, his eyes clenched shut, his teeth bared.

Her, crying out, neck arched back, legs stiff and toes pointed at the ceiling. Taking him inside her again and again, wishing his cock would rip right through her, destroy her, kill her.

The pair of them, linked by their sexes, wet and spreading. Joined by the sweat on their bellies, by their tangled pubic hair. The pair of them building, building, rising. Shouting out for joy and sweet release. The pair of them coming, almost together.

"I love you ... oh God I love you Catherine ...." His voice whispered desperately in her ear.

Hers too. "Mmmm ... yes, darling. Yes. Love you too."


2. Imaginary Solutions

She wakes up an hour later, and he is meditating.

He is sitting in a trance on the floor at the foot of the bed, his hand trembling over the device he calls the akunah. He wears his leather Maquis trousers, but nothing else.

Sweaty and sticky, Catherine watches him. This device fascinates her. She has often wondered if they are legal under Federation law. She has often wondered how it works, what is in it. Why Tshakotay puts so much faith in things he sees.

This wondering, she knows, is another symptom of being cooped up on this little ship where she is merely decorative. The Captain's whore, the Captain's concubine. She had used to be the Captain. Here, she lacks any real rank or position, and none of Tshakotay's crew trust her enough to give her access to the ship's computer.

If they had the chance, most of them would murder her.

She gets up and dresses slowly in her nightdress. Lights herself her customary cigarette. Slowly, she brushes out her auburn waist-length hair and ties it up behind her head for later. That too is always the same. She puts it up, and Tshakotay takes it down.

He breaks his trance, breathing heavily, with more sweat on his brow. It suits him, she thinks.

"See something nice?" she asks.

"My father," he replies.

"That's good."

"Yes," he agrees. "My father rarely speaks to me."

She knocks the ash of her cigarette into the clay bowl on his side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, and she hears him washing in his bucket. The sonic showers haven't worked for a year. The water cut out last week.

She looks at his medicine bundle, wrapped up in its skin on the desk. He has shown it to her a couple of times. The first time she wasn't interested, she still thought of herself as a prisoner then.

The second time, she'd used the akunah to contact her animal guide, feeling faintly ridiculous. Tshakotay had been there, though, and he believed in it, so she had too. She had gone to a bright world of wind and ruins and met a small boy with horns who had shouted at her from a distance.

It had scared her, so she had broken free and told Tshakotay that it hadn't worked. After all, he'd said she'd meet an animal. How could that odd, sweet child with horns be her animal guide? He couldn't be.

Now, though, it is a year later. She hasn't seen more than Tshakotay's room in three months, since the last attempt on her life. Since he decided he couldn't protect her outside his own quarters.

He comes out of the bathroom now, dressed for his day on the bridge. He looks good as he wraps her hand around her phaser and wishes her a good day.

He sets the forcefield and leaves.

She drops the phaser and pounces on the medicine bundle. Rips at the knot in the string. Tears apart the hide. All of it, his perfectly preserved treasures, spill into her lap. The blackbird's wing, delicate and cared for. The stone from the river, smooth from his hands. She looks at them in wonder. Never has she felt so close to the man that she loves.

Then, there is the akunah. She picks it up and looks at it, closer than she would have dared with him around.

It looks like nothing. It looks like a PADD, or something they'd use in engineering. It certainly doesn't look evil or dangerous, or like it contains horned little boys and strange, half-glimpsed worlds of ruin and mystery.

She sits back on the pillows, and takes a swig from the bottle she shared last night with Tshakotay. Watching the akunah. She barely remembers how this is done, but she knows that he focuses on the other objects as he sinks into his trance.

Gingerly, clutching her bottle for support, she places her hand on the akunah. Watches the wing, fancying that she can see it shimmering, flapping, flying through the skies of Earth that she herself will never see again.

It is flying.

Above her head through the mist, the sunshine. She has come to the same place. Grass beneath her feet, a wood in the distance. Ruins all around her, in huge grey stones. They go on forever.

In front of her is a huge split in the ground, a chasm. A crumbling, ruined bridge. Over the bridge, waiting for her, is the boy. The boy with horns. He looks exactly as she remembers him.

He is calling out to her, but she doesn't understand him. Maybe Universal Translators don't work in visions.

"Yoh - coh!" he shouts. And again. "Yoh - coh!"

Catherine doesn't move. He shouts to her again, trying to wave her across the bridge. Towards him. Catherine doesn't want to go.

Then he is next to her. Appearing. "Yoh - coh," he insists, and takes her hand with his little pale one. He looks up at her with his round freckled face and his tilted little eyes. His hair is red.

She wonders if somehow he is her son, the pregnancy she terminated just after she made Captain. The pregnancy Hobbes never knew about.

He smiles at her with new teeth just coming through. She smiles back.

Her analytical mind tries to take in what she is seeing. Why she is seeing it. What it represents to her subconscious. If the horned little boy is her child, what are the ruins? Her career? Her life now she is with Tshakotay?

Is this wide open space a manifestation of her desire to be free again?

She is still dressed in her white satin nightdress. She is not cold, despite the mist and wind and the spaghetti straps. The boy's hand has no temperature at all.

He's trying to pull her along, but she doesn't want to go. Doesn't really want to explore all of this, its meanings. It seems too much. Then she remembers where she is if she wakes. Tshakotay's room, the same four rust-coloured walls she always wakes up to. A day of reading, of copying up Tshakotay's reports. Of watching holovids of strangers from his homeworld for the millionth time. Of smoking cigarettes and getting drunk and eating out of ration packs.

She lets the boy lead her over the bridge. Here, the grass feels real. Wet, sweet-smelling, full of dew. Here she can feel the wind, hear birds. The boy's hand is warm.

He takes her through the ruins to a broken tower. Rapunzel, she thinks. That's what this represents. Me, locked in a room growing my hair for a man incapable of rescuing me.

The boy drops her hand and goes to the tower. He touches it, touches the rough stones with his little white hands. Then he turns back to her. Beckoning her.

"Yoh - coh," he says. "Catherine."

She steps closer, not having anywhere else to go. The boy takes her hands, which are pale and ghostly on this side of the bridge. She is barely here. She is a wraith.

He takes them and places them on the stone wall of the tower, and smiles at her. Two of his teeth are missing.

She is filled with life.

She feels the way she felt while she was pregnant, not the emptiness the felt when she was Captain. She feels the way she feels when she is swimming, when she is playing with her dogs, when she is taking a long hot bath.

The way she feels sometimes on shore leave.

The way she feels when Tshakotay's eyes say everything and his mouth says nothing. Hot on her body. His hands passing over her skin. She feels the completion she feels as he slides into her body.

As he hits her, ties her, makes her back and her buttocks glow hot with his blows. She is filled with the warmth of his seed, the silk of his tongue, the weight of his body. She is filled with his love.

She is gasping. Falling to her knees on the grass of the vision. This is amazing. Happiness so great she falls to her knees crying it out. She hugs the stone, trying to bring it closer to her, suck more from it. It's unbelievable.

When she tears her hands away, she's shaking. The boy is nowhere to be seen.

She lets out a sob and wraps herself around another boulder.

3. The Time of Your Life

"Been masturbating?" he grins as he walks through the door to Catherine's sweat-covered body.

She is nearly naked. Comatose with the pleasure. The akunah is under the pillow, she's been using it all day.

And the day before. And the day before that. All week. All month. All month she's spent at those ruins, on her knees. Sometimes the boy is there with her, smiling at her like he loves her.

She talks to him sometimes, holds him, feeling the pleasure of being his mother, but sometimes she's selfish. Sometimes she just wants to be part of the landscape.

Flat in the grass, tonguing the stones, eating parts of the sky. She can do that there. All of it makes her happy.

Last night she had been so deep she felt like crying when she woke. Couldn't bear the reality of what she had to wake to. Aching muscles and a sore throat. Hands rubbed raw from caressing the akunah too much, for hours at a time. Sometimes she bled, like a period, while she was under. Sometimes, more often than not, she came.

She smiles at Tshakotay listlessly as he undresses himself in the dim lights of the cabin. Lights a cigarette.

"Hard day?" she asks him with only the slightest quirk of an eyebrow at his burgeoning erection.

His eyes on her thighs. "Yeah," he mutters. "Sorry about the lack of gravity earlier."

She hadn't noticed, of course. "Problems?" she enquires.

"Too many," he tells her. "We need to drydock for repairs."

This, she knows, is impossible. She may not be privy to the star charts, but they're a long way from a solar system of any description.

"Oh," she says.

He doesn't say anything. He's given up asking her for advice, she won't give it and it makes him embarrassed. It draws the lines too sharply again, the lines between Starfleet prisoner and Maquis jailer. Conqueror. Rapist. Oh, but only at first.

"Touch yourself for me," he says instead. He puts his hand on her in that way he does before he hits her to arouse her.

She feels lazy and lethargic and doesn't want to fuck him right now. She can't be bothered to go through the motions, all she wants is a good night's sleep. She pulls away.

He pulls her back again, his hand hard on the flesh of her thigh. "Touch yourself," he insists. He takes her cigarette away and stubs it out.

She does, because she likes him when he's forceful, it arouses her. She digs a hand into her panties to make a show of masturbation for him. He likes it. He loses the ability to speak in any more than mumbles of "good" and "harder".

Eventually he drags her to him and takes her anally, her face pressed uselessly against the pillow where she bites and cries until he shudders in orgasm.

He cleans himself in his bucket and then falls into the bed beside her. She is staring at the ceiling, trying to take her mind off her throbbing anus. His breathing slows and quiets. He is falling asleep.

"I've been using the akunah," she says, mostly as a way to stop him sleeping.

She gets up and pulls it out from under the pillow to show him.

He looks at it, and her.

"What have you been seeing?" he asks her in that maddeningly calm voice.

She had expected him to get angry with her. She had rifled through his medicine bundle and stolen it, after all. She had used it without his permission or his guidance. She had used it as an experiment when he thought of it as something sacred. If she is honest, she had expected him to go crazy.

"A ... a lot of things," she stammers. "I didn't meet an animal, though."

He shrugs. "That doesn't always happen at first anyway," he says.

She looks away. "You talk ... to your dead father," she says. "I see a child."

He looks a little surprised by that.

She tells him about the boy she sees, the landscape. The ruins. The pleasure. About lying on her back in the sweet calming grass and feeling what she hasn't felt for so long.

He listens, never quite looking at her. He feels it too, she knows. He is as trapped as she is in this rusty, rundown hell of a ship.

"The akunah isn't a holodeck," he says at last. "It's a tool for exploring your subconscious."

She shrugs. "I know," she tells him, and she does. This isn't exactly recreation.

He doesn't say anything for long minutes. He stares at the akunah, flat, grey, innocuous, on the bed between them.

"Show me," he says at last. "I want to see."

She looks at him dumbly.

"Show me what's in your mind, Catherine. Show me your subconscious."

It's scary. It's too much. This has been her private thing.

"I want to share it," he continues.

"I ... I can do that?" she asks weakly.

"I don't know," he says. "I don't know what happens when two people use the same device." He takes her face in his hands and kisses her, more reverently than he has ever done. His soft lips over hers, breathing her breath.

His hand on hers, guiding it to the device between them. Pulling her so his eyes are locked with hers.

She is on top of him. His eyes blink, blink again. They are dark, becoming the blackness that sweeps over her, becoming her sinking, sinking self.

4. The Spirit of the Stairway

He is on top of her. She sees his eyes, but this is not real. He isn't warm, he isn't heavy.

He is inside her.

They are making love on the grass by the ruins. She feels the thrust of him, big and hard. She is wet, but not aroused. Her breathing is slow and regular. Her heart barely beats at all.

"Is this it?" he asks.

"Yes," she replies.

She looks around, listens for his cries, but the boy isn't here. Instead, there is a high wind without a temperature and lush grass without a scent.

"It's beautiful," says Tshakotay.

He looks around, but his hips don't stop moving. Neither do hers. They don't seem to be able to stop having sex.

They kiss periodically.

"Touch something," she says. "One of the rocks."

There is a small stone by her head. He reaches for it, cups it in his palm.

"Ohhhh," he groans. His face makes a little upturned grimace of pleasure. It is the way he looks when he is about to come. "Oh you feel good ...."

He slides over her skin, thrusting deeper inside her. His breathing quickens. She feels the dead slap of his balls against her buttocks.

"Touch it ...." he moans. "Touch it too."

He gives her the stone, dropping it onto her left breast for her to catch.

The power of it ignites her skin at once. She is warm, beautiful. Loved and in love. She is full of his throbbing penis, she is full of his tongue, his breath, his life.

She grabs his skin to feel his sweat, and feels it seep right through her fingers. Gasps. Her breath goes through her, filling her lungs, her stomach, her intestines, every vein, right to her feet.

He rubs her with the stone, his eyes wide and huge and his mouth falling open. He feels it too. She sees his muscles bulge as he seizes a handful of grass and earth to massage into her, to become a part of her.

It fills her with pleasure.

They fuck, thrust after thrust, helpless. He grabs her hair and pulls it, bites her nipples and neck and lips. She claws him, pulling his buttocks, trying to drag him deeper, deeper. He is liquid, she is melting. They are air being breathed, in and out. They are sex, in and out.

She opens her eyes and she barely sees him. He is sweat and muscle and bone and an agonised face getting close to an orgasm. He is part of the sky, the sky bleeds into his hair, the sky is the colour of his skin.

He is a secret code, carved in her being. He is totally ripe.

He is saying the same words that she is. Not speaking them. Part of you, Catherine. Part of you. Love. Beyond love you, Catherine.

Yoh coh.

The sky behind Tshakotay is the boy. Her child. Grinning with his missing teeth. With his slanted piggy eyes and piggy face. Dribbling. Moaning. Crying in the middle of the night. Needing to be fed.

Screaming. Blood in his mouth, dissolving. Frightened as they transport his foetus from her body into nothing. Particles. The moment that his consciousness stops.

He opens his mouth and his teeth have grown back.

Tshakotay comes. He cries like an animal, like the she-wolf she knows is his animal guide. He looks like a bull, nostrils flared. He sounds like a ship, like a sailing vessel blowing its horn. He feels like a river, filling her utterly with his bitter seed.

Hot inside her, spray after spray. So much she feels it bursting up and spurting from her mouth and nose while she coughs and gags and splutters it all over him. There seems to be nothing inside her. She is just a hollow hole for his come, from head to foot, and screams.

Her teeth have all grown back.

His teeth have all grown back.

Razor sharp, cutting his tongue as he licks them deliciously. Bigger than Tshakotay, bigger than her, bigger than the whole world inside the akunah. He is her son.

He sinks his teeth into Tshakotay and begins to eat.

5. A Night To Remember

Catherine wakes up with a scream, her hand burning from the akunah. Tshakotay is beneath her, groaning. She can't control herself. She wants to scream. She wants to vomit. Her eyes feel like they are bursting out of her head.

He jerks awake and throws her off of him, off the bed. His hands grab at the sheets and his buttocks are locked and clenched. His hips arch upwards. He is ejaculating over himself very hard like a strangling man.

"Oh God ... oh Jesus," he gasps as he slows and then stops.

She gapes at him from the floor where he threw her, legs apart and weak.

"I ... I was in his belly ..." he groans. "He ate me ... alive."

"Oh, my God ...." she gasps.

He shudders. "It was ... beautiful," he whispers. "Absolutely beautiful."

He gives her his hand and pulls her up to her feet. He keeps hold of her hand. His hand is trembling.

They look at each other in the dim emergency light of the cabin. In one of his hands is a clump of her hair. His back is bleeding. Her sex is bleeding. The bites on her breasts have drawn blood. The one on her neck is a hickey. Their lips are swollen and all of her skin is tender and bruised.

"Are we all right?" she asks him.

"I think so," he says. "I think we're all in one piece."

They continue to stare at each other until she lights a cigarette and sits with him, smoking it.

"Your subconscious," he tells her eventually, "is a hell of a place, Catherine Janeway."

She manages to give him a smile. He looks at her a little strangely.

"You lost your tooth," he says, pointing out the hole where one of her incisors used to be.

She tongues the gap, and looks around in the sheets until she finds it, snapped off sharply at the root. It isn't even painful.

"Jesus," he says again.

He folds her gently in his arms and spoons with her until the morning, when they use the akunah again and again, together now. The horned boy is always there, and he always eats Tshakotay.

Seska calls him, and he ignores her. B'Elanna calls him. He tells her he's sick. The ship is dying. They are dying. No one cares.

6. The High Cost Of Living

It is dark all the time now, and they rarely have gravity, but she is less alone. Tshakotay's with her all the time, curled around her, cold and groaning throughout the night. Throughout the day they play all day.

Making a game of the landscape, moulding their bodies as if they were supple clay, ringing with pleasure. Piercing her skin with every pebble that he holds. She holds him deep inside her, loving him. Needing him.

Inside the vision, she is as hollow as a sarcophagus from her sex to her skull. She needs filling. He drives inside her with his fat cock and somehow it works. She tastes his salty pre-cum at the back of her throat, she feels his thrust slide the whole way through her.

He drowns her in ejaculate, he is eaten by the child and the pair of them wake up in agony. The pair of them wake up in bliss.

She is in a lot of pain. Worse since he broke her cheekbone. It never healed and it's always hot and swollen. Sometimes she sinks into a delirium, especially if they haven't used the akunah for a while. Babbles and pulls out her own hair. Tshakotay isn't far behind. He barely remembers to eat.

The ship is getting colder. The air is thin a lot of days. Life support is failing. Seska and B'Elanna don't call Tshakotay any more. Or maybe he doesn't answer. Or maybe communications don't work either.

Maybe everyone is dead.

So many ideas in her head, all wasted. So much space out there, outside. So much space inside her. Enough for all the babies in the world, she thinks. So much wasted.

THE END



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