Oh, The Places You'll Go

We Will Open the Heavens

Notes: Written for oxoniensis's 7th Porn Battle. Prompt - bathtub. Ahh, New Earth. *sighs*

Chakotay hadn't meant to spy, there was something he needed her for, but he can't remember what now. But before he'd taken two steps he'd seen her rise from the bathtub he'd built her, the water on her skin and the light from the shelter robing her in silver. The steam rising around her making her otherworldly, somehow. She is small and perfect, a work of genius taken a lifetime to create.

Her hips cant to one side as she lifts her hands and pulls them through her long hair, gathering the strands and pulling them over her shoulder, twisting them to the rhythmic patter of droplets on the water. She is facing away from him, does not – cannot – know he is there. He should retreat, call out to her from the cabin or wait in silence for her return, he should not watch.

He should not watch, breath suspended, as the water ripples as she half turns, the swell of her breast revealed. In the darkness it is little more than a silhouette, yet it is the most erotic thing Chakotay can remember ever seeing. He is full and aching with want for her, this woman warrior, brave and beautiful and wise. The peace he has found in placing her needs before his own is hard to find, now. They are alone here on New Earth for the rest of their lives, and he isn't sure how he will find a way to bear it.

He thinks about taking a step forward, and then another, until he can reach his arms around her waist and press his cheek against her back. Her skin will be warm and damp, and it will smell of the herbs she has tended so carefully. He imagines her low laugh as she covers his hand with her own, imagines how she will tip her head back to rest against the top of his and guide his hand lower, to the most secret part of her. Thinks of how she will tease him with gentle words when his fingers stutter, unsure and wanting to do no harm.

He will take heart, then, and press kisses on her neck, her strong shoulders, lightened now of the burden of command. He will bite the curve of her neck not to claim her but because it is easier than putting his own desire into words. His fingers will slip into her, stroking and searching and he will find out how to make her gasp and sigh. She will push back into him as he presses into her, and he will tighten his grasp around her as her legs tremble and she can no longer support herself. He will stand fast as she comes undone, as she puts herself back together.

It's all he's ever wanted.

Chakotay swallows, but there is a desert in his throat. He cannot want what he cannot have. That way lies madness and Kathryn needs him, he is her strong right arm now and always. He begins to plan a strategic retreat.

"Chakotay," calls Kathryn. She has not moved, not since he chose what could be over what is. He dare not answer.

"Chakotay," she says again, and this time her voice is soft and coaxing, as if she were talking to a child or a lo- No, it couldn't be.

"Chakotay," she says for a third time, and Chakotay has spent his whole life among stories and myths. She has asked three times and will not ask again.

He presses his palms flat to the side of his thighs, breathes in deep, and takes the first step.

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