Chapter Text
Seven watched Kathryn’s hands work the pie crust for the fourth time in 2.8666 minutes, and she had to close her eyes. Her own mixing bowl, a failed attempt at butter based confection, forgotten. Seven knew this was not the place to remember the tensile strength of those fingers. Certainly not. Nor was it the appropriate time to remember the exact curl and pressure they could apply, the knowledge of her body they possessed. She swallowed, an irrepressibly human reflex-she could almost feel their phantom thrust-
“Seven, darling, are you well?”
Seven calmly lifted her gaze through her lashes, and leveled Kathryn what she hoped was an even unaffected expression.
“I’m operating within expected parameters. Why do you ask?” She was proud she managed the phrase so blandly when she could almost feel her heartbeat in her teeth . Upon reflection, she considered it was likely only her implants thrumming in sympathy with the toy that whirred away.
Kathryn’s lips twitched up, the crooked smirk that Seven was so fond of kissing from her face. “Oh, no reason.”
She wiped her hands on her apron leaving a steak of white against the fabric that Seven did not notice. Absolutely not. She certainly didn’t imagine it in another context. Not rushed hot exchanges, teeth and tongues, nor silk and sweat and something sweet- not flour No. No, this drone will not dwell on such things.
Janeway seemed to grin knowingly at her as she reached for the rolling pin. Again, Seven did not observe the subtle strength of Janeway’s slim fore arms as she rolled, nor the gentle flex of her shoulders. Seven did not regard such actions with misplaced hunger, with the knowledge of how those hands felt against her back. Digging desperately into muscle and skin, skating the edges of circuitry. This was after all, traditional recreational activity. Christmas baking. Humans don't like to taint the sacred. Or, is it they ‘got off’ on it? Seven still occasionally had difficulty remembering upon which occasions tradition could be flouted, and which to observe religiously. Current circumstances not withstanding.
With a deft flick of her wrist, Janeway had the pie crust over the edge of the roller and was draping it delicately over the scalloped edges of the pyrex pie dish that her mother had gifted them last year.
“You burn water, but you aim to produce a pie?” Seven dead panned. Her mouth was dry, despite herself- Despite my superior physical strength, resilience and will- she was beginning to feel... taxed. She loathed to lose. For a moment she almost couldn’t remember past the burning need growing between her thighs, how she’d ended up in this predicament. Untill Kathryn’s eyes pierced her with an altogether too smug expression. Seven’s stomach rolled with desire and annoyance. She remembered now. Pride. A human quirk.
Kathryn appraised Seven from the other side of the granite counter top. She trailed a finger lazily through the flour there, a winding spiral and Seven felt it against her skin as if it were a brand. Almost involuntarily, she traced the same pattern along the roof of her own mouth. Seven refused to pant- to show any outward signs she was affected. Finally, Kathryn’s gaze settled on the tension in Seven’s shoulders, the way she her hands clutched a little too tightly at the empty cookie tray. Janeway’s voice lowered, her mouth dipping down in a frown as she feigned concern.
“It must be too much for you sweetheart, to follow instructions. I can lower the setting if it’s unbearable.”
Seven felt her muscles clench at the prospect, a sudden unwillingness to let the toy go a fear of emptiness and an intense need for more. If it had been pride that brought her here, Seven felt no shame in expressing more. Instigating could force her hand. She wants you to- she wants you too. She diced to play coy. A double entendre.
“That it is not enough, Kathryn, is what is unbearable,” Seven gestured to the small oven, “You can change the settings all you will, but this task would be accomplished more efficiently if-“
Janeway made a casual motion against the remote in her pocket, and Seven’s knees nearly buckled. She knew she was gripping- twisting the baking sheet, that she would leave indentations, maybe even her metal capped fingerprints. Her throat worked, but all she could think about was the exact frequency of the vibration, about the elevated rate of Janway’s respiration in response, the flush across her cheeks as she licked her lips. Seven swallowed down the groan, refusing to be voice it. But she wanted badly to taste the spot behind Kathryn’s ear, sample the freckles along her spine. To bend her over the bed. Again. Seven blinked hard to dispel the image. She watched instead, unable to stop herself, as Janeway finished the pie, delicately crimping the top edges with the tines of small silvered fork. Her composure made Seven’s lack of mental discipline all the more apparent as she waited patiently. Eventually, Kathryn asked,
“ 'If' what, starshine?” She leaned across the island, brushing their fingers together nearly innocently. “If you can’t take the heat-“
“If you finish that trite human colloquialism I’ll-“
“You’ll what? Threaten me with a good time?” Janeway fairly purred the words, and her fingers braceletted Seven’s left hand, stroking her thumb along the seam where metal kissed flesh along the inside of her wrist. “Perish the thought.”
Seven’s nostrils flared and she resisted the urge to grind her teeth. The terrible, terribly pleasant throbbing had grown worse, and she knew that Kathryn must have palmed the remote again. Infact, when Seven opened her eyes again, she saw that Janeway had put the little device within reach of Seven’s hand.
“Here’s how this will finish dear heart,” Kathryns voice was sultry and rich and it made Seven shiver in a way that should have been out of place in their kitchen loaded with kitsch holiday decoration. “ All you have to do, is admit it.”
Seven snorted. “No.”
Kathryn tisked.
She carefully opened the oven, slotted the pie inside, and keyed the timer. Then she neatly untied her apron and hung it on a peg near the pantry. She didn’t say more as she sauntered back towards the living room where the fire crackled.
“Where are you going?” Seven did not like how needy her voice sounded.
“To enjoy the fire.”
Somehow, she knew that wasn’t true- or all of the truth. Kathryn was an astute statesmen, a deft political and diplomatic opponent. And devious- an imaginative lover. Straining to hear over the distance, Seven heard with a twist of hope and apprehension, the sound of Kathryn dragging her sweater over her head, and the short metallic hiss of her slacks unzipping.
“Without me?”
“Not by my design” Came Janeway’s voice, muffled as-Seven guessed- she drew her undershirt free too, “You didn’t finish yet.”
Seven glanced at the bowl of dough, and Gretchen’s hand written recipe card, previously discarded and unread. Then at the remote.