Author's note: This is an appalling story. Don't read it. And if you do, don't send me nasty email about it, because I already know it's really really bad. I doubt whether Paramount would ever take responsibility for these characters, but I acknowledge their right to do so. In fact, I wish they WOULD take them, and maybe then I can get over the sheer embarrassment of not just having written it but also having shared it with--no, never mind, that never happened.

The Maquis Way
by Maquis Mom

Kathryn Janeway turned over for what seemed the millionth time, giving her pillow a savage punch which did nothing to make her more comfortable, but which at least allowed her to vent some of her increasing frustration. She had been trying to fall asleep for hours, but each time she began to doze off, her overactive imagination would kick back into high gear and she would suddenly be wide awake again. It had started with an amazingly erotic dream much earlier that night, one of the ones that almost seem real but which wake you up at some crucial point, leaving you hanging between two worlds, not really a part of either one. She had been alternately trying to forget the dream and fall asleep, or to fall asleep and recapture it ever since, but nothing seemed to be working. She considered using some replicator rations on a cup of warm milk, then remembered that she hated warm milk and would not drink it under any circumstances. Finally, acknowledging defeat, she sat up and mumbled the lights into brightness. It was just shy of 0430 hours, and if she did manage to fall asleep now, she would only get another hour and a half of rest before she had to get up anyway.

"The hell with it," she moaned, pushing the tangled covers back and climbing out of bed. She would have a shower, get dressed, and take a long, invigorating walk through the silent corridors of her ship to prepare herself to face the day. And she would most assuredly forget that ridiculous dream. It was fading already, definitely, subsiding into the depths of her unconscious mind, hopefully never to return to trouble her again. "The Maquis way, indeed," she muttered to herself as she went into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, she began her walk. She had taken a blissfully warm shower, followed it with a thirty second cold dousing to wake herself up, then dressed in her oldest and most comfortable sweats. She tied her hair back with a length of ribbon, not even bothering to glance into her mirror--who was going to see her at this time of the morning, anyway?--and set out, determined to rid her mind of any lingering images from the dream. No doubt she would be exhausted later on. She might even have to sneak off for a nap at some point, just to make it through her shift, but she was captain of the ship, after all, and therefore entitled to certain privileges! It wasn't as if they were engaged in anything terribly important at the present time; in fact, they had been doing literally nothing for a full day, thanks to an unusual ion storm they had passed through that had short-circuited practically every electronic component in the ship's navigation system. B'Elanna Torres had assured her last night that repairs were nearly complete, and they would be on their way again within a day, less if the final tests went well. At those encouraging words, she had firmly ordered B'Elanna and her crew, most of whom had been at their work for twenty-four straight hours, to turn in. Sleep would do them all good, she recalled saying. Not that it had done HER much good!

Voyager was silent at this time of the morning, most of the crew still sound asleep. There would be a few people around, of course, the unlucky ones who had drawn third shift assignments this rotation. Very few bodies were actually needed to keep things running smoothly, especially when they were to all intents and purposes dead in space. She thought about dropping in on the bridge, but decided against it. She didn't want anyone thinking she was checking up on them. Given the extraordinary circumstances in which they found themselves, tensions ran high enough without her adding to them, and she wasn't really ready to talk to anyone yet. She wandered down toward the galley, confident that it was still too early for Neelix to be in there concocting another of his expanding repertoire of exotic breakfasts, but aware of a vaguely hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. A glass of juice would be nice, or maybe a piece of fruit, something to tide her over until later.

She stepped inside, pausing before calling up full lights, then froze, suddenly aware that she was not alone. She could just make out a the dark silhouette of a figure against the wide expanse of windows that made this room so attractive. She must have made a sound, or perhaps it was the gentle swish of the doors that alerted him to her presence, because he turned to look at her. There was more than enough starlight for her to see that it definitely was a "he". It was, in fact, Commander Chakotay, the one person on her entire crew who she did not particularly want to face right now.

"Captain?" He stepped forward, and she saw that he was dressed in loose dark-colored clothes, shorts and a sleeveless top. He looked disheveled and damp, as if he had been exercising recently. "I'm afraid the kitchen isn't open yet."

"I know, I just thought I'd see if I could find some juice," she replied, trying hard to sound nonchalant. It wasn't easy, considering that she had just spent an entire night having inappropriate thoughts about the very man now standing before her. She refused to allow herself to even look at him, instead gazing over his shoulder at the windows as if contemplating the stars.

"I can help you with that," he said, brushing past her to pick up a metal ewer and a cup. "Neelix knows I usually come in early, so he makes sure to leave me a pitcher of fresh juice. You're in luck, today it's plain old orange juice, not some strange Talaxian brew." He poured her a drink and handed it to her, then went behind the counter and began to rummage around for another cup.

"You're up at this time every morning, then? I had no idea."

"Well, no, this is pretty early, even for me." He found a cup and poured his own juice, taking a long drink before he continued. "I had trouble sleeping for some reason. I must have tossed and turned for hours before I finally got up and went for a run."

"I had the same problem," she said, glancing at him in surprise. He was leaning on the counter, looking at her, and her capricious memory chose just that moment to flash an almost-forgotten image from the dream into her consciousness. She saw herself, standing at a window not unlike the ones in this room. She was naked, and as she looked down at herself, an arm came around her from behind and a dark-skinned hand cupped her breast. "Let me show you the Maquis way," a soft voice murmured in her ear. She could feel his body pressing against her, naked flesh that warmed her from her shoulders to her knees. He was caressing her breast now, his thumb circling her nipple. She could feel it harden at his touch, and she leaned back, lost in the sensation. He pulled her tightly against him, then, his other hand coming around her hip to touch the soft curls between her legs, parting them and slipping a finger deep inside her. She heard herself gasp, and she felt the cup falling from her suddenly nerveless fingers as the image faded as abruptly as it had appeared. She looked down at the spilled juice, then raised her head to look at Chakotay. He was staring at her, a shocked expression in his dark eyes. If she didn't know better she would almost think he had seen it, too, but of course that was impossible. Wasn't it?

"Are you all right?" His voice was strained, unsteady. "Yes, of course, just clumsy." She tore her gaze away from his then dropped down to her knees, feeling around for the cup. A moment later, he was beside her with a towel, wiping up the orange juice with his usual quiet efficiency. The cup eluded her, then she spotted it, just beside his left knee. She reached a hand out to pick it up, then froze as another picture formed before her eyes. This time, she saw her hand raising to lightly touch his face, one finger tracing the sensual curve of his lower lip. His eyes were on her, and they burned with a passion so strong and fierce that it took her breath away. She could feel herself swaying toward him, could see his firm lips part just as her mouth descended on his in a fevered open-mouthed kiss. Lost in this vision, her hand closed on what she thought was the cup, but as the dream faded away again, she heard his stifled moan, and looked down to see that she was gripping his bare thigh, just below the edge of his shorts! His eyes were locked with hers, their expression disbelieving. For the space of a heartbeat, she continued to touch him, knowing that this wasn't part of the dream, and then she was scrambling backward away from him with a look of horror on her face. She collapsed hard onto her behind, curling into a ball and covering her face with her hands. Maybe if she pretended he wasn't there, he would go away, she thought vaguely.

Of course, he didn't go away. She could feel Chakotay's hands on her shoulders as he gently pulled her against him. "It's all right," he was whispering, trying to calm her down, no doubt, but there was no way she could remain calm about this! Her whole body shook, in some strange combination of shame and arousal. She could not believe that a mere dream could have caused her to behave so uncharacteristically, and with all her will she struggled to gain control of her traitorous body. Chakotay wasn't helping at all, she thought, annoyed. His hands moved softly against her back, stroking in gentle circles, and he continued to breathe soothing nonsense into her ear. She felt one of his hands raise up to tangle in her hair, threading through it to caress the nape of her neck, unerringly finding that one sweet spot that was guaranteed to drive her wild. How had he known? The woman in her wanted to just relax and enjoy the sensation, but the captain wasn't having any of it--this was her first officer, not some potential mate, and she was going to have to put him firmly back into his place. Determined, she pushed him away, holding him at arms' length. His eyes looked dazed, as if he were not quite aware of where he was, but his hands reached toward her.

And again, the dream intruded. She was looking down from above, watching herself lying spread-eagled on a wide satin-covered bed. Chakotay loomed above her, his skin seeming impossibly dark against the gleaming white fabric. He knelt between her legs, his hands holding her wrists above her head, and she saw that she was straining upwards, wanting but unable to touch him. She moaned, her head tossing, but still he held himself away, only his hands and the outsides of his thighs touching her. The Kathryn who watched felt every bit as frustrated as the one on the bed, their combined need for this man overwhelming her, driving any thought of Starfleet protocol out of her head.

"Please," she heard herself murmuring, not knowing any more if it was dream or reality, and no longer caring. Her hands, still with their death grip on his shoulders, opened, and he fell toward her, his arms sliding around her and his body twisting at the last minute to break her fall. He rolled with her, and at last they came to rest in a tangled heap, he flat on his back, and she curled against him, her hips pressed tightly against his. She could feel his erection pressing into her through the thin material of his shorts, and her body immediately answered his, her nipples straining against her shirt and a warm pool of wetness forming between her legs. "My God, what's happening to us?" she asked fearfully.

"I don't know, but I've been thinking about this all night," he grated. "If you don't want it to happen, you'd better stop me now, because I don't think I can stop myself." His hands were gripping her bottom, holding her tight against him; now, one hand slid under the waistband of her sweats and she could feel his fingers stroking and kneading the tender skin of her buttocks. Kathryn looked down at him, seeing the need on his face, and seeing, too, how attractive he really was. She had worked so closely with him in the months since they had been stranded here in the Delta Quadrant, often spending the majority of every day with him at her side, and yet it seemed this was the first time she had ever allowed herself to really look at him as a woman looks at a man. Her fingers found their way to his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw and lingering on the cleft in his chin. His eyes had closed at her first touch, and his hands stilled as he recognized that she wasn't going to fight him any more. Only the heaving of his chest and the insistent pressure of his penis against her groin told her that he was still under this--this spell, this waking dream--which seemed destined to draw them together. She ran a finger along his bottom lip, recalling how he had reacted in her vision, and again saw his lips part. "You have a beautiful mouth," she told him as she lowered her own to brush his lips in a brief, teasing kiss. His eyes opened, and she saw that they were glowing with desire, their black depths seeming to draw her in. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, pulling her down for a deep, long kiss that lasted a lifetime but was still over in much too short a time before his mouth was pulling away from hers to trail down the curve of her neck. He nuzzled at her neckline for a moment, and she felt his hands at her waist, pulling the sweatshirt up around her breasts. She lifted up and he came with her, both of them coming to their knees, and both intent on removing each other's clothes as quickly as possible.

She couldn't control her hands, they seemed determined to touch him everywhere, one moment threading through his hair, the next sweeping down to caress his shoulders, and then farther down across the broad expanse of his smooth dark chest, tracing a line from his collarbone down to his navel. She caught hold of the front of his shorts and slid them down, freeing him from their constraint, and then her hands closed greedily on his penis. She heard him groan but would not let him pull away, and then she was bending to take him in her mouth, her hair falling across his groin and one hand reaching behind to caress his tight, firm buttocks. He tasted incredible, salty and musky from his run, but there was something else there, too, something unique to him, a dark, sweet taste, almost like--mocha? She nibbled at him, just barely allowing her teeth to graze the velvet softness of the underside of his penis, and felt him shudder, his hands winding tightly into her hair to hold her there. No more than a moment later, though, he was pulling her away, bending her backwards until she lay on her back on the cool floor.

"Your turn," Chakotay said with a grin that displayed dimples she didn't ever recall seeing before. His broad palms settled on her breasts, caressing her there with a gentle but firm touch, exactly the way she most preferred it. She gave a luxurious little half-sigh, half-moan of approval, then gasped as his mouth replaced his hands. His tongue felt like velvet as he nibbled and licked a damp trail from one nipple to the other. He lingered on her breasts for a while, then she felt one of his hands slide down across her stomach, lightly caressing the soft hair guarding her vagina. She moaned hoarsely, pushing her hips upward as his palm cupped her. She could feel her dampness seeping out onto his hand, and he drew in a hissing breath as he felt it, too. With his other hand, he pushed her legs apart, then he was kneeling between her knees, his head lowering to replace his hand. The first stroke of his tongue had her writhing under him, knowing that she was perilously close to coming. Her hands were holding his head, fingers trying to get a grip in his hair, but there wasn't enough there to hold onto, and she finally wrapped both hands around the back of his neck, pressing him firmly against her. He alternated between teasing light nips with his lips and teeth, and long, firm strokes and thrusts with his tongue, moving around her clitoris and then down, deep inside her. When he felt her tense and he knew she was poised at the brink, he pulled away from her tenacious grip on his neck and raised up above her, pausing to look down at her. Her eyes were enormous and she reached up to him, unable to speak though she clearly wanted to order him--or to beg him--for what they both wanted so desperately.

"Kathryn," Chakotay murmured as he brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. He smiled at her, then, such a sweet and tender smile that she felt tears spring to her eyes at his sheer male beauty--and then she didn't think any more, because he was sliding down toward her, entering her in one long, smooth thrust, and she heard herself cry out his name as she exploded in the most intense orgasm she had ever had.

He rode it with her, passively, feeling her nails raking his back as the rhythmic spasms of her release shook her whole body. He waited patiently as she began to relax under him, an occasional shiver shaking her as she came back to earth. Her hands ceased clawing at him; now, she touched him lightly, her fingertips tracing random patterns on his back. Her eyes were closed, and it almost seemed that she would fall asleep at any moment.

"Not yet," he whispered into her ear. His hips raised until he had nearly pulled out, then he was thrusting strongly, his huge hard shaft pressing against her womb with every stroke. Her eyes flew open in amazement. She had been so caught up in her own satisfaction that it hadn't occurred to her that he had taken no part in it. When he saw that he had her attention, his head lowered and he began to kiss her, deep, wet, open-mouthed kisses that she seemed to feel deep in the pit of her stomach. His hips rocked against her, his thrusts steadily increasing in length and strength, and she began to move with him, her excitement increasing with each kiss and each stroke. His fingers slid between them to tease her clitoris, and it was almost too much for her; she pushed his hand away, raising up and grinding her hips savagely against him. He groaned, then, a low guttural growl from deep in his throat, and his thrusts increased in intensity until Kathryn thought he would surely tear her apart. It should have hurt--probably later it would--but right then, it felt like heaven to her. Her hands gripped his buttocks, holding him firmly, pushing him ever deeper, until finally, with one last thrust, he buried himself into her with a triumphant cry that rattled Neelix's pots. She felt the hot burst of his seed wash into her womb, and it never crossed her mind that it had been months since her last contraceptive implant had passed its point of effectiveness. That didn't matter, not just then (though of course it would later)--all she was conscious of was this man, HER man, collapsed now in her arms. He was shuddering, his breath coming in anguished gasps, and his back was slick under her palms. She held him tightly, her thoughts unfocused as she, too, tried to catch her breath and recover from what had been the most incredibly sensual experience of her life. She could feel his heart beating steadily against and around and inside her, and she felt her own heartbeat change subtly to match his, like two drums beating in time. She had never felt such perfect harmony, physical and emotional, with anyone, ever. Her arms tightened around him, and as her eyes drifted closed, a tear leaked out to run down the side of her face and disappear into his hair. "So, that's the Maquis way," she murmured to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Less than an hour later, Janeway and Chakotay hesitantly emerged from the galley together. He wore just his shorts, and he carried his running shoes in his left hand. She was in her sweatpants and his sleeveless shirt, with her sweatshirt tied around her waist. Like him, she was barefoot, her shoes dangling from the fingers of her right hand. They looked furtively up and down the corridor before they turned to the left and headed for the nearest turbolift. They walked quickly, their bodies close together. If anyone had been watching them, it would not have been immediately apparent until Chakotay moved just slightly ahead of her into the lift that his right hand tightly clasped her left hand.

Elsewhere on the ship, at just about that hour, the same invisible watcher might have come across any number of similarly interesting scenes. There was B'Elanna Torres, with a soft, sated look in her fine eyes which no one on Voyager had ever seen before, sneaking away from a certain cabin which was not her own. Inside, Harry Kim was collapsed on his bed, scratched, bruised, and wearing a wide smile. Farther along the corridor, the Delaney twins were frantically trying to revive Neelix. On the bridge, Tom Paris was on the floor, stark naked, leaning back against Captain Janeway's chair. He hadn't yet managed to find the strength to get dressed. He doubted whether enough pieces of his uniform remained for him to actually put it back on, anyway. In Commander Chakotay's chair, Ensign Mira Bolari, who had drawn third shift bridge duty with him that night, lay curled up into a small ball, sound asleep, a fragment of Tom's sleeve still clutched in her hand. A few decks down, Kes emerged from the sickbay, tugging her dress into place. There was a definitely sassy swing in her hips which had not been there before tonight. Inside, the holographic doctor could be heard humming an old show tune which he wasn't even aware that he knew. But then, there were a lot of things about himself that he hadn't known, before Voyager had passed through what had seemed to be a common ion storm...

The next morning, oddly enough, Lt. Tuvok was the only crew member to report for duty on time and in shape to start the day. There was a rash of headaches reported, and more than one person sheepishly admitted to oversleeping. Tom Paris was excused from his next shift due to unfortunate damage suffered to his only uniform in a freak cleaning accident. And Captain Janeway calmly altered the duty roster so that neither she nor Commander Chakotay had to report until 1300 hours. They slept until noon, curled together under her white satin bedspread.