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For someone who had unwillingly spent the first third of her life not sleeping at all and the next third fitfully swapping off between sleep and regeneration (this more recent third has seen a far easier marriage of her two previously disparate worlds), the xB captain known affectionately to her crew as Seven of Nine sure does like to curl into the blankets of whichever and whatever bed she’s in.
Case in point, Raffi muses as she steps out of the bathroom of the quarters they’re absolutely not sharing (she, who always has her ear to the ground when it comes to the whispering of the crew, most certainly knows that no one actually buys their “not together” act) and sees her still slumbering, naked lover sprawled out in their bed, face smushed into the pillows, blonde hair everywhere.
It’s quite the visual, honestly and for a few seconds, Raffi just stares. Because this is their life together. Surreal and inexplicable, but theirs.
Stepping forward, she whispers, “Seven,” and almost immediately gets a mumbled reply that sounds a lot like, “come back to bed, Raff.”
So she does, because what kind of XO would she be if she didn’t carry out her captains’ orders to the very best of her ability. That said ability involves logical creativity, intellectual agility and physical prowess is entirely beyond the point (or perhaps it isn’t, Raffi muses as her dark eyes track a line of fading bruises running the length of Seven’s back, each of the previous deep-suction kisses running vertical to the delicate ports that are merged with her metal spine.)
Slowly, diligently, she makes her way back over to their bed and slips back under the blankets, intending to reach for the xB and draw her closer, but before she’s able to even start to, Seven is turning in her arms and digging in deep, her head burrowing against Raffi’s collarbone as her arms encircle her XO’s frame. And then, because Seven really has become a bit of a blanket fiend along the way, she reaches out with one hand and yanks the thick quilt back over both of them, creating a kind of fluffy nest of sorts.
It’s ridiculous; no one would ever believe it a natural fit for women such as they. Two warriors, who have been forced to face just how awful the universe can truly be on more than a few dark occasions. Two women, who have had some of the worst of humanity thrown at them and somehow managed to survive with their souls still intact (Raffi knows Seven would dispute this - Seven, who continues to doubt the existence of a thing such as a soul even as she struggles night and day with choices she hadn’t made, but nonetheless will forever have to contend with the fallout of). The strangest irony of all being that neither of them would ever presume to call themselves a hero even as they staunchly insist that their partner absolutely is one.
“No thinking,” Seven mutters as she nuzzles closer, so at ease like this. So content.
It’s enough to make warmth bubble up in the middle of Raffi’s chest, spreading outwards and through her as she considers the woman slumbering against her. As she considers her life.
No one could ever have seen this coming, least of all her.
A year ago, she’d been in the dark, rainwater and piss drenched alleys of M’Talas, struggling against every corrosive itch she’s ever known even as she’d wondered how - or if - she’d be eulogized. As a fighter or as an addict? As an officer or as a wash-out? As a lover or as an ex?
Surviving to tell another story- a better story - just hadn’t seemed in the cards.
And yet.
Two incredibly long years ago, she’d been gasping and bruised, slumped just barely conscious against the cold wall of La Sirena, watching Seven shake and shudder as blood had pooled beneath her tubule-ravaged body. The chances of either of them (but especially the mortally wounded Seven) making it through the hour - never mind the day - had seemed remote.
And yet.
Three years ago, while still desperately struggling against her addictions and her anger over being abandoned, she’d been facing off against Tal Shiar assassins and dealing with synth bullshit and each day she’d wondered when it was all going to blow up in her face again.
And it had…it had all blown up, but she had survived.
They had survived. Together, somehow. Or maybe because they’d been together.
“Raff,” she hears Seven mumble from where she’s still pressed up against the XO’s chest.
“Yeah, honey?” Raffi answers as she tugs the heavy blanket up further over them, immediately hearing a soft sigh of contentment from the blonde as the quilt covers her shoulders and bare back. Due to all the metal running through the captain’s body, she tends to always run cold and the older she’s gotten, the more she’s become aware of it. Clothing layers help, but she’s told Raffi on more than a few occasions that the XO’s nearly blistering hot skin helps far more.
An admission that had delighted Raffi to no end.
“Will you tell me a story?”
Raffi’s eyebrow lifts. “A story? What kind of story?”
“One of yours,” Seven answers as she lifts her face and nuzzles Raffi’s neck. It’s the lazy snap of teeth against Raffi’s superheated skin that tells the XO just how content her lover is.
One, two, three years ago, neither of them would have ever believed this possible.
“I have many stories,” Raffi reminds her, a hand raising and fingers weaving through silken blonde waves “Do you want romance on Hartosi IV or pistols drawn at dawn on Jupiter?”
“Neither. Tell me about the stars.”
“The stars?” Raffi queries, blinking in surprise at the request. “Baby, there’s not a single story about the cosmos - legend, myth or otherwise - that you don’t know already.”
Seven leans up, then, and in one fluid motion, captures Raffi’s mouth, a hand sliding behind the Intelligence Officer’s slim neck as Seven deepens the kiss and pushes her XO back towards the mountain of pillows beneath them. “Tell me a story,” Seven repeats and then she’s kissing her way down Raffi’s jaw.
“A story,” Raffi repeats, wondering how exactly she’s supposed to manage that right now.
Or anything else that requires thought.
It gets worse (or better, definitely better) because then Seven is trailing her lips from jaw to throat and shifting her body so that she’s effectively straddling Raffi’s. And really, no one can blame Raffi for being rendered momentarily mute by the sheer force of Seven’s passion.
“Sev, if you want a story,” Raffi whines and she’d scold herself if she didn’t think her inability to string more than a few words together when Seven does this to her wasn’t understandable.
Even expected.
“I want a story,” Seven confirms and then she’s sliding fingers under the thin tank that Raffi had tossed on when she’d crawled out of bed to use the head a while ago.
“Girl meets girl, falls head over ass for girl, gets fucked by girl, gets to do cool shit with girl.”
“Mm. Not the story I was expecting,” Seven notes as she trails her mouth down from neck to chest and nuzzles her face against cloth covered breasts, seeming to enjoy the moan she receives. Well, Seven always has been a bit of a troll, Raffi muses as the captain continues.
Continues teasing and tormenting her. In all the best ways, of course.
“Do you not like it?” Raffi asks, her head falling back into the pillows as Seven seals her very wet mouth over one of Raffi’s cloth covered nipples, exerting the slightest bit of suction.
“I like everything about you,” Seven answers when she finally pulls back, her blue eyes (deep and rich, heavy with lust in a way that makes Raffi’s entire body tingle) carefully appraising Raffi as the Intelligence Officer lies prone (and damp) in front of her. “Especially your voice.”
“My vo...voice?”
“I love how when you tell me a story, it ebbs and tides with every word,” Seven explains and then she’s dropping down and kissing Raffi again, her lips soft and furious, demanding and providing. Her hands start roaming, slipping back under Raffi’s tank and rucking it upwards.
Raffi calls out, “Computer, how long until Alpha shift is due on duty?”
Dutifully, the computer replies (just as Seven lowers her wet, incredibly hot mouth down to Raffi’s now entirely exposed chest), “Four hours, sixteen minutes and twelve seconds.”
“That should be long enough,” Raffi manages, fingers weaving back into Seven’s hair, her nails scratching at the blonde’s scalp in a way that she knows that her lover quite enjoys.
“For a story?” Seven asks as she changes breasts, eyelashes fluttering.
“For a story,” Raffi confirms and then starts to talk.
Every word the start of a ballad, every sentence ringing with the beauty of a sonnet, and every paragraph molding and melding together to create the most epic of romantic poems.
And the stars? Well…they’re everywhere all at once. Dancing, playing, shining.
As bright as Seven? No, no, of course not (and Seven laughs when she says this and it takes everything she has to hold her body back at just the joy she hears), but still…they shine.
They shine and brazenly, brilliantly, she and Seven shine along with them.
For a woman who’d spent the first third of her life regenerating while standing instead of lying down while sleeping, Seven sure has made up for lost time, Raffi thinks as she stands in the doorway of the bedroom and observes the blonde captain snuggled deep into their blankets.
Her bare back is exposed, those previous bruises made whole and dark again.
Not unlike the colorful bite marks littered across Raffi’s own lean frame (especially on her left shoulder and under the soft curve of her right breast). Absent a dermal regenerator (and Raffi would never allow it), she’ll feel them for the next few days. Every time she moves her body.
She wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s time to get up, time to get moving - they’re both due on shift in thirty minutes and Seven needs at least fifteen to shower, dress and have her first overly strong cup of coffee. And still Raffi lingers in the doorway, just watching, her eyes sweeping across every inch of bare skin.
Across the ease with which Seven sleeps.
Across the way Seven clutches the pillow to her so that she can press her face into it.
She’s utterly and entirely defenseless like this, susceptible to attack from unknown assailants and yet, almost inexplicably, her beloved captain is entirely calm and content.
At peace.
Raffi approaches, a hand resting gently on Seven’s back, fingers lightly stroking.
Softly, she says, “I have a question for you.”
Seven, apparently awake, but still dozing, murmurs, “Mmm.”
“Are you happy?” Raffi asks, her tone tender and without demand. Curious, but hopeful.
Seven turns then, strands of unkempt blonde hair spilling forward into her face as she looks up at Raffi. Her hand lifts and trails across Raffi’s face, from brow to jaw and then settles lightly on her XO’s lips. “More than I ever believed possible,” Seven answers without pause. “Are you?”
Raffi lifts her own hand, takes Seven’s enhanced one within it, entangles them together and brings them both to her mouth, her lips gentle against flesh. “I have a story. It’s not about the stars, but maybe it is. It’s not about a girl, but maybe it is. It’s about you and it's about me.”
“Will you tell me it?”
“Until the stars burn out.”
“Beyond,” Seven requests, intense blue eyes meeting hers, the soul Seven isn’t sure she has finding Raffi’s own with ease, their joined hands tightening, Raffi’s lips still against them.
“Yes,” Raffi agrees. “Beyond.”
-FIN :D