Author's note: This is the first of a 6 story cycle. It's Mary Sue, so if that sort of thing bothers you don't read it! Prior readers have either loved these stories or hated them-there's no middle ground, but I don’t mind. I created an interesting, amusing and soulful character who probably doesn't fit into the Trek universe, but so be it. Frankly, there are characters in that universe who have nothing like the life that this kid does. (Harry Kim, anybody?)

Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em. I stole 'em. I'm like that. Everything I've written, even the stuff I wrote before I met them, is lovingly dedicated to Becky, Michelle, Siubhan, and Robert. This is a companion piece to the episode State of flux, in which Chakotay learned the truth about Seska.

Later That Night...
by Maquis Mom

I had been watching him for months, ever since that damn Array had pulled us into the Delta Quadrant and stranded us here, and he and his Maquis had joined our crew. I had thought it strange and inexplicable that Captain Janeway had seemed ready, even eager, to forgive all of them for being wanted criminals and to give them equal standing with those of us who actually belonged to Starfleet, but as time passed and we began to realize that very probably we were not going to be going home any time soon, her actions seemed to make more sense. Oh, don't get me wrong, I still resented having to take orders from some of them, but I began to understand why she did it, and why she chose to make him her first officer. He was good at it. The years he had spent in Starfleet showed, and once the initial shock wore off I even heard others remark that you'd never know he had been away from command. Well, actually, I guess he hadn't been away, had he? I was a little hazy on the details of his past, but he had been captain of the Maquis ship, the one that had been destroyed in the fight with the Kazon. Sometimes I wondered how much it really bothered him, having to serve under Captain Janeway. I don't get up to the bridge very much but Harry Kim says that there are times when you can tell that he forgets he's not in charge. I guess he probably has to keep reminding himself of that fact, which has got to be pretty hard--but still, I never really felt sorry for him, at least not until last night.

Rumors had been flying around the ship all day, even way down in Stellar Cartography, which is where I work, sort of. My star charts of the Alpha Quadrant don't mean diddly now, so I spend most of my time mapping the Delta Quadrant. One day I asked Lieutenant Tuvok why I had to make maps of a place that hopefully we would never see again, assuming we figure out how to leave. He told me that my question was not logical. Tom Paris says that it will look great in my permanent record that I was in charge of creating all these wonderful maps of every godforsaken corner of the quadrant we've visited so far.

Anyway, to get back to the rumors--! We had picked up a distress call from a Kazon Nistrim ship, and of course we were off to the rescue. You can imagine what a surprise it was to find out that somebody on our crew was selling technology to the Kazon. I didn't hear too much about it until the excitement was over, but apparently the traitor was Ensign Seska, that Bajoran female from the Maquis ship. I never liked her very much. She had a way of looking at you like you were a lower form of life which she would very much like to squash under her heel if she thought she could get away with it. Harry was scared to death of her for some reason. When I asked him why, he said that he once got stuck in a turbolift with her and then he blushed and wouldn't say anything else. At the time, I figured that she must have made a pass at him, but now I wonder about that because the scuttlebutt says that all along she was involved with HIM. I think that part of it surprised me even more than finding out she was really a Cardassian! I mean, what would he have seen in her?

I usually meet with some of my friends when my shift is over, but I figured that everybody would be talking about him, and how she supposedly had called him a fool before she beamed out of sickbay and over to the Kazon ship, and I really didn't want to hear any more about it. Within a half hour after it happened, four different people had stopped by to make sure I knew the whole sad story. People who I thought were my friends seemed to take some kind of perverse pleasure in telling me that she had been his lover, like it could possibly make the slightest bit of difference to me. Okay, I'll admit that I've got a crush on him, and all of my friends have figured that out. I’ve tried to deny it but they tell me I have a face incapable of subterfuge. The first time I saw him, I probably stared at him with my mouth open like some awestruck teenager, and maybe I still look at him that way, I don't know. But let's face it, he never showed signs of knowing I'm alive. So I was in no mood to sit around listening to an in-depth discussion of his personal life and how much pain he was probably in. The truth was that sooner or later the real dirt would start to fly, and they would be remembering every time they saw him with her and reading all kinds of intimate stuff into every gesture, and of course they'd be looking at me all the time to see how I was reacting. No way could I handle that, so I skipped dinner and headed for my own private hiding place so I could spend a couple of hours thinking about his personal life and how much pain he was probably in...

Voyager is not a very big ship. I was on the Enterprise once for a big stellar cartography conference, and I spent three days blundering around, completely lost. One day I actually walked right in on Captain Picard in his private quarters by mistake! I was really embarrassed, but he was nice about it and he offered me a cup of tea which I had to refuse since I was supposed to be three decks away at a very important meeting which I was already ten minutes late for!

As I was saying, Voyager is so small it would practically fit inside Enterprise's shuttle bay, so it was hard to find a quiet place to sit and think. I share quarters with Ensign Mira Bolari—and I get along fine with Mira but she was also one of the nice folks who couldn't wait to tell me about Seska and her nasty little plots. Not that she’d be mean about it, because she really is my best friend, but she does sometimes inform me that I should give up on my impossible dream and find myself something a bit more real. Anyway, even before this happened, I sometimes just needed to be alone, and I had discovered that the cargo bay where the Ocampan girl Kes has her hydroponics garden is always empty at night. I enjoy sitting there with the plants; it reminds me of my grandmother's garden, which was one of my favorite places when I was growing up. I wasn't there for more than a few minutes that night, and I hadn't even had time to check on the progress of those funny-looking root-like things which I was hoping might turn out to be something like carrots, when I heard the doors open.

Of all the people I expected to see there—well, I didn't really expect to see anyone, of course!--but I definitely wasn't prepared for it to be him. He looked awful. He had always seemed sad to me, even when he smiled, but sensing melancholy behind the mask of reserve he normally wore was not the same as seeing it etched on his face. Like I said, I felt sorry for him at that moment. He’d obviously been smacked right between the eyes by Seska’s little bombshell. He didn't notice me at first. He just stood there breathing deeply, and then he rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache, which I suppose he did. I must have made some sound, because his hand dropped and he stared at me over the plants.

I had never actually spoken to him before, not person to person. He had come around and introduced himself when he became first officer, and sometimes he would nod at me if we passed in the corridor, but I was sure he had no idea who I was, so I was very surprised when he called me by name--my FIRST name--and started to apologize for interrupting me.

"No, please," I heard myself stammering. "You didn't interrupt. I was just checking on the carrots."

He grinned at that. "These things? I don't think they're carrots." "I haven't given up hope yet." I studied those non-carrots as if they were the most important plants in the universe, but my mind was spinning. Should I say something about Seska? Extend my sympathies? Ask him if he was all right? "Are you all right? Sir?" Damn, why did I ask that??

"I've had better days." He started to turn away and I saw that the tired, depressed look had returned. I had gotten used to feeling all kinds of things for him in the past months. If I saw him when I wasn't expecting to, I always felt very elated, as if just seeing him was enough to make me happy. Other times I got really angry with him for being so totally oblivious to me, and with myself for not being able to keep him out of my mind. Usually, though, he existed purely in my imagination, a noble warrior who wouldn't think twice before rescuing a heroine and carrying her off into the sunset. They were nice stories, but even I had to admit that if they were true, the heroine would probably not be me. So, anyway, he was standing there and looking alone and hurt, and I knew that I couldn't just let him walk away. I slid around the plants and caught his arm with both hands as if to hold him there. He glanced sharply at me, and I could see he was surprised.

"Don't go. I'll leave if you want to be alone." I could feel my cheeks flushing, but I went on anyway. "But I would rather stay."

"Why?"

"Why?" Had my voice really squeaked? "Well, because maybe you shouldn't be alone tonight." I was still clutching his arm but I was not about to let go, not until I could talk him into staying there with me. "I mean, I heard what happened today, and--"

"I suppose everybody has by now." He glanced down at his arm, which was probably getting numb considering the death grip I had on it, so I had to release him, but I left one hand there just touching his forearm lightly because it felt so good under my fingertips. "Have you ever trusted someone and then found out that your whole relationship was a lie, Ensign?" Darn, I was an Ensign again.

"No, sir, but that doesn't mean I can't understand that you must feel devastated. I wish--" I had been looking up at him, trying for a sympathetic yet ever so slightly seductive expression (it wasn't working) but now I couldn't meet his eyes any more.

"What do you wish?" It took him a moment to ask and his voice sounded strained, as if he had to force the words out. "No, wait, let me guess. You wish we were back in the Alpha Quadrant, right? That's what everyone on this ship wants most." So that was not the most subtle effort to change the subject I’d ever heard, but I could understand why he did it.

"I would like to be home, yes, but--well, no, honestly, I wouldn't." I was tracing little patterns on his sleeve so I wouldn't have to look at him.

"You wouldn't? Why the hell not?" The surprise was evident in his voice.

"Because if we were back there you would probably be in the brig right now, wouldn't you? I mean, Starfleet considers you to be a dangerous criminal, and even if Captain Janeway didn't agree she would have no choice but to turn you over to them." Oh, swell, THAT was bound to cheer him up, definitely!

Oddly enough, he laughed. "I told her the same thing one day not too long ago. She said that I shouldn't underestimate her, and that she has lots of friends back there who could help me. What she doesn't understand is that it wouldn't make any difference. If I didn't end up in a penal colony, I would go back to the Maquis, and she'd have to come after me--again." I could tell that this reminded him of the whole Seska thing again. He looked off over my head somewhere, and I could see the muscles in his jaw tensing. Without thinking, I reached up and touched his cheek, wanting to caress the tension away. He froze, then looked down at me, the expression in those deep dark eyes unreadable, but he didn't move or try to stop me from touching him so I let my fingers wander a little, marveling at the broad, flat planes of his face and at how pale my skin looked against his. After a moment he reached up and took my hand away, squeezing it just a little to let me know he wasn't offended, I guess. "You never told me what you wish for," he said softly.

I didn't know what to say, so I told him the truth. "I wish that I could make you forget her. I would never have done to you what she did." After the words spilled out I wanted to turn tail and run, but he still had my hand and when I tried to pull it away he wouldn't let go, so we were just kind of stuck there.

He finally sighed, and without a great deal of effort pulled me over to a bunch of crates in the corner. "I think we'd better sit down and talk about this."

"I don't think so," I said, panicking. "I just remembered I have to be somewhere, and--"

"Sit down." His voice got quieter, but there was an unmistakable note of command there. I sat. He propped a foot on the box next to me, leaning his elbow on his knee, then looked down at me, as if waiting for me to speak. There was no way I was going to say anything else, though. If a Cardassian with a compression rifle materialized right behind him, I wouldn't say a word. If Captain Janeway herself showed up and demanded that I speak now or lose my commission, I would be silent. If--

"I think I said enough. I mean, I don't have anything else to add," I heard myself saying. "Unless you have questions?" I prayed that he didn't.

"Actually, I do."

It was my turn to sigh, a long gusty heartfelt one. "Okay, shoot."

"I'd just like to know why." When I looked up at him, not sure what he meant, he raked his hand through his hair impatiently before he went on. "Why does what happened today with Seska matter to you? Why are you trying so hard to comfort me?"

"Because you need comforting, and I'm here and I'm willing." I tried to make it sound casual but I'm not sure I succeeded.

"I'm flattered," he said. "Very flattered. But I'm sure you have better things to do with your free time--"

Oh, boy, here comes the big brush-off, I thought. What do I do now? "I don't. Have anything better to do, I mean." I said it very quickly and very loudly, hoping to drown out the rest of his words, which were undoubtedly going to be the sort of nice, considerate things a gentleman says when he's trying to tell you to get lost. "Have you had anything to eat yet?"

"What? No, I had some soup earlier, but--" He stopped, frowning, and of course I knew why. Seska and the mushroom soup fiasco had also been a big hit on the Voyager grapevine. Why was it that every time I opened my mouth in front of this man, I ended up chewing on my delicate size five foot??

"You gotta eat." I went over and picked up the bag I had brought with me, reaching inside and pulling out the ration packs I had chosen at random. "Let's see, we have a tuna sandwich on wheat bread, and we have--hmm, freeze dried macaroni and cheese--I wonder why I took that?" I laid the foil packs out on the crate. "Here's some dried fruit, that's okay, and chocolate pudding." I ripped open the sandwich and handed him half. "And I almost forgot the best part." I reached back into the bag and took out a bottle, showing it to him. "It's Rigellian wine, have you ever had it?" My only bottle, which I had smuggled on board and which I had been saving for some special occasion. When I had thrown it into the bag with the food, I didn't really think I would end up drinking it, but now it almost seemed like a sign of some kind. I hoped. He was looking at me in surprise, the sandwich forgotten in his hand, so I gestured with the bottle, which I was struggling to open. "You're not eating." To my surprise he sat down abruptly and took a bite. The cork finally popped, and I looked around, realizing I had forgotten to bring a cup. "I guess we'll have to rough it." I took a swig, enjoying the smooth golden not-quite-fruity taste of the wine, then handed him the bottle.

He took it, but hesitated, glancing at me. "It's not synthehol, is it?"

"No, it's the real thing. It's delicious and it will make you feel better. Try it."

He looked like he was about to say something about regulations, but then he shrugged and lifted the bottle, taking a long drink. After he swallowed, he gave me a half-grin. "You’re right, it's good."

"It's better than good, it's like sunshine in a bottle. Have some more."

He handed the bottle back to me. "No, it's your turn now." He turned his attention back to the sandwich, which disappeared quickly. He ate the second half, too, while I sipped wine and watched him. He is obviously not someone who quits eating when his heart has been broken, I thought idly while I toyed with the fruit. Or maybe it's not really broken, just a little bit bruised. Not an unencouraging thought, that! I passed the bottle back and this time he drank. I admit that it gave me a thrill to share the wine with him that way. There's a certain intimacy when two people drink from the same bottle--it could almost be considered a kiss. I was inordinately pleased that he did NOT wipe the rim before he drank, too. Okay, I know, I'm pathetic, but those are the kind of thoughts anyone would have in those circumstances! And besides, Rigellian wine is not just delicious, it's also extremely potent, and I was already feeling the effects.

He picked up the pudding, then looked at me. "No spoon?"

I shook my head.

He opened it anyway, and stuck his finger into the rich chocolate. Ration packs tend to be bland and tasteless but there's nothing anyone can do to spoil chocolate pudding. I watched in fascination as he licked his fingertip, and I guess I must have made a sound of some kind--probably something in the nature of a passion-filled moan--because he grinned again and held the pudding out. "Go ahead, have some." I stuck a finger in and tasted. It was the best chocolate pudding I've ever eaten. We took turns after that, and when it was nearly gone I reached two fingers in and scooped up the last big dollop. He looked at it longingly, but didn't say anything. We had continued to share the wine along with our dessert, which probably explains how I had the nerve to do what I did next. I held my hand out--there was a big blob of chocolate just ready to slide off--and smiled at him. He watched the drop for a second, then bent his head and took my fingers in his mouth. I could feel his tongue on them, and for one panicked moment I thought I was going to faint. I didn't, but there were several huge butterflies running rampant in my stomach, and I know for sure that this time the sound I made was a passion-filled moan. To my surprise, he moaned too, very softly, before taking one last nibble and abruptly releasing my fingers. His hand shook when he picked up the wine bottle, which was on the floor between our feet, and he didn't look at me for a long time, just sat there and drank steadily. I sat and looked at my fingers, which were still tingling, then folded them tightly into a fist, as if I could hold the moment in there… But of course that wasn't possible. I was sure that when he looked at me again, he would be embarrassed and apologetic. I decided that if he said he was sorry I was going to have to hit him, even though I suppose hitting a superior officer would not be a good career move.

The silence went on and on, but suddenly he spoke. "I have bad news. The bottle is nearly empty." He held it up to show me that there was probably one good swallow left, then he tipped it back and poured it into his mouth. I guess I must have looked annoyed--after all, it was probably the final taste of Rigellian wine I would ever have--but he just smiled, the merest lifting of the corners of his mouth, and then he leaned toward me and raised my chin. Before I could react, his lips were nuzzling mine open and the last of the wine was dribbling into my mouth.

I choked, but only very slightly, and then my hands were on his shoulders, holding on for dear life because I realized that he was actually kissing me! I was almost too shocked to enjoy it, but my brain was still functioning just enough to give me an urgent message, something along the lines of "don't blow this!" I relaxed, letting my arms slide around his neck, and began to kiss him back. Mira had once said that he had a mouth made for kissing, and it turns out she was right. He tasted of chocolate and not-quite-fruit and something else that was just him. If the Grim Reaper had showed up right then and tapped me on the shoulder, I think I would have gone gladly, because nothing else in my life was going to compare to that kiss. Or so I thought...

When he finally pulled away, I wanted to grab him by the ears and force his head back, but amazingly enough I didn't do it. He slid down until he was kneeling beside me, then his arms went around my waist and he was burying his face in the soft curve of my neck, not quite on my shoulder and not quite on my breast. I held him there with my left arm, and my right hand crept upward to touch the hair on the back of his head. It was soft and very thick and I loved the feel of it.

"I'm really drunk," he said, his voice muffled. "I haven't been drunk since my first year at the Academy." He shifted his head slightly so he wasn't talking into my uniform. "There was this seedy waterfront bar that sold real alcohol and I drank--something that starts with a T..."

"Tequila? The stuff with a worm in the bottle?"

"That's it. How did you know?"

"I heard about that bar. Did it make you sick?"

"No, but I woke up the next day in the middle of a vineyard eighty miles north of the city. I never found out how I got there, and I never drank tequila or anything else but synth-ale again."

"Until tonight."

"Until tonight," he agreed. "I think you're a bad influence."

I had the fleeting thought that this man had access to my permanent record, and the right--okay, the responsibility--to report my considerable dereliction of duty. What kind of punishment was there for ensigns who got their superiors drunk and tried to seduce them, anyway? It would probably be in my best interests right now to sober him up and beg him not to report me. Instead I just held him tighter and began to stroke his back, wishing that the thickness of his uniform didn't prevent me from feeling the texture of his skin. "You're right, I'm bad. Worse than you even realize. Truth is, I used to go to that bar all the time," I moaned. "And I didn't even feel guilty about it, can you imagine? It's a miracle I ever made it through the Academy."

"Even more amazing that you managed to graduate third in your class," he commented dryly. I was absurdly pleased that he knew that. I was also absurdly pleased that his hands were moving over my--well, not my back, exactly, but lower. I'm not sure if he knew he was doing it, but it felt exquisitely wonderful, and it encouraged me to widen my own exploration of his back. I had reached a particularly touchable spot just below his right kidney when I felt him stir against me. He lifted his head and sat back on his heels to look at me, his hands resting on my knees. "This is probably not a good idea," he said, his voice--that beautiful, soft voice that gave me goose bumps even when I heard it saying something as mundane as "Ensign Kim, please report to the bridge"--ever so slightly slurring. I realized when I saw his face that he really was very drunk, and probably not at all responsible for his actions. Talk about a dilemma! I had been wanting him for so long, putting myself to sleep every night with fantasies about him, waking up from uninhibited dreams in which he played starring roles, and here he was, on his knees, helpless to resist me, with so much naked need in those incredibly dark eyes, and suddenly my conscience woke up. I just looked at him for a long time, letting my eyes caress him from the spiky top of his head down to his muscular thighs, my gaze lingering on that maddenly sexy tattoo that every female on the ship was dying to trace with fingertips, tongue, whatever...

God, this is not fair! I said silently. Out loud, my words were considerably less evocative of my real feelings. "I know. I think I'd better get you back to your quarters before you pass out."

A few minutes later we were standing at his door. The turbolift ride had nearly done him in, but he's got an astonishing amount of control--it probably has something to do with all that Native American spirituality, I guess--and he didn't allow himself to lean on me or to be sick, though I could see he really wanted to do both. By the time we exited the lift and found his quarters (I knew where it was but I had to pretend to let him lead me there, and he took a few wrong turns) he seemed to feel better. His eyes were much clearer, and he seemed more himself. I couldn't help regretting that I hadn't let things progress just a little further, even though I knew that it wasn't very likely I would have been strong enough to stop. I shifted my bag full of foil wrappers and the empty wine bottle from hand to hand, not quite ready to say goodnight--or was it goodbye? I looked up at him and I think I heaved a little sigh. In the end I couldn't say anything at all, I just turned and started to walk away, very slowly. I hadn't gone ten steps when he said my name again, so softly I wasn't really sure I had actually heard it. I turned to look back, surprised to see the grin that flickered across his face before he reached a hand out to me, drawing me inside.

It was dark and curiously cozy there, no bright lights or colors to jar the senses, and only a few artifacts to soften the stark simplicity of the decor. It was neat and unadorned and almost spartan, and it suited him. His bed was perfectly made, not a single crease or rumple, just the way they taught us at the Academy. I thought of my bed, which despite my best efforts always looked like I hadn't tried to straighten a cover or tuck in a sheet in recorded history, and that was as far as my thoughts progressed before he took the bag out of my hands and tossed it into a chair, before he pulled me into his arms and began to kiss me. He kissed my cheeks, and my ears, and my chin, and the underside of my jaw, the kind of hot, wet kisses that I'd been daydreaming about for so long. He kissed my forehead, and my eyelids, and finally I couldn't stand it any more and this time I really did grab him by the ears and forced his mouth down to mine. I felt that kiss down to my toes, but the overwhelming sensation hit me somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach and radiated downward to center itself right between my shaking legs. It was electric. I could have sworn that he was touching me there, teasing me with his fingers, even though I could feel both of his hands, one of them gripping the back of my neck and the other working at the fastenings of my uniform. I let loose of his ears and tried my best to undress him--damn Starfleet for these medieval torture devices, anyway! You have to be a contortionist to get into them and even more so to get out, especially when your hands are trembling and your eyes are so clouded with lust that you can barely see! He seemed to have the knack of it, though, as mere seconds later he was peeling the fabric away from my breasts and down to my hips. The ugly grey t-shirt was over my head and off before I could think twice about it. My bra was one of those lacy little nothings (definitely not Starfleet issue) that fastened in front. He had it opened with one flick of his fingers, the kind of gesture that men have been practicing for centuries in order to impress us at the appropriate time. I was duly impressed. He slid the straps off my shoulders and I shrugged it away, and then his hands were cupping my breasts and his lips were burning a trail down across my neck. He stopped to nibble on my collarbone for a moment and then moved relentlessly onward. By the time his mouth reached my breast and I felt his tongue flicking my nipple, I had to hold onto his shoulders with all my might just to stay on my feet. I wanted so much right then. I wanted him to take off his clothes, because I wasn't having any luck trying to undress him. I wanted him to throw me on that immaculate bed and take me to heaven. I wanted to feel his mouth on my sex, but I wanted him not to stop the incredible magic he was performing on my breasts. I wanted to cook his meals and darn his socks and bear his children, even though I can't cook and I don't even know what darning is. (I presume I could manage the childbearing, though.) I wanted more than anything for this not to be a dream, because in my dreams something always happened to stop us before we could actually consummate the relationship. Something stupid, like my alarm going off, or like one of us suddenly saying something incredibly inappropriate, like--

"Oh, God, are you sure you really want to do this?" No. I hadn't said that, had I? Of course I had. I never know when to keep my mouth shut. Isn't that the one thing that has kept me from being promoted sooner, the one fault that I get written up for at least once a month? I have to talk, no matter what. I have to open my mouth and blow the only chance I'll ever get to make love with the man I've been wanting forever. He'll never again be this vulnerable and open to me, and I. Just. Blew It. I wanted to cry, to howl at the fates, to beg him to say that yes, yes, he really wanted me all along, Seska meant nothing to him, and--

He lifted his head and looked me in the eyes. "Yes, I really want to do this," he said. He pulled my hand away from his shoulder and flattened it against his groin. "Feel how much."

My fingers curved around the already impressive bulge and it seemed to get bigger, the fabric straining so tightly it must have hurt. "Okay. Can we take this off?" I gave a halfhearted tug at the front of his uniform, knowing it was beyond me.

"I think so." A few quick economical moves and he was stripping the damn thing down his legs--how the heck did he DO that? A minute later he was standing there in nothing but his regulation Starfleet underwear, and I could see that my fantasies about him were not entirely correct. He was even more beautiful than I had thought he would be, or maybe it's just that I never really expected to see him in the flesh so I hadn't tormented myself trying to imagine how his body would look. His skin was dark, and he was bigger and huskier than I expected. I didn't see any more tattoos, but it was dark in the room and once my eyes dropped down to the front of his shorts I had difficulty concentrating on anything else for quite some time. I probably would have just stood there gawking forever if he hadn't smiled at me, the sort of smile that melts your heart and makes your juices flow. Mine were definitely flowing. I took an involuntary step toward the bed, tripping over my uniform, which was hanging down around my ankles. He was there to catch me before I fell, easing me down to sit on the bed so he could pull my boots off, and with them the rest of my clothes. Again, he was kneeling at my feet, but this time his expression was different, suddenly so passionate, so hungry, that it took my breath away. Was it the wine, or did he actually want me--ME--that much? This time, amazingly enough, I didn't ask, I just laid back and watched him slide onto the bed and into my arms. He felt wonderfully heavy, and everywhere his skin touched mine it felt hot, but when I caressed his back it was cool and smooth. Had I been a more thoughtful person, I would probably have seen this as a paradox which perfectly illustrated his complex nature, but all I can really recall thinking at that moment was something like "ohgod, I did it, I'm in bed with him and he's not even unconscious!" I think I even looked to make sure, but the truth was that even after that very potent wine he seemed wide awake and quite well aware of what he was doing. I was still insecure enough to wonder if he was equally aware of WHO he was doing it with--but, again, I didn't ask. I was getting better at this.

This man likes to kiss. Probably he's had to like it since undoubtedly every woman he's ever met has managed to work remarks about his extraordinarily kissable mouth into the conversation at some point. I did, too, as soon as the aforesaid kisses left the immediate vicinity of my lips and began to work their way across my throat. I tried to say something profound about the way he made me feel, but I think all that came out was "ohhhhhhh." Or maybe it was "ahhhhhhhh." In any case, he seemed to understand what I meant because I'm pretty sure I heard him say "mmmmmm," which would be a logical response.

God, this is so hard to talk about! I can remember every least little touch, even the accidental ones, and the accidental ones which felt so good that later he did them on purpose. I could probably make a chronological list, an annotated list, even. When he touched me HERE, I felt THIS. When I kissed him THERE, he did THAT. But if I did that, you'd think that I was keeping a scorecard, and that's not how it was, not at all. I lost my virginity my first semester at the Academy, and there have been four or five (okay, two) guys since then, but he's not a guy. For the first time I was with a man, a beautiful desirable man, and I do not wish to sully the experience by telling you how many times we made love (three) or how many different positions we used (three) or whether he made me come (yes oh God YES!) or---okay, okay, I'm a horrible nonspiritual person, not above telling every last intimate detail! I really tried to take the high road, but it was just too darned high for me to reach. And now I've spoiled all the suspense because, let's face it, you figured that one of two things was going to happen, right? He was going to pass out from all that wine, or he was going to come to his senses and politely but firmly invite me to leave and never darken his doorway again. Am I right? I know that's what you thought. Hell, it's what I thought, too! But you were wrong, see? We did make love and it was---but I'm getting ahead of my story, and we don't want that.

So, where was I? Oh, right, he was kissing my throat and his big hands were stroking me everywhere and I was doing my best to touch every part of him I could reach, and some of the better parts two or three times, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of Captain Janeway's voice. I knew that this was too good to be true, I just knew it!!! She was at his door, and I guess we didn't hear her buzz, so of course she used her comm badge to try to reach him. Even coming at you from under a wadded up uniform lying on the floor, Captain Janeway's voice is more than able to get your attention. He more or less dove off the side of the bed, looking like he'd been shot, and I could hear him rummaging around on the floor trying to find the stupid comm badge. I just laid there with my hands covering my eyes, listening. I though about getting up and going into the bathroom, but I really didn't think my legs would work, so I got to hear him saying that yes, he had gone to bed and didn't hear the door, but no, she didn't wake him, and I could tell she wasn't buying it. She was concerned about him, of course, he's her first officer and he'd had a pretty bad day, but you knew she was wondering why he didn't come to the door when she was standing right outside, and thinking that there was something wrong and maybe she should come in and find out what it was! Somehow I knew that was exactly what was about to happen, so I just plain stopped listening to their conversation and started planning for my new career as a vegetable scrubber in Neelix's galley. After what seemed like about an hour, he apparently convinced her that he was fine and he really didn't need someone to talk to and they said goodnight and he kind of fell back against the edge of the bed and sat there. I scooted off the other side and crept around on my hands and knees until I found my uniform, which was tied into some kind of weird permanent-looking knot. I looked at it hopelessly, and I wanted very much to cry, but I never cry! And I didn't. But it was close.

"Are you okay?" That was HIM, asking ME, can you believe it? I am definitely going to bear this man's children, that's all there is to it. He got up and came around to my side of the bed, then sat down beside me and took the uniform out of my hands. I just stared at the floor and didn't say anything, but he raised my chin and made me look at him. "If you want to leave now I won't stop you, but I would like you to stay."

"You would?" I could feel this huge sob building in my throat and it took all the strength I had to keep it in.

"You said before that I needed someone to be there for me tonight, to comfort me, remember? But I think what I really needed is to know that someone cares. Captain Janeway just showed me that she does, in her own way." One corner of his mouth quirked at that. "But your way, that's something special. The wine, the pudding…" He rubbed his thumb lightly across my bottom lip, "To say nothing of this kissable mouth." My kissable mouth opened in surprise, and he laughed. "I'm not ready to let you go yet. Unless you want to."

"Oh, well, I guess I could stay for a while," I said, doing my best to make it sound light and casual, a clever trick indeed considering that the lump in my throat was now about the size of Pluto. I slid down into his arms, pressing my face into his chest. One tear sneaked out, I admit that, but I think after all I'd been through that night I deserved to shed that tear. It was a very tiny one. I don't think he even noticed.

One nice consequence of Captain Janeway's visit was that we kind of had to start all over again, which we did, right there on the floor. It didn't seem to take all that long to get back to where we had left off, but it can be hard to judge the passage of time when your dream man is touching you in places where you've only been touching yourself for quite some time! He did a much better job of it than I ever did, too. When he finally cupped his hand around my--umm--female parts, and slipped a fingertip inside me, I was so wet and ready for him that I thought he would probably just ditch the foreplay and go for the main event, but he is obviously a man who likes to take his time. I probably hurried him up a bit at that point, actually, because when he lowered his head and I felt his tongue where his fingers had been, I lost that teeny bit of self control I still possessed. I remember grabbing him around the neck and trying to pull him up. It wasn't that I wanted him to stop what he was doing, you understand. I just wanted all of him touching all of me and I wanted it immediately. Somehow I managed to get the message across, though how he understood what I meant when I said "I need--I want--NOW!", I'll never know! The important thing was that he did, and he immediately took steps to rectify the situation.

He's really big. I know I'm not impressively large myself, height- or weight-wise. My dad used to call me Shrimp, and it had nothing to do with my affinity for seafood. But, honestly, he is solid and muscular, and he obviously was trying to be careful not to hurt me or squash me. And I wasn't having any of that, because I may be small but I'm very strong. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him as close as I could get him, and then I wrapped my legs around him and with a quick thrust of my hips, I took all of him in. I saw those unreadable dark eyes suddenly send me a message I had no trouble interpreting, and I heard him groan before he began to move against me, but then I didn't see or hear anything for quite some time. All I could do was feel, the incredible sensation of his skin against mine, his arms holding me, and his hips pressing me into the floor. He kissed me and I could taste myself on his lips. His hands were everywhere, burrowing in my hair, caressing my face, stroking my breasts, then one moved down between us to touch me intimately. By now he realized that I could take whatever he chose to give, and each thrust was longer and harder as he no longer tried to rein his passion in. I felt that he was close to losing control, even as I knew that I had long ago passed that point. I'm sure I made a lot of noise, urging him on with gasps and moans, my hands roaming restlessly through his hair, over his back, and down to grip his smooth, hard buttocks. Waves of sensation unlike anything I've ever known before shook my whole body, and as I came close to climax I can only remember saying his name, over and over, and then feeling his body suddenly turn to molten steel before he joined me in heaven.

I think it's possible that I actually passed out for a second. When I regained my senses a little I was still holding him tightly, but he had turned onto his side so I didn't have to take his entire weight on me. My head was nestled in the curve of his shoulder and I could feel his muscles still spasming under my hands, just as I could still feel little ripples and shivers shaking my own satiated body. I had liked sex right from the beginning, but to me it had been a diversion, sometimes a lot of fun, usually quite enjoyable, but nothing I couldn't do without if I had to. Then, last night, I found out that with the right man it can be intense and earth-shattering. (I suppose that's not the right term to use when it happens on a starship, but it's all I can come up with.) As I lay there in the afterglow, I knew that I had stumbled onto something rare and a bit frightening. I remembered how desperately I had tried to take him farther and farther inside me, as if he could never be close enough. For a moment I almost didn't want to see his face, because I was suddenly terrified that maybe for him it had been nothing more than a good lay. I shut my eyes tightly and I probably tensed up, because he began to shift around a bit, peeling himself away from the various places we were still stuck together. He sighed once, and I felt his lips in my hair, and I knew he was trying to get my attention without resorting to poking me in the ribs and saying "hey you!" Finally, he nibbled on my ear and whispered my name and I sensed that he was starting to wonder if he had killed me, so I opened my eyes. He was leaning over me, his face in shadow. I could barely make out his features--even the tattoo which usually seemed so stark and unavoidably THERE was barely visible--but I saw him smile when he realized that I was back with him again, and I knew somehow that it had been special for him, too. He kissed the tip of my nose, then shook his head. "There was a perfectly good bed less than three feet away," he commented in wonderment.

"I know, but who thinks about that at times like these?"

"You will tomorrow, I'll bet." He rubbed his hand over my bottom, and sure enough, I could feel the rug burn.

"So, I'll think about you every time I sit down. No big deal."

He glanced a bit sharply at me and I wondered what he was thinking, but he didn't say anything more. After a minute he got up, lifting me with one arm as if I were a child. (Okay, I'm small, I believe we already established that!) He held me that way while he pulled the covers back, then deposited me gently in his bed. I had been wondering if I should maybe be thinking about leaving, but evidently he still wanted me to stay, so I slid over to make room for him and then snuggled down into his sheets. I was feeling surprisingly energized but if he wanted to sleep I was perfectly willing to just lie there and listen to him breathe. Would he snore? No, I couldn't imagine it, though of course there was the wine to consider, and--

He turned me onto my side so I faced away from him. I didn't like that very much--I at least wanted to be able to look at him while he slept--but then he pressed so close that I could feel him all along the length of my body and I decided maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Especially when the hand he had placed on my hip began to move in long, slow strokes from the top of my thigh up to the curve of my breast and back down again.

Hmm.

I wasn't sure how old he was, but there was grey in his hair, so I guessed he was at least in his late thirties, okay? And he'd been through a very long and difficult day, plus he had been drinking, and then there was that wildly passionate interlude on the floor not so very long ago, so was I wrong in assuming that he probably was exhausted, much too tired to want to make love again? Probably he wouldn't even be capable, right? Wrong. I could feel evidence to the contrary beginning to make its presence felt against the rug burn on my derriere, and sure enough, he started to nibble on my shoulder a very short time later. I had never considered myself to be easily aroused, but it took nothing more than that to make me ready for him again. There was something wildly erotic about not being able to see him, or really even touch him very much. He did all the touching and I just lay there and let him. I felt decadent, like he was my body slave and his only mission in life was to satisfy me. Which he did. Repeatedly.

We both fell asleep after that, but I woke up sometime much later because the weight of his arm was beginning to crush my ribs, and it sort of felt like maybe he was drooling on my head. I might have been wrong about that because I was pretty damp everywhere he touched me, his body being one of those that generates an enormous amount of heat even while sleeping. He very obligingly rolled onto his back after I gave him a couple of tiny nudges (and then one really hard poke) but he didn't wake up. I knew I should leave. I definitely shouldn't be there in the morning when he would probably have a hangover and be feeling bad about Seska and maybe even sorry about what happened between us. But, then, why should he be sorry? How could he, anyway, when it had been so incredibly wonderful? Damn him, he had no right to turn me inside out with lust and hopeless dreams and then just cast me aside like it all meant nothing. Obviously it had meant something. Hadn't it?? I was getting really angry by that time. I was even mad that he could sleep so peacefully, as if this had been a night like any other. It didn't seem right somehow, so I started tossing and turning and trying to wake him up so he could be miserable right along with me. He never moved. I pulled all the covers off him, which should have worked because he kept his quarters cold, but even that didn't do the trick. I whispered to the computer to brighten the lights by ten percent, but he didn't so much as flutter an eyelash.

It was the lights that got me, because I could see him more clearly and just the sight of that face was enough to make me fall in love with him all over again, and I stopped being mad as quickly as I had started. I studied his features, trying to decide what it was about him that had attracted me so intensely, but I still don't really have the answer to that question. All I know is that while he slept he looked different, younger and less severe. I had the whimsical thought that making love with me had changed him, softened him somehow, and I liked that idea very much. So much that I couldn't be content to sit there and look at him, pretty soon I had to touch him. I started with just his face, running a fingertip along his jaw and tracing the cleft in his chin. Of course the tattoo got attention, especially the little curved part on his temple which I hadn't actually noticed before. My fingertip just exactly fit into it, as did the tip of my tongue. I knew I should let him sleep. There was that age thing to consider, and we really had had quite a night. I was tired myself, and I'm one of those people who thinks more than five hours of sleep is a waste of valuable time. But then I looked at all that dusky skin and I realized that there were several places I hadn't even touched yet, and who knew if I would ever get another chance? I set about my work, touching and feeling and loving every square inch of his broad smooth chest, noting with interest that he might be sleeping but certain parts of him were beginning to wake up. His dark nipples hardened quickly under my tongue, and when I trailed my hand lightly down across his stomach I could feel the muscles there clench. A quick glance upward assured me that he appeared to be still asleep (though that hardly seemed possible) so I lowered my head a little more and began to nuzzle the soft and tender skin below his navel. I stayed there for a long, long time, with my hair brushing his groin, breathing on him and letting my teeth just barely graze his skin. He smelled musky and sexy and I wondered how much more I could do to him before he figured out what was going on down there, and then suddenly I felt a strong hand on the back of my head and he was pressing my face against him, and I realized that he'd probably been awake all along!

Remember when I mentioned before how big he is? Did I also remember to tell you that he's uncircumcised, which is something new to me and therefore extremely fascinating? I couldn't keep my hands (or my mouth) off of him, not that he appeared at all eager for me to stop. But then, right before the strangled noises he was making and his fists twisting in my hair let me know he was about ready to explode, he suddenly pulled me roughly away, dragging me up until I straddled him. When he thrust upwards I understood for the first time what they mean in the naughty novels I used to like to read when I was a teenager when they say things like "Damien surged against Veronica, impaling her with the strength of his loins, bringing her to shattering, cataclysmic ecstasy." I had never been impaled quite so cataclysmically before. If anyone had been walking by at that time of the morning, I'm sure that my scream and his--umm--what was that, some kind of a war cry?--would have convinced them that we were under attack by rampaging Klingons, at the very least. I really don't think Damien could have done any better, honestly I don't.

Earth-shattering. No doubt about it. I collapsed on top of him, feeling like a little bitty jellyfish washed up on the beach, spineless, brainless, and just sort of floating back and forth with the tide. He was the beach, I guess, or maybe he was the sea. (I'm not good with metaphors.) I felt that his truly outstanding performance deserved some kind of verbal recognition, and I thought about it for some time before I found the right thing to say.

"Wow." (Hey, I was a jellyfish, remember??) Then, "What was that thing you said when we--?" The brain wasn't quite ready for complete sentences yet.

"I said something?"

"Sort of. Maybe it was more of a yell, actually."

"I don't know, you were screaming so loudly I couldn't hear myself."

"I didn't scream. Did I?" I managed to lift up far enough to see that he was laughing at me. I'd never seen him laugh before, and it looked good on him. He seemed younger and more carefree all the time, and I decided that maybe I was exactly what he needed after all. "You needed this," I told him confidently. "You needed me."

"I guess I did." He shifted slightly, sliding me onto the bed next to him but still holding me against his side, then told the computer to dim the lights. "I think what I need now is some sleep," he said firmly. "I have early duty and I don't want to have to explain to Captain Janeway why I can't stay awake."

"I'd like to hear that particular story. Would you tell her that a bold, brash and impudent ensign got you drunk, seduced you, and wore you out?" " I think I would say bold, brash, impudent and very sweet."

"And sexy?"

"And sexy. Go to sleep. That's an order."

"Aye, Commander." I snuggled down a bit deeper and closed my eyes. He fell asleep instantly, but I didn't. I just laid there for a long time, thinking about everything that had happened and wondering what might come of it. I couldn't know what was in his mind, of course. Maybe he didn't know, himself, and maybe now was not the time to hope for something more. I could almost hear the forty or fifty good reasons he could probably come up with to convince me that it would be best if we didn't see each other again. I imagined him coming into Stellar Cartography at the end of his shift, looking very somber, and telling me that I was too young and vital to waste my time on a man who couldn't give me what I needed and what I deserved. He would say that and he would even mean it, I think, because even if he suspected that I was nothing but an empty-headed slut, which of course I'm not, he's too much of a gentleman to allow himself to believe it. (I'm sure he thought Seska was a real princess, too.) How could I not love a man who was so good and so honorable? I decided then and there that whatever he said, I would agree with him. I have to show him that I'm mature and understanding. I have to give him plenty of space--isn't that an ironic turn of phrase? After all, we have a long journey ahead of us, maybe even an unending one, and that gives me all the time in the universe to prove to him that he can't live without me. I knew I was very close to falling asleep then, but before I did I raised my head up to look at him one more time, thinking about our unborn children and smiling to myself. He might think he has something to say about how this is going to turn out, but I know better.