DISCLAIMER: Star Trek Voyager and its characters are the property of Paramount, no infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a bit disjointed but its what dribbled out of mind as I was meant to be working on something else.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
It has been forty-eight hours since I lost my virginity and I have yet to receive a suitable declaration of intent from Lieutenant Torres. I am unsure if her rectitude is a normal sign of social conditioning or something pertaining solely to our fledgling relationship. I have consulted the ship's computer but it gave a less than satisfactory response - I will have to approach the captain about having the system upgraded.
The meagre amount of useful information I did manage to glean has reinforced the notion that as the seduced, I should be the one to wait for the seducer's next overture. I find it an inefficient method but then all aspects of romantic courtship could be categorised as lacking in efficiency. On first noticing the Lieutenant's attraction to me I was fully prepared to initial copulation immediately, but the Doctor persuaded me against it, citing human convention and romanticism as precedents to be followed.
I am tired of acting in such a passive manner.
My sexual encounter with Lieutenant Torres was successful. She expressed her appreciation and delight in my body on several occasions and I managed to bring her to orgasm five times before she fell into an exhausted sleep. I was myself gifted with more physical sensation and pure pleasure than I'd thought possible for such a frail form as the human body, even if it were Borg enhanced.
I cannot believe she has failed to contact me, to arrange a repeat performance, if nothing else. Perhaps I was mistaken, perhaps her entreaties to various religious icons were not a sign of orgasmic pleasure but rather a rare form of vocal tick. I might also have misinterpreted her physical responses to my ministrations. The hot breath, flushed skin and wet folds could mean something else to a half Klingon, even if the feel of her inner walls contracting around my fingers and drawing me in, seemed to scream her pleasure.
If it is not the physical that is keeping her away, then it must be something else. Before she often called me a drone or an unfeeling Borg - if, after our night together, she could still call me those names, then she might balk at entering a relationship with me. If that is the case, then there is nothing I can do. I cannot change my past or pretend that it did not happen. That would be to deny all that I have achieved and all the help I have received.
She did not seem to care about my Borg past as we laid together, bodies entwined and skin burning with the feel of each other. Her fingers played across my implants, memorising their texture and making love to them with butterfly kisses. She grasped my enhanced hand in hers and placed it on her body, pleading for me to touch her - for my Borgness to touch her.
So if not hers, maybe it was the opinions of others. I know how some people view me. The Borg Ice Queen, who has a lump of metal where her heart should be, and those are some of the kinder views. Others just see a murderer. A vile creature who assimilated and destroyed tens of thousands of innocents, not for a moment realising that I myself was one of those innocents; one of those poor people they despise me for devouring. If she listens to them, we are finished.
Two days since I first experienced the feel of her lips pressed against mine; two days since she enclosed me in her arms and made my body hers. Two days. Two glorious and heart-wrenching days.
I need her now. I need her beside me, inside me, astride me. I cannot think without her. I cannot breath. I cannot be. I need her so.
Her look is perplexed but warm - her hands warm but sure - her promises sure and loving.
My heart lost and found.
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