Another (very) short fic I wrote and posted to Archive of Our Own here.
She’s stalking around the table, lighting here and there like a lazy cat.
She’s beautiful, frightening. Like those thunderstorms she loves so much.
She’s got her hair back in that ivory clip again today, the one she wore when we got stuck in the twentieth century.
And what is that perfume? Is it a floral? Whatever it is, it’s so her. Tantalizing, full, but light, with just a hint of cedar.
She’s coming closer. I hope she actually stops here this time. It’s like Russian Roulette with her. Only I’m the only one playing.
She’s passing Tuvok, Neelix, Tom… she’s a step away. Was that her hand? Her hand is on my shoulder. Her hand is on my shoulder.
Her hands are so warm. What I wouldn’t give to have those hands in my hair.
Her lips are so perfect. That lipstick suits her. Feminine and powerful.
I love the way she says “omicron”. Her mouth in that “o”, I can see her tongue. That tongue…
Is that a new freckle? It is. She’s got one coming in on her neck, just above her collar. That stupid collar.
I want to rip it off of her, map every freckle with my—
She’s staring at me, those warm steel eyes that I could just sink into, one of her warm hands on her soft hip.
I could just sink my teeth into —
Harry stifles a laugh beside me. I kick him under the table.
She saw it. She’s smiling. She’s smirking. She’s smirking.
“I asked you how much we had left in our omicron stores.”
“Uh… about three weeks— no, five. Five weeks in stores.”
She pats my shoulder.
“Good thing, then, eh?”
Good thing you’re about to keep moving, hopefully, because if you keep that hand there I might have to—
She slides her hand off my shoulder, makes her way back to her throne.
"Alright, everyone. Dismissed."
I want to hang back, make up an excuse to talk, and then when everyone leaves, rip that uniform right down the middle and just—
Wait. “Good thing” what?