You will think, looking back on it later, that you really should have seen it coming.
Not the fact that Seven pursued you at all, or that you so easily allowed yourself to be caught - that, you recognize, was just this side of inevitable. You always knew that once she decided she wanted something, any resistance was, to use a phrase, futile. So when she came to you with her customary arrogant attitude - which, due to the subject, was in this instance downright cocky and would have been infuriating if it weren’t so damn attractive - any thoughts of token protests over regulations went out the airlock. It didn’t hurt that you did, in fact, want her exactly as much as she said you clearly did.
No, what you should have anticipated - and perhaps would have, if you had allowed yourself in the past to think about it at all - was the way she took you the first time. How she touched and tasted and tormented and made you, unequivocally, hers.
But that’s getting ahead of things.
It’s all your own fault, really. Seven had already managed to completely surprise you with her charming notions of courtship. Most recently, for your sixth date, she had given you a beautiful, elegant burgundy-colored gown and instructed you to meet her in the mess hall at twenty-one hundred hours. When you arrived, you found the room had been turned into a reasonable facsimile of an old-fashioned formal dance hall, with a good number of the crew present and enjoying themselves. You stood marveling, a small smile playing about your lips, then you spied Seven waiting for you near the door and your breath left you.
She was standing in her customary at-attention stance with her hands clasped behind her back, and this trim and proper demeanor was matched by the perfectly tailored tuxedo that she wore as though she were born for it. You couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to wear such a thing, but you certainly weren’t going to complain, and for a long moment you simply stood there as your eyes traveled along the sharp lines of the suit that outlined her features and made her appear positively regal. She had a playful air about her, though, as she quirked an eyebrow and formally held out her right hand to you and nodded to the dance floor, and you could see she was pleased at your reaction.
You regained your faculties and approached her, hesitating briefly before taking her hand as you remembered the incident with Lieutenant Chapman. She noticed and gave you that half-smile of hers that always seems able to make your knees weak.
“I have been practicing, Kathryn. I do not believe I will cause you injury.”
You smiled in return and accepted the proffered hand. She led you into the crowd which automatically made room for their captain, then turned and drew you close, wrapping her other hand around your waist. Your free hand moved to the middle of her back and she began to lead you in a slow dance, both of you taking the time to savor the closeness of the other rather than focus on any formal pattern of movement.
“Did you arrange this?” Tom went gliding by with B’Elanna in tow and he gave you a wink.
“I overheard Neelix commenting that the crew could use a diversion. I took advantage of the occasion and made a few suggestions.”
You trailed your eyes over her form, noting with amusement that the bowtie was slightly askew. You wondered how much aggravation she experienced at the impossibility of achieving symmetric perfection without using a pre-tied tie. “And the suit?”
She glanced at her hand in yours, where the white cuffs of her shirt contrasted with the black jacket. “I was... curious. I do not see the point of constantly wearing multiple layers of clothing and this seemed like an opportune time to investigate the appeal.” She fingered the material of your dress at the small of your back and your breath hitched. “I also believed it would go well with your gift.”
You couldn’t help but agree as you looked around the room, your formal attire standing out in marked contrast to the uniforms of the rest of the crew. You thought of the display you must have been putting on and felt a slight flush start to rise in your cheeks, but when Seven raised your hand to her lips and placed a soft, chaste kiss to your knuckles, you relaxed and marveled at the ease with which the finer points of romance seemed to come to her.
You spent the remainder of the evening in her arms, surrounded by the smiling faces of your crew who clapped in approval every time she dipped or twirled you. By the time the hall died down as alpha shift retired for the night, she had pulled you close enough to her to eliminate any space between your bodies, and you could feel the heat of her skin through your dress as she guided you in a languid swaying rhythm.
The kiss you shared that night outside your quarters, after Seven insisted on walking you home and tilted your head up with a forefinger at your chin, was achingly slow but all the more erotic for it. Her bottom lip lingered over yours when she finally pulled away and bade you good night, leaving you breathless and wondering when she would be ready to make the next step. You weren’t going to move faster than she was comfortable with, but you’d have been lying if you said you weren’t left with more need coursing through your veins than you’d felt in your entire five celibate years in the Delta Quadrant every time she kissed you at the conclusion of your evenings together.
It is in a somewhat distracted state, then, that you admit Seven into your quarters the following night. It is nineteen hundred hours on the dot, which means she’s come to arrange your next date in two days’ time. Eminently punctual and efficient as always.
Ordinarily you would have been reading at this time, but personnel reports had kept you behind in your ready room and you have yet to even sit down to relax. Seven enters to find you standing in full uniform at your desk and her expression quickly shutters from subdued contentment to her usual calm alertness.
You offer her a smile and make your way across the room, leaning on one hand against the table a few paces away from her. “At ease, Seven. I just got in - Chakotay and I had to go over some crew evaluations.”
She moves to you, idly caresses the hand you are leaning on with her Borg one before entwining your fingers together. “You put them off again,” she accuses, eyes bright.
You inch closer. “Who can blame me, when I have much more pleasant ways to occupy my time?”
Seven leans in, her breath falling across your cheek. “Who indeed,” she murmurs, and presses her lips to yours. This kiss, too, is slow, but unlike last night is more of a greeting than a seduction and you feel a pleasant warmth settle inside you at her touch.
You pull back. “Come to set up our next date, I presume?”
“It is a convenient time to do so.”
“Oh, certainly it’s convenient, but Seven, romance isn’t always scheduled so efficiently. We might consider doing something more... spontaneous.”
She quirks her ocular implant. “Spontaneous.”
You give a smirk. “You might find it intriguing.”
“Indeed.” She disentangles your hands but doesn’t move them, merely standing before you, waiting. You decide to suggest you run a holomystery together and open your mouth to do so, but the motion was evidently all the invitation that Seven was waiting for. Before you realize she had even moved, her mouth is crushed against yours and she has moved one hand to your neck, the other to your back and is pressing her body against yours, all hard and soft warmth against your skin, burning even through the layers of your uniform.
You stand dazed for a long moment - dear lord, where did she learn to kiss like this? - until it enters into your mind that this kiss is the sort that one should return with enthusiasm. You bring your hands up to mirror hers and your fingers map the contours of her spine as your tongues dance against each other. You feel a jolt as Seven maneuvers you against the table and presses in closer, giving up the fight with your tongue in favor of taking your bottom lip between her teeth.
A thigh fits itself against the juncture between your legs and you tighten your hold on her body, head falling back. You regret the loss of contact at your lips, but Seven more than compensates by moving to take advantage of the newly exposed expanse of skin, nipping lightly at your throat. She grinds her thigh into you again, her mouth moving against your jaw and a rhythm emerges from her ministrations - caress with the tongue, graze with the teeth, brush with the lips, inflame with the thigh. Tongue, teeth, lips- oh god, thigh.
Seven lets out a sound and moves her hands to your hips, pulling you along with her as she steps backward to your bedroom. She has resumed her bruising kisses along the way so when she finally stumbles against a fallen pillow and moves her hands lower to pull you against her thigh again you are at a loss to explain why you suddenly find yourself standing beside your bed with Seven in your arms feeling for all the world like you’ve just been thoroughly ravished despite the fact that you’re still fully clothed.
You feel breath against your ear and detect a faint Kathryn coming from between Seven’s lips before she moves them to the space between your jaw and the muscle of your neck. Oh god, this is happening. This- Seven starts to roll her hips, causing that thigh to thrust into you even more maddeningly. She’s- this- we’re going to-
A thought occurs to you, and you know you have to acknowledge it before this continues much longer. You bring your hands up to Seven’s shoulders and gently nudge her away. She looks at you in confusion, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, pupils wide and god, isn’t that the most erotic thing you’ve ever witnessed in your life? But you try to shove aside the screaming desires of your body as you move a hand to cup her face, brushing your fingers against the implant near her ear.
“Seven,” you try to say, but your mouth has gone dry at the wanton display before you. You swallow, clear your throat. “Seven, I don’t want to rush things here. When I said I wanted spontaneity, I didn’t mean this.”
She straightens almost imperceptibly. “You do not wish to continue?”
You bite back a laugh. “Oh god, love, no. It took every ounce of willpower I have to get you to stop. I just don’t want you to do anything you may not... be ready for.”
Seven draws back and looks at you curiously. “Kathryn, I believe you may have misunderstood my motivations for progressing our relationship in the manner I have. I haven’t moved slowly because I’m nervous about becoming intimate with you.” Her expression becomes utterly sincere, and for all that the two of you have discussed about your intentions recently, the sight of her leaves you breathless. “I did it because I wished to romance you.”
You glance down and take her hands into yours. “Seven...”
“Kathryn, how exactly do you think being Borg works?” Her expression has changed, and you know at that moment that you’re in trouble. You see challenge in her eyes, in the way her lips are curling into a variant of her half-smile you have never seen before.
You’re stymied by the apparent shift in topic and try to think of an answer, but she continues.
“I have the experiences of millions of individuals stored in my cortical node. As you may recall from the ordeal with the vinculum, these experiences are normally dormant, but I can and do from time to time access them when the occasion calls for it.”
You didn’t know she could still access each individual’s experiences - god, she was in enough anguish about those assimilated personalities when she didn’t have control over them, what must she go through every time she willingly accesses someone’s memories in service to the ship? You draw her hands closer, but she must note your growing concern and forestalls it.
“We can have a philosophical discussion about this later, Kathryn. I merely want to explain that I am not naive when it comes to romantic relationships, because I have the experiences of millions of people to draw upon should I wish it. I do not do so very often, but I am able to observe their interactions and compile statistical correlations regarding their behavior and use them to both explain and predict the behavior of those around me.” She raises her eyebrow expectantly, as though you should understand her point now.
Confusion must register on your face, though, because she inches closer, seeming to tower over you, and clarifies in a low voice. “Of the millions of individuals, one thousand five hundred twenty-four were human females who engaged in intimate relationships with other human females. So I assure you, Kathryn, I know exactly what I am doing.”
You want desperately to be able to move, to be able to say something, even just to joke that at least that makes one of you, but her touch on your hands has you rooted to the spot and you find yourself unable to react.
Seven leans in, murmurs over the top of your ear. “I have observed you for several years, have cataloged your responses to various external stimuli, every nuance of every expression. I know how you will respond to my touch, Kathryn. I know what will make you whimper, what will make you gasp, make you moan, make you scream my name in ecstasy. I can do it with only a touch and a whisper, and before I am through you will be begging me for more.”
You whimper at that, and Seven, damn her, smirks. This certainly isn’t how you imagined your first time together turning out, but, you think as Seven steps back and rakes her eyes over you, you’re not about to turn down the chance to see this unexpected side of her. She raises her hands to the collar of your uniform jacket, slides two fingers of her left underneath the material, takes the zipper between the thumb and forefinger of her right. Both hands trail down together, the harsh sound of the fastening tempered by the light rustling of Seven’s fingers against dual layers of clothing. When she at last reaches the end of the zipper she slides her hands around to the small of your back and grasps the fabric, pulling it up and untucking it inch by inch as she brings her hands back around to your stomach.
She lingers there briefly, and for a moment you swear you can feel her pulse through her fingertips. Then Seven’s hands trail up again, snaking their way under the jacket as they near your shoulders. Her eyes return to yours as she begins to push it down your arms, taking her time to map their contours as she travels their length. She deftly catches the jacket when gravity asserts itself and moves to carefully lay it on a nearby chair.
Seven straightens, then looks at you wonderingly. She reaches out to your neck and takes the fabric at the collar of your long-sleeved shirt between her thumb and forefinger and you feel a shock at the point of contact with your skin. She rolls the material between her fingertips.
“I love the sight of you in this. The way it clings to your skin, outlines your muscles and breasts.” At this, she brings her other hand up and together her palms begin to move along your upper arms, tracing symmetric paths and hovering so close you can’t tell whether she’s actually touching you. “On more than one occasion, I prolonged a late-night philosophical discussion merely so that I may commit the sight of you in this garment to memory.”
Your breath catches at that revelation; you knew, from what Seven had told you, that she desired you physically, but the knowledge that she had been practically ogling you - that this extraordinary example of feminine perfection had looked at you with a lustful eye above all others - is almost too much to bear. You want to say something, but refrain for fear of breaking the spell she has so easily cast over you.
Seven pauses, seems to consider something. Her hands move back to your collar and again two fingers slide between the fabric and your throat, this time at the four rank insignia fastened there. She caresses the pips fondly for a moment with her thumb, then begins to remove them. “I love the captain,” she murmurs, briefly moving away from you to place the pips on the nightstand, “but I wish to see more of the woman you are underneath. You do too much, Kathryn.”
You begin to think that you would do anything to get her to keep saying your name that way, and wonder what observations led her to conclude it would have this effect on you. She leans forward then, her lips hovering mere millimeters from yours and your unconscious attempt to meet them is silently rebuffed as she correspondingly draws back, keeping the distance between you the same. Seven looks at you with a lidded gaze, the blue of her eyes obscured both by her lashes and her still-dilated pupils.
Her hands come to your waist again, and as she grasps your shirt her knuckles brush against your skin. When she speaks, her lips have not moved from their place next to yours, and you can feel her form the words. “If you would assist me, Kathryn.”
Your arms rise in tandem with hers and she efficiently pulls your shirt over your head. You are dimly aware of your skin flushing at your exposure as she lays the garment over the jacket, but any thoughts of embarrassment disappear when Seven turns her gaze to your breasts and her breath visibly quickens. You wonder if the increasing stiffness of your nipples is discernible through the material of your bra.
Seven’s outstretched right hand seems determined to investigate the matter, but at the last moment of its approach she shifts to instead trace her index finger over the freckles that dot your chest. Her eyes meet yours briefly and she seems amused at your frustration. Her expression changes to one of affection, though, as she moves her eyes back down to her point of contact with your skin.
“Do you know how endearing these are?” You wonder at the tone of her voice. “I have seen them before, when I wait for you in sickbay after you’ve gotten yourself injured. When I see them then, my heart aches and I want nothing more than to take you into my arms and keep you from the things that would cause you harm. I know then what it is to love another so much that it is painful.”
Her voice has grown noticeably thick, and you know yours would possess a similar quality if you could find your words. Instead you watch as she continues to draw patterns among your freckles for a long, silent moment.
Seven’s demeanor shifts and she stops her movements, firmly splaying the length of her fingers against your sternum. “I also see them, on occasion, when you allow yourself to be casual among your crew. When you wear that white open-collar blouse, and seem able to smile more freely.” She resumes tracing your freckles, this time lightly raking her nails over your skin. “I can see your freckles then, and I can think only of pressing my lips to them and uncovering more. I confess, on the occasion that I allow my thoughts to wander to more prurient interests, it is often images of you in that shirt that come to mind.”
You feel a surge of electricity rush through you at that. Did she just say she masturbates to thoughts of me? -Oh god, Seven masturbates? The thought had never occurred to you, though given this recent discovery that she isn’t as naive about sex as you had believed, you suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise. An image of Seven in the midst of such an activity - one hand pressed between her legs, the other covering a breast, eyes screwed shut and breath coming in pants - suddenly appears in your mind, and you let out a low “oh god” as your knees go weak.
Seven places her hands on your hips, lightly supporting you even as she smirks again. “I know that you also think of me in your moments alone, when you feel the lack of any intimate touch most keenly.” You wonder if she is looking into your eyes as she says these things. You don’t dare to find out, though, as you doubt that you would be able to resist touching her if your eyes met at this moment, and you want nothing more than to see where Seven is leading you.
“I can see it in your eyes when you look at me the next day and blush so faintly that only I am able to notice, and you look as though you feel guilty. You believe you should not harbor such thoughts about members of your crew, certainly not in the dark of the night when you are indulging your base desires.”
She steps an inch closer and moves her hands to your back. The pads of her fingertips brush over you on their way up your spine and the contrasting sensations from her skin and Borg mesh cause a shiver to run through you.
“I suspect you fight against any images rising unbidden to the front of your mind, but when you are at your peak you find it impossible to resist whatever image of me may appear. For this you feel guilt, as though you have violated me in some way. But Kathryn-” Seven leans forward and whispers into your ear as she unclasps your bra. “I do not mind.”
You can’t help it - another whimper makes its way out of you and she responds with a quirk of an eyebrow. Her hands resume their journey upward, coming to rest on your shoulders where she hooks a finger under each strap and slides them off to come to rest over the curves of your biceps. As she has pressed herself against you, the bra doesn’t fall away immediately; instead she follows the length of the straps to where they connect to the material covering your breasts, then takes a half step back as she guides it down and away.
Seven carelessly discards this garment, tossing it in the general direction of the other clothing she has removed as she unabashedly takes in the sight of your naked torso. “You are perfection, Kathryn.” This time her approaching hand does not disappoint, and you think it is a miracle your knees don’t give way as she reverently cups your left breast in her right hand, palm over the hardened nipple.
She holds her hand there for a beat, then without warning shifts the angle of her wrist as her mouth comes to take the place of her palm. The sound you make as she latches her teeth onto your nipple is unfamiliar to you - a gasp, perhaps, or a moan, or a strangled version of her name. But whatever it is, it seems to encourage her, and she darts her tongue across the bit of your flesh caught between her teeth. Your hands fly to her shoulders but fall away when she straightens just as abruptly as she had ducked down.
The entire operation had taken only seconds, but it leaves you disoriented and as you shift your weight from your left leg to your right you become aware of the copious amount of moisture that has gathered at their juncture. Seven intercepts your hands that had been unconsciously coming to settle on her hips to help you maintain your balance and she gently pushes you against the bed, guiding you to a sitting position on its edge.
“Remove your boots, Kathryn,” she murmurs, more of a request than the command the words suggest.
You blink, then regain your bearings enough to bend down to work at removing your boots and socks. You marvel at how this woman can make you act like an unpolished first year cadet as you struggle to pull the second boot off over your heel, eventual success coming with an undignified jerk backwards as you kick it away with more force than necessary. Task accomplished, you look back up at Seven and-
“Oh my god,” you moan, staring uncomprehendingly at Seven, who, in the time it took you to remove your footwear, has managed to divest herself of her biosuit and now stands before you utterly, gloriously, naked. Your eyes can’t seem to decide where to look, and your gaze rapidly darts from her breasts and their stiffening nipples to the large spiderweb implant on her right arm, to the smooth muscles of her stomach interspersed with metal ridges, to the tantalizing thatch of hair at the apex of seemingly endless legs, and back again.
You’re still staring, trying to memorize every magnificent inch of her, when she steps closer to you. For a moment you have a closeup view of her stomach and reach out to touch it, but she grasps your hands and pulls you to standing again. Seven takes care to not allow your breasts to touch hers, but that doesn’t prevent you from continuing to examine them even as she makes quick work of your uniform trousers and slides them together with your underwear off your hips. She lowers herself to one knee in front of you as she guides your remaining clothing down your legs, and when she has gently lifted each ankle in succession to help you step out of them, you find yourself standing nude before an equally unclothed Seven of Nine, whose position kneeling at your feet means she can know just how much she has been affecting you with only a glance.
Her hands travel up your legs to come to rest on your hips, her forearms settled against the outside of your thighs, and she massages the bone lightly with her thumbs. You feel her breath flow over your skin as she leans forward to press a kiss to the slight roundness of your stomach. She looks up at you then and you know this image of her will be burned into your mind forever, lack of an eidetic memory be damned.
Seven nudges you backward and starts to rise. “Lie back,” she instructs, and you reach behind you to blindly shove the blankets out of the way before lying down in the middle of bed. She soon follows, straddling you with her knees on either side of your hips. You have a more unobstructed view of her from this angle, and as you settle your hands on her thighs you wonder if she’s as unimaginably wet as you are.
“I can smell your arousal, Kathryn.” She covers your hands with hers and moves them over your head as she leans down to whisper in your ear. “I think I shall enjoy your taste.”
That settles it, then: it’s physiologically impossible for Seven to be anywhere near as aroused as you are at that moment. You let out a moan as her words send a shock from her lips on your ear to your toes and everywhere in between.
She releases your hands and settles her left near your shoulder. You feel her right hand come in between you, migrating down your bodies, and you tense against the anticipated touch. A fingertip brushes against your hair, but soon disappears. You want to curse her for making you wait again, then become aware of clearly rhythmic movement against your stomach. You look down.
“Oh...” You cannot prevent the escape of another moan as your eyes fall upon Seven’s hand pleasuring herself. Her eyes meet yours and the fire in them is incongruously matched by the resolute serenity on her face. She smiles.
“You wish that I would do this to you.” It’s not a question. “Believe me when I say, Kathryn, that I would like nothing more than to bury myself inside of you.”
You swallow a whimper at that, and somehow manage to choke out a sentence. “Don’t hesitate on my account.”
Her hand stills. “No, Kathryn. It is my intention to drive you to the brink of madness with as little contact as possible.”
“Why?” You hope that didn’t sound as petulant as you think it did.
“Because I can.” Seven settles back against her heels, and now you have a clear view of her middle finger where it has resumed its slow circles against her clit. She tilts her head and looks at you as though it is the most natural thing in the world for her to be masturbating while straddling you.
“You seemed surprised to learn that I have done this in the past. I believe you may be even more intrigued to know that each occasion was precipitated by something you had done.” Your breath hitches as her finger momentarily dips lower to draw up some of her moisture. “The first instance was not long after my sexuality had begun to reassert itself, and I observed you clad in nothing but a towel when I interrupted your shower one evening. I found I was unable to regenerate for thoughts of you, and both my instincts and my research led me to believe self-stimulation was the solution.”
She withdraws her finger and gives it a cursory glance, then raises her hand to her left breast and spreads the moisture over the nipple, pinching it. You screw your eyes shut and press your head deeper into the pillow at that.
“At first I attempted to keep myself to this type of stimulation,” she says, returning her finger to its ministrations between her legs, “since it seemed less... messy than the alternative. However, there were times when I felt as though I would be driven mad with the need for penetration.”
With this, her finger moves lower and partially disappears, and you see her hand begin to move in a slow thrusting rhythm.
“I imagine that you are in such a state at this moment, Kathryn. That you are aching with an undeniable need for my touch inside of you.” She appears to let her control falter momentarily, to let her face show you the pleasure she is giving herself and denying to you and she closes her eyes briefly as she continues her shallow thrusting. When she reopens them her mask has returned, and with it the challenge in her eyes.
“Do you want me to penetrate you, Kathryn?”
More images flash through your mind and your hips surge forward, seeking any contact with her they can find. A guttural sound rumbles from your throat.
“What did you say?” Seven murmurs, and you can almost hear a throaty chuckle in her voice. Her hand withdraws and approaches your hip, outstretched finger still glistening with her wetness.
Your mind races with incoherent supplications. Dear god yes please anything touch me want you now now now. “Yes,” you croak.
Seven shifts so that she is now kneeling between your legs rather than over them and gently pushes your right leg aside, exposing you. You bend your knee, drawing it up into the air to give her better access, angling your hips toward her touch. Her finger languidly trails down your hip, seemingly unaware of the fire it is causing to course through your veins. It doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop, only glides along your skin and for breathless moments that small point of contact becomes the only thing in the universe until finally it reaches the curve of your labia and continues on to dip lightly into your wetness.
You let out a gasp and Seven’s free hand comes to press firmly against your hip, preventing you from meeting her touch. Her finger’s journey slows infinitesimally as it draws nearer to your clit but to your dismay reverses before reaching it, instead moving back to your entrance and you feel a slight pressure. A fingertip burrows between your folds, your muscles clench in anticipation, then-
Nothing. Seven withdraws completely and you actually let out a sob at the abrupt loss of contact. She raises her finger to her lips and as her tongue emerges to clean it with deliberate slowness you find you’re unable to look away out of both captivation and sheer disbelief that she would do this to you.
“Seven,” you plead, hands clawing at the bed in a desperate attempt to release some of the tension building within you.
“In due time, Kathryn.” Seven shifts again, bending low over your stomach with her forearms resting on the bed on either side of you. Her fingers reach out to rake her nails almost imperceptibly along your ribcage as she blows a cool stream of air over you and she seems intrigued when you shiver. She drops her head and licks a broad, short path along the plane of your stomach. Another cool breath flows over you and the sudden chill of the wet skin against the searing heat of the rest of your body causes another shiver to run through you.
“Ohhh...” You don’t know how much more of this you can take, and if you break down you’re not sure whether you’ll be driven to seize her hand and thrust it inside of you or roll her over and grind yourself against her leg in a desperate frenzy more befitting a teenager than a starship captain. She looks up at you and you hope she will note what is surely a pitiful need in your eyes and return her hands to more productive pursuits, but she ignores it and shifts her gaze to her next target and her lips curl. Your eyes widen. She wouldn’t.
She does. Her teeth graze across your breast, coming to rest below the nipple and she darts her tongue out to make circles around it, occasionally delivering a deft flick. You nearly climax from the sensation but it’s just shy of being enough, and you swear that if Seven knew this touch would have exactly that effect you’ll-
“Oh god,” you moan as Seven bites down on the nipple in her mouth and pinches the other with her Borg hand. Your vision dims for a moment and you wonder how long it’s been since you were able to take in enough oxygen. “Seven...” you gasp. “I need...” What? You search for words, can find only one. “Please.”
Seven moves backward slightly, wrapping her arm around your leg that is bent with the knee in the air. She turns her head and presses her lips to the inside of your thigh, drawing her other hand down your body to come to rest on your hipbone.
“There is one thing you must do,” she says, her breath tickling your skin. Your back arches as you try to bring your hips nearer to her. She’s close, so close, but not close enough and you just need-
You feel two fingers brush against your opening. Your eyes lock onto hers and the way she is looking up at you with her head angled toward your body is nothing short of predatory. As her fingers merely hover over you for the longest moment of your life you’re unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to do anything but wait for her to grant you release.
“Scream for me, Kathryn.” Seven bites the skin of your inner thigh and thrusts her fingers into you with one swift motion, burying them to the knuckle, and immediately begins a furious rhythm with her thumb on your clit and fingers inside you as she strikes your gspot again and again and again-
You have no choice but to comply; her name erupts from your throat, then, but whether it is a benediction or a curse, neither of you can tell for sure.
When you come back to yourself, seconds or perhaps centuries later, Seven is reclining on her elbow beside you, a splayed hand on your stomach rising and falling with your gasping breath. Her thumb lazily moves back and forth as she looks down at you, and you think if anyone else on the ship were ever to see the smile on her face at that moment, you would surely have to kill them. This moment, this woman - god, this woman - is yours, as utterly belonging to you as she just so plainly demonstrated you belong to her, and in an instant you are filled with the overpowering need to show her.
As soon as you’ve regained control of your limbs.
“Seven, I...” You hesitate, then let out a laugh. “I could try to tell you how incredible that was, but I get the feeling you already know.”
She smiles indulgently at you. “I do, Kathryn.”
“So what do your statistical correlations tell you now?”
“That you wish to ravish me. And that I wish to let you.”
You close your eyes at the images that conjures - your mouth on her breasts, her throat bared beneath you, her hands tangled in your hair as you taste her - and when you open them again Seven is wearing the most incredibly smug expression you’ve ever seen in your life. “You know, Seven, some people might find that know-it-all quality of yours to be insufferable.”
“It’s fortunate that it is one of the things you love about me, then.”
You grin ferally and roll her onto her back, straddling her with your mouth at her ear. “Lucky for you.”