The BLTS Archive- Needs II: Kashyk's First Story
by Kelly (rather_be_reading@yahoo.com)

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Archive: ASC/EM; others please ask

Date:  June 11, 2000

Disclaimer:  The Trek universe belongs to Paramount.

Note -- This story was written last August, but for various reasons I
never got around to posting it to the newsgroups.  I'm getting around to
it now.

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I told her I had come back to get the remaining telepaths she had on
board.  She didn't even dignify that comment with words; her face showed
her contempt.  I couldn't blame her, of course; it wasn't much of an
explanation.

So I tried again.  "I don't like being beaten, Kathryn," I said quietly.
 "It's not something I'm willing to accept.  Surely you understand
that."

If she dismissed this reason, too, she didn't say so.  Since it was true
that defeat was anathema to her, she might even have believed me.  In
any case, I wasn't lying.

But neither was I telling the whole truth.

I had come back because I wanted her.  I wanted her naked in my bed; I
wanted my hands in her hair; I wanted her legs locked around me.  I
wanted her mouth on mine again.

And I want to defeat her this time.

We never had sex on Voyager.  Oh, I'm sure she would have done it if
she'd needed to.  And I like to think she was -- is -- genuinely
attracted to me.  But her ship, her people, came first.  She did what
was necessary for them, and she denied herself everything else.  When
she realized that she could save her ship without sleeping with me, she
turned herself off.  That's something she's good at, apparently.  She'd
obviously steeled herself against romance with any of her own people.
That dark, complex first officer, Chakotay, used to watch her with eyes
full of desire and pain, but she ignored his need.  At one point it had
occurred to me that her heart might be with her blond borg, but if it
was, she concealed it well.

I'd meant only to use her, of course, as she was using me.  I'd
certainly never expected that the thought of her would wrap itself
around my mind.  Despite the real passion of our stolen moment in the
shuttle bay, I had the glories of the Devoran Imperium to consider.  And
later, after her coup, I had my own skin to think of and the death of
Prax to arrange.  But when things quieted down, I found I couldn't
settle, couldn't exorcise the memory of her lips, her tongue, the palm
of her hand.

It's not as if I didn't try to fight it.  The battle has been long and
hard.

And damn her.  She beat me again.

So I tracked her down.  There have been few sweeter moments in my life
that when I stood once more on her bridge, savoring the shock in her
eyes.  Something else was there, too, briefly.  Desire.  Need.  I saw
it.  I'm sure of it.

So far, everything has gone according to plan.  *My* plan, this time.
She came to dinner with me, as I knew she would. She ate little -- just
sat there drinking coffee and wine and radiating equal parts rage and
sex.  When I pushed my chair back and came to stand behind her, she
leaned into my caress without hesitation.

I pulled her from her seat and fitted her body to mine.  She had her
mouth open before I even touched her lips.  I traced her mouth with my
tongue while tugging at that absurd Starfleet uniform, trying, and
failing, to reach her breasts.

She made a small sound of amusement and pushed my hands away.  Slowly,
enticingly, she removed her clothes, trailing her fingers along her
skin.  She refused to let me help or touch her, so that by the time she
stood naked before me, all soft curves and creamy breasts, I could
hardly stand.

But the weakness lasted only a moment.  I lifted her in my arms and
carried her to the bed.  Getting out of my own clothes required mere
seconds.  I had planned to take her with excruciating slowness, but both
our needs were too great.  She spread her legs and reached for me, lust
and loathing mingling on her face.  She hated me because I had taken her
ship and yet could still have this effect on her, hated herself for
giving in to it and me.

"Come on, then.  Fuck me."

I tried to be gentle, but she writhed with frustration.  "I said fuck
me, damn it," she cried, thrusting up at me.  I clutched her shoulders
tightly and rammed into her as hard as I knew how.  She cried out
sharply, but kept moaning, "More. . .more."

By the time I finally reached my climax, she was sobbing, but she had
never stopped begging for more.

It took a few minutes for my heart to stop its hammering, and she was
still digging her fingers into my back, still holding me inside her.  I
moved off her carefully.  Her flushed, tear-streaked face had never
looked more beautiful.

After a moment, I reached down, intending to stroke her to her own
climax.  But she wouldn't let me; she did it herself.  She had given me
her body, but her pleasure was too personal, too intimate, to share.  I
only got to watch.

When she finally lay still, I moved to hold her in my arms.  I wanted to
kiss her hair, lick her throat, enter her again.  But she got up.
"They'll be waiting for me," she said.

Always "they," her crew.  What "they" want, what "they" need.  I wonder
if "they" have any idea that she lives only for them.

The pressures of command warp people, whatever their species.  I know.
I am beginning to realize that for Kathryn, the warping is sexual.  She
will not let herself simply desire.  For her, sex seems possible only as
part of punishment or duty.  I suspect that tonight it had been both.

And now I lie here, replaying the evening in my mind.  And planning
tomorrow.  Tomorrow, I think, I'd like to take her on her hands and
knees.  Or perhaps I'll replicate a Devoran courtesan's costume and
remove it from her one diaphanous layer at a time.  Or I might employ
some light restraints.  How she'll hate to be dominated.  But then
again, maybe she won't.  We'll see.  One way or another, I will be the
one who teaches her how to desire again.

And after tomorrow?  I'm not sure.  It's dangerous to allow Kathryn
Janeway too much of a chance to think.  I won't be the only one who is
making plans.  Soon I'll have to come to a decision about her future.
All their futures.

Perhaps I'll offer her a "kragh-xogh"--the Devoran "choice that is no
choice."  I'll tell her that if she'll consent to remain with me as my
concubine, I'll return her people to their ship and let them leave.  If
not, I'll send them all to the telepath camps.  Her included.

I know what she'll do, of course.  She'll play me against myself, trying
to make me believe she has accepted my path while she secretly designs
her own.  And she'll know I'll anticipate her treachery, so she'll try
to lure me along even more false trails.  Layers upon layers.

I've never had a more worthy opponent.  I look forward to our games.
And to kissing the palm of her hand.

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The End of Kashyk's First Story