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“We always see our worst selves. Our most vulnerable selves. We need someone else to get close enough to tell us we’re wrong. Someone we trust.”
―
I am sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying the peace of my morning tea before I have to face the first day of work after our month-long trip to Dorvan. Kathryn is already flitting about, collecting padds, packing and repacking her briefcase.
“You know,” I tease her, “it’s only a tactics conference, you’ve attended plenty of these…”
She shoots me an irritated glance and then continues to sort through her padds. “Attended? Yes. Been in charge of? Not so much.”
I know better than to argue with her when she’s this on edge, so I remain in my chair. “You’ll do great. And if something should come up, Decan is right there with you. He’ll know what you’ve forgotten before you’ll even notice.”
“I’d rather not forget anything in the first place.” She closes the briefcase and walks down the hallway.
I contemplate checking today’s schedule, but instead decide to let our vacation linger just a little longer. I don’t have to be in San Francisco until 0900, so there’s no need to get back into work-mode any sooner. Instead, I look out over the lake where a small group of people are in the process of learning to master their sailboats. They would probably have more success if they had picked a day that was actually windy. I watch until one sailor shoving another overboard makes me laugh.
Still grinning, I clean up the table, and then make my way down the halfway.
To my surprise, Kathryn is only partially dressed. Her jacket and undershirt are unzipped, and her hair is still down.
“Everything okay?” I inquire while taking out a fresh uniform. “I thought you’d be halfway out the door by now.”
She doesn’t reply, and when I look up from the sock drawer, she’s looking down at her belt, jaw tense.
“Kathryn?” I reach out for her, and when my fingers touch her shoulder, she shakes her head and turns around.
She inhales deeply, “Would you help me with this?” She holds out her buckle and what seems to be a brand new belt. “I can’t seem to attach the fastenings.”
Taking the offered items from her, I set to work. “How come you replicated a new strap? Where is the old one?”
“It no longer fits,” she states simply, and that confession makes me laugh.
“Happy to hear you liked my mother’s cooking so much.” But when I hand back the buckle, now firmly attached to the stiff leather, I don’t see the smile I expected. Instead she looks... hurt?
“Wait. Are you upset about this?”
“No,” she replies harshly and secures the belt while walking into the bathroom. “How could I possibly be upset about the fact that every day I look more and more like my aunt Martha?” Her voice has grown increasingly terse.
I rub the bridge of my nose. “That’s ridiculous.”
She doesn’t reply, so I walk up behind her at the bathroom counter, watching her apply the last of her make-up with more vigor than usual. Her blue eyes shine, her cheeks are slightly flushed, and her lips parted as she focuses on applying the mascara. Her hair frames her features and her ample cleavage is visible under the partially unzipped uniform. I step up closer, sliding my hands around her waist. She tenses immediately.
“You look nothing like your aunt Martha.” I kiss her neck.
She doesn’t react, just scrutinizes her reflection. “Give it another ten years…”
Infuriating woman.
I turn her around. “I can give it another fifty years and you’ll still be beautiful.” A little hyperbole never hurt anyone.
It does its job and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Well, then I’m counting on your declining eyesight.”
Opting against a reply, I hug her to my chest and she relaxes a little. I smile when she wraps her arms around me.
Her voice is muffled against my shirt. “I know it’s irrational to be so upset about something that’s natural. My body is going to change and I should learn to just accept that.”
“I know that it’s hard. But,” I lean back to look at her, “there’s only room for one person with body-issues in this relationship, and you know that spot is taken.”
Finally a real smile lights up her face. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Her hands slide over my waist, which seems to be constantly expanding these days, and I do my best to remain relaxed and not suck in my stomach. Lead by example…
I am rewarded with a slow and sensual kiss.
“Alright,” she gently pushes me away, “I’ve got to get ready, don’t want to be late.”
“Feeling better?”
She shrugs. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” With a kiss to her forehead, I turn to get dressed.
---
About ten hours later, a wine glass in her hand, Kathryn is telling me about the conference while I get dinner ready. She talks about seeing Tuvok and the news of his latest grandchild, complains about the ever growing demands made by the Ktarian ambassador, and shares the other usual gossip that is exchanged at these events.
But over dinner I watch her features clouding over while she moves the lasagna around on her plate, barely taking a bite.
“Something wrong?”
She looks up and it seems like she’s mulling over what to say, but she doesn’t reply.
I set down my cutlery. “Does this have anything to do with the new belt you had to replicate?”
“No,” she answers and cringes, then exhales, looking defeated. “Yes.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you worry about your weight. Why does this bother you so much?” I ask quietly and reach for her hand. Our fingers entwine lightly, and I hope it will put her at ease.
“Maybe it’s just the damn combination of turning fifty and the grey hair and now I can’t even fit into my clothes…” Her eyes are fixed on our hands on the table. “I don’t want to feel old.”
“Oh Kathryn,” I rub her fingers. “I am sorry. I know what that’s like.”
She looks up at me. “I really hate that it upsets me so much. I’ve never obsessed over my body,” she pauses and her brow creases, “although I guess it has always been more or less the same. But having that extra weight so blatantly rubbed in my face this morning… that stung a little.”
My heart aches to see her so vulnerable. “It’s not easy to be reminded that time passes for all of us. But I hope you know that none of that is going to change how I feel about you.” Like anything ever could.
She smiles sadly. “You say that now, but…”
“No,” I interrupt her. “No ‘buts’. Come here.” I push my plate aside and stand, still holding her hand. Leaving our supper behind, I lead her down the hallway towards the bathroom. She follows despite her hesitance.
I stop at the full length mirror next to the bathtub. Carefully maneuvering her in front of me, we look at each other in our reflection. We’re both still in uniform, I have merely discarded my belt and jacket while she is dressed impeccably.
“Look at yourself,” I instruct, and she begins to turn around, opening her mouth to protest, but I stop her with my hands on her shoulders. “I’m serious. Really look at yourself.”
Her arms are crossed but her shoulders slump in defeat and I watch as her eyes roam her reflection.
“What do you see, Kathryn?”
“I see an admiral who should take better care of herself,” she answers with a hint of bitterness in her voice.
Without stepping away, I undo her belt and set it aside. “What else?”
“I see a woman who just turned fifty and looks like it.”
Carefully, I move her arms to her sides, my fingers rubbing them through the fabric. “What else do you see?”
Her brows draw together. “I see someone very confused about what this is supposed to be. So how about-”
“You know what I see?” I cut in and slide off her jacket. “I see the woman I have loved for almost fifteen years.”
“Chakotay…” she begins, starting to move again and once more I stop her.
“No, my turn. When I look at you, I see your strength.” My fingers massage her shoulders, rub away the tension, and caress her arms.
“I see your kindness and your intellect.” Taking the comb out of her hair, I release the auburn waves, then brush them aside to kiss her nape.
“I see your compassion and resilience.” I untuck her undershirt, lower the zipper, and take it off.
“You know what else I see?” I whisper against her skin, and she shakes her head slowly. “I see someone I desire. Someone I want.”
I undo her pants and push them over her hips, letting them fall to the floor, then kneel behind her to help her take them off along with her boots and socks. She is left in her underwear, arms hanging at her sides. Allowing my fingers to trail over her legs, I stand back up, my palms coming to rest on her hips. I step up close enough so our bodies are touching, hers almost entirely nude against my clothed one. On her bare feet, she reaches not quite past my shoulder.
“Sometimes I’m still amazed that I get to see you like this.” I stroke her thighs, up to her hips, move around to her soft belly, and watch as she tenses yet again.
“Do you remember how you had to convince me that I didn’t have to hide a bit of extra weight from you?” I ask, and while holding her gaze, think back to that morning in bed, to her soft kisses on my abdomen, to her wetness under my fingertips.
She nods and I continue to caress her midsection, reaching down to the top of her underwear. I watch her chest flush as her pulse increases.
“Let me convince you that it’s the same for me. Will you let me do that?”
She bites her lip but nods again, then places her hands on my arms, pulling me close. I happily follow the invitation, taking the chance to press my growing erection against her.
“This is what you do to me. And not just when you’re in your underwear. I really shouldn’t have to worry about this anymore, but sometimes when you bend over, or wear one of those summer dresses, or when you rub lotion onto these very shapely legs…” I close my eyes and hum, taking a moment to savor the images and feel her body-heat seep into me.
Opening my eyes again, I find her transfixed by our reflection, cheeks red and lips parted. With her hands on mine, I cup her breasts through her bra, feeling their weight, watch them almost spill over the fabric.
“I should be embarrassed by how much time I spend thinking about your cleavage.”
She grins at that, a spark appearing in her eyes, and then she moans when I push up the cups. She presses back, rubbing herself against my now fully hardened cock. With a few easy motions, I have unhooked her bra and slid it off her arms.
“Look how beautiful your breasts are.” I trace their undersides, and goosebumps spread over her freckled skin. “I love your nipples.” With just one finger I circle her left areola, causing her nipple to harden, and she gasps and pushes her chest into my light touch. “You’re so responsive, I could spend all day teasing you.” I repeat my motions on the other side, watch her skin grow tighter, and grind my cock more firmly against her.
“I have jerked off thinking about your breasts more times than I can count.”
She bites her lip again and her lids are heavy with arousal.
“Even before we were together?” she asks, looking right at me in the mirror.
“Long before then,” I confirm. “I know you like to hear about that.”
She hums in confirmation and I chuckle, happy she is finally feeling more like herself.
“But you know who is even more erotic than the Kathryn I dreamt about back then?” Both my hands are now teasing her nipples, rolling and pinching them. “This Kathryn right here.”
“Flatterer,” she says, but her voice is breathless.
“It’s true.” I move one hand down to her belly and she looks at our reflection, still with hesitation in her eyes, so I whisper into her ear, “Relax, Kathryn. Please.”
She exhales deeply and the tension slowly drains away, her belly extending against my palm. I smile at her in response.
“I love how you have changed. Here,” I place one of her hands on her stomach, covering it with mine, “just enjoy touching yourself. Really feel your body.” I move her hands in circles around her belly button and she follows the motions in the reflection.
“I feel warm,” she says quietly, “soft, and… round,” she adds with her eyebrows drawn together.
Sighing, I swallow down my exasperation at her self-criticism. “Yes, you are a bit more round than you used to be, but if anything, that makes you more beautiful. You had to be hard and tough for so long, that now, it feels as if this,” I spread my hand over hers, our fingers sliding together to span her midsection, “is just for me. I get to have this softer side of you that nobody else ever had. And how could I be upset that I get to have more of you?”
I nuzzle her neck, nip lightly at her tender skin, and thrust my hard cock against her. “You aren’t just a little softer, you feel supple, decadent,” my hand slides off hers and I trace the line of her underwear, “and incredibly sexy.”
That somewhat juvenile description finally brings a full smile to her face and her demeanor shifts. She arches her back and steadies herself with one hand against the mirror, leaving no question as to what she wants.
“Let me show you,” I say, and we both moan when my fingers slide down to her damp underwear. I tease her through the fabric, tracing the outline of her labia, squeezing and rubbing just enough to coax more of the sweet liquid from her.
“Yes…” she groans deep in her throat, and I grin at the twitch of her knees buckling.
“Keep watching yourself,” I urge her on, “you’re so damn beautiful when you come.”
I need to feel her without obstruction, feel her pulsing sex under my fingertips, so I push her panties down and once she has stepped out of them she widens her stance. I grin at her reflection.
“Would you like to come against my fingers?” I growl into her ear.
“Yes,” she mewls.
To steady her, I tighten one arm around her midsection. “Just let go, I’ve got you.” I dip a finger into her channel, coating it, sliding easily back and forth between her folds. Sweat is breaking out across her body and her sped up breaths form condensation on the mirror. The nails of her free hand dig into my forearm.
“You feel so damn good,” I whisper against her neck, “And you turn me on so much.”
I push one finger deep into her, and have to swallow hard at the pulsing of her inner muscles, thinking about them milking my straining cock. But I shove the selfish thoughts aside and bring my focus back to her.
Kathryn’s eyes are fixed onto my hand at her sex; moans fall from her open mouth and her hips move back and forth between my cock against her ass and my hand on her cunt. “Please don’t stop, I’m so close” she repeats over and over and I circle my thumb over her clit. It only takes a few more deliberate motions to make her cry out and rise up on her toes, her entire body tensing with her climax. She twists and shakes, and I have to hold on to her tightly to keep her upright.
Her orgasm is intense and drawn out and she struggles to follow my instruction to keep her eyes open. I am close to coming inside my pants. The feel, smell, and sight of her are almost overbearing.
“Please,” she repeats, her voice hoarse, “I need you.”
At those words, her hips are pushed more firmly back against me and I happily comply with her demand. Still holding her around her waist, I have to wipe the slick fingers of my other hand on my pants, not caring about the stains I leave behind. Hastily I lower my zipper and free my cock, sticky with precome. I rub the weeping head along the cleft of her ass, then further down through the wet, swollen heat of her sex.
She moans impatiently. “Fuck me.”
In reply to her crude command, I sink my teeth into her shoulder, stifling my groan against her skin. As I sooth the mark with my tongue, I align my cock and then she is pushing back, her tight core pulling in my length. My knees shake when I am buried inside her, both of us breathing heavily, focused on our intimate connection.
Our eyes meet in the reflection. We look wild and frantic, allowing no denial that we are desperate, greedy, craving orgasm.
“Touch yourself,” I demand, needing to feel her climax around me.
Her fingers move to her sex, and with both hands now firmly grasping her hips, I pump into her, incapable of stopping, completely mesmerized by the sight of her reddened skin, her swaying breasts, her fingertips teasing her clit. My thighs begin to shake, my balls tighten.
“I’m so close,” I warn her.
“Yes,” she pants, “I want to feel you come.”
It’s all I need to push me over the edge. With a few fast thrusts my whole body is set on fire and I climax in long bursts, hissing and moaning, captivated by the sight of her. Her brows are drawn together, shining with perspiration, and her mouth is slack while she keeps rubbing herself.
Her muscles are still pulsing, now almost painful around my spent cock, and I know she is close. I rock back and forth, grinding against her.
“Make me come,” she pants, and I hurry for my fingers to join hers.
The chauvinistic knowledge that she wants me to get her off again, that I can make her orgasm harder than she can on her own, strokes my ego. With only a few circles on her clit, she is screaming again, loud and unrestrained. She is so fucking beautiful. I don’t even want to blink, determined to not miss a split second.
Tremors race through her body and she rests her forehead against the mirror, her hot breath obscuring her reflection.
My heartbeat rushes in my ears and combines with our labored breathing. I kiss her neck, up to her ear, nip on her lobe, all the while continuing the slow motions of my fingers, sliding over her slippery folds. I am rewarded with small aftershocks cursing through her and a content hum.
With a hiss I pull out of her and my thighs burn when I straighten up. Worth it.
“How about we clean up, put on something comfortable, and finish dinner?” I suggest.
She turns just enough to look at me over her shoulder, lips curved in an endearingly lopsided smile. “Sounds perfect.”
---
We share the sonic shower, where I take the chance to massage her scalp as the vibrations clean away the mess we so happily made of ourselves. With her eyes closed and face stripped bare of make-up, worry, and command, she looks perfectly at peace. The lines on her forehead are smoothed out, the grooves leading to her lips not as deep, only the fine wrinkles in the corners of her eyes remain.
We put on our most comfortable sleepwear before wrapping ourselves in our robes. Kathryn takes her usual seat on the couch while I reheat dinner. With ease we slide into our spots, side by side, plates on our laps, and dig into our food.
She brings up memories of Neelix’ first attempts at lasagna and when she laughs, there is sauce at the corner of her mouth and tiny piece of tomato stuck in her teeth. She is warm next to me, thighs touching through the layers of fabric, our bodies still always drawn to each other.
We joke and tease and finish dinner before she curls up on the couch, back against my chest, my arm wrapped around her midsection. The softness under my touch feels like a life spent together in happiness and comfort. It feels like home.