The BLTS Archive- Sunday: Champagne
by Boadicea (Boadicea12@aol.com)

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Please do post to BLTS but don't archive yet. Paramount owns
Janeway and Starfleet, so perhaps they do own the house.

An ending for Sunday Afternoon (which should be read first). (Do
let me know if you'd like to see endings with Torres or Paris as
the visitor.)

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"I came to tell you. I sold the vid stories."

"That's great. Come in, tell me all about it. You're off duty?
Would you like a glass of champagne to celebrate?"

"Yes, thank you."

She quickchilled a bottle of champagne, opened it and poured them
both glasses. They took them into the garden.

"Congratulations," she said, toasting him.

There wasn't much to tell; he had kept her apprised of his
efforts on their rides into Starfleet headquarters. She had told
them she didn't need a driver, but they had told her it was
protocol, expected for someone in her position. She suspected
there was more to it than that; that he was there to serve as her
bodyguard, or to keep an eye on her, but she agreed. And she had
found that she liked him.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'm leaving Starfleet. I told them I would go as soon as it was
convenient for you."

"I don't really need a driver, Matt. Though I'll be sorry to lose
your company. I'll be leaving soon myself. But thank you."

"So your accepting the new commission?"

"Yes." She had only made up her mind this moment, but she felt
quite certain. She needed to be back in space.

"This is real, isn't it?"

"Yes. I think I opened the French"

"I mean, it's not replicated. I've never had any wine that wasn't
replicated."

"Oh, well, I haven't had much myself, for quite a while. It's
different, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's different."

He was standing quite close to her. Perhaps too close for a
Starfleet Officer and her driver, but then, he wasn't her driver
anymore. She didn't feel any need to move away.

"It's delicious," he added.

He took another sip. He looked down. She thought she could feel
the warmth of his body. He was wearing a shirt in several shades
of pale yellow.

He's half your age, Kathryn, she thought. No, she knew the year
he had graduated from the academy. And he had told her once that
his birthday was in June. He wasn't half her age. By three years
and eleven months. He was actually 58% of her age. Mm-much
better. So useful to be able to do calculations in one's head.
The house computer could have done it for her, but she would have
had to make a verbal request. She smiled.

He smiled back. "May I kiss you?"

They kissed. It was a long time since she had kissed anyone. For
a moment it felt strange and awkward. And then it began to feel
wonderful.

What was this to him? she thought as they carried their champagne
into the house. An adventure, a novelty, a challenge, a way to
pass the time?  But then, was he anything different to her?

And certainly he liked her. They had had a lot of fun
conversations. She had looked forward to them.

Does he really desire me? she wondered, as she took his hand and
led him to her bedroom. But the body that he had moved,
hesitantly, against hers as he kissed her in the garden certainly
desired someone. And had aroused her to an extent she found
surprising.

"Computer, 40 percent sun," she said as they entered the room.
The blinds opened, the light slatted in. Perhaps it's too bright,
she thought for a moment, but then dismissed the thought. If he
had wanted a twenty year old, he wouldn't have been here. She
hoped.

She had been carrying both her glass and the bottle of champagne
with one hand. She put them down now, put her hand back on the
bottle. "More?"

"In a minute," he said, putting his glass beside hers. She filled
them, put the bottle down.

She turned to him. They were no longer touching; it was slightly
awkward, reestablishing contact. She took his hand again.

She sat on the edge of her low bed, pulling him down to sit
beside her, but instead he sat on the rug in front of her. He was
considerably taller than she was, but now his face was slightly
below hers. He was not a glamorous looking man, she thought, as
she reached out and caressed his temple, the curve of his
jawline. Attractive, though, and, god, he had a wonderful smile.
And dark, dark eyes.

They kissed again.  The kiss was both delicate and hungry. She
could feel a pulse between her legs.

He brought both his hands to the buttons of her shirt, undoing
them very slowly. He seemed to be trembling slightly.

I wonder if I'm supposed to be the experienced one here, she
thought. She didn't feel particularly experienced. He had
probably had more partners than she had. And certainly had had
them more recently. Who hadn't?

He had undone three buttons on her shirt. His fingertips traced
her collarbones.  He pushed her shirt over her left shoulder. She
undid the last button and it fell open slightly. He brought his
lips to the side of her neck.

His was touching her very gently, going very slowly. It was
exciting, but it was driving her mad.

She took off his shirt, undid the top of his trousers, reached
down and released the fastener on her own. Part of her was afraid
one of them was going to lose interest, though there was no sign
of either of them doing so. She slid out of her pants, dropped
them to the floor. She was still wearing the shirt, open and off
one shoulder, a white undershirt, black briefs. He climbed up
beside her on the bed.

She turned on her side, moved her body closer to his. She could
feel his erection pressing against the fabric of his trousers,
pressing against her abdomen.

He began to caress her through the thin fabric of the undershirt.
Then he slid it up exposing her breasts beneath. The material
bunched under her arms, but it was thin enough not to be
uncomfortable.

He closed his hand around her right breast, squeezing gently, not
touching her nipple until he took it in his mouth, sucking
intensely. The sensation went through her like fire. She began to
moan, a series of "ohs."

He brought his right hand between her legs. He pressed into her,
and the fabric soaked through. He moved his whole hand up and
down a centimeter or two.

"Oh, yes, oh, please, oh, just that," she gasped.

He repeated the movement until she arched up and the tone of her
cries began to change.

He stopped for a moment, hurriedly pulling off his trousers. She
pulled off the now sodden underpants. And then his hand was back,
pushing deeper now, parting the wetness. And then up higher
again, until, oh god, she was reaching for his penis, which she
could feel shudder at her touch.  She was on the brink of her
orgasm, had reached the point where it felt inevitable. And he
entered her. Her cries had become one continuous cry now,
mingling with his "mm's" and she was coming and for a short time
she left it all, and was inside a moment of pure pleasure. And
then she was back, feeling her own muscles still constricting,
feeling his movements inside her, hearing his own cries of
release.

"Wow," she said, when she had her breath back, but was still
entwined with him. "Is that something you have achieved
frequently?" The phrasing sounded ridiculously formal; she gave a
little laugh of pleasure and amusement.

"No," he said, straightforwardly.

"Nor I," she said, and this felt almost more intimate than the
sex. She laughed again, as she gently pulled off him.

"Matt," she said, because she wanted to say something.

"Kathryn," he said, more tentatively. He had never called her by
first name. She liked the way it sounded.

She sat up, took off her tangled shirt, pulled the undershirt
over her head. A shaft of late afternoon sun had reached the
bottom of the bed.

And then they drank their champagne, and talked about their
plans--his vid contract, and feelings about leaving Starfleet,
her new ship, her feeling about leaving Earth so soon. And she
told him every silly thing she knew about his (former) direct
superiors at Starfleet, and asked him if this was all a plot to
get this information out of her?

They made love again, each taking a turn this time, and she
delighted in exploring his body, delighted in learning his
responses.

They got up, and ate scrambled eggs, and toast, and some new kind
of imported berry which she had purchased on a whim, and which
turned out to be wonderful.

He had to leave then. It was early evening, still light. They
stood at the door, looking at each other.

"Thank you," she said, very softly.

"Thank you, Kathryn," he answered, rather solemnly, she thought.
And then he ran to his pod, waving and laughing.

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The End