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“You’re stressed,” observes Seven.
Raffi pauses, realizes she’s pacing, almost chastises herself for doing that, then realizes she’s in front of Seven so it doesn’t matter. “I work a stressful job.”
“You are redeeming yourself,” says Seven. “In your eyes. It’s stressful.”
Upon their return from the 21st century, Raffi had spent a few days with their motley crew, giving Elnor a lot of hugs. Mourning Rios. Being intimate with Seven in ways they hadn’t in a while. Then she’d followed Elnor to Vashti.
Seven hadn’t asked too many questions about that trip. She just knew that when Raffi returned, they’d fallen back into each other, the grief still very much present but not alone.
Raffi shrugs. “Only way out is through?” She walks toward Seven and half-attempts a grin. “Unless you wanted to deal with it in a sexy way.”
Seven reaches for Raffi’s hips and strokes her thumbs over the curve of bone. “Not a redemption thing, though.”
Raffi smiles, just a little bit. “No?”
“That’s your business. Mine—“
“Yours?” asks Raffi, leaning in. Seven rolls her eyes a little bit and leans in to kiss her softly.
“Maybe I can help you feel a little less stressed,” shrugs Seven. “That’s all.”
Raffi kisses her, much more deeply this time, and stretches her arms above her head when Seven’s fingertips slip under her shirt.
“Fuck.”
Seven frowns. “What?” Raffi’s told her before that sometimes it feels a little awkward to be wearing a strap, but Seven doesn’t necessarily feel this way. It potentially has something to do with being a former drone and potentially is not something Seven thinks is necessarily to unpack right at this second .
Time feels like wealth. That has become only so much more clear since their return.
Seven reaches down and tests the strap. It bounces a little, sparking sensation between her legs. But that’s for later. This is for now.
Raffi lies back and spreads. “You just look really hot.”
Seven climbs onto the bed, on top of her, and Raffi moans when the strap brushes over her stomach. Raffi lifts a finger and follows the full curve of one of Seven’s breasts.
“I worry I don’t tell you enough.”
Seven grins and kisses her, slowly, very deeply, until Raffi’s running her hands over Seven’s skin, tilting her hips to find her, touch as much of her as possible. “You need to be patient.”
Raffi laughs. “Absolutely not.” She reaches down then stops when Seven’s lips close over one breast. She gasps. “Do the other one.”
“Patience—“
“If you’re finishing that with some kind of pithy thing about virtue— oh .” Seven’s mouth trails her other breast, her tongue dragging over the underside.
“I’d recommend not thinking,” says Seven, kissing, then sucking at Raffi’s nipple.
Raffi grins and stretches, catlike, on the bed, even as she bites her lip. “Is that an order?”
“I can make it one,” replies Seven, kissing up to the side of Raffi’s neck. Raffi makes a little noise and turns until she finds Seven’s mouth, kissing her again
“I’m not thinking about work at all,” she says, then drags Seven’s mouth back to hers.
Seven pulls away, licks a line up Raffi’s neck, until her lips are right by her ear. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have mentioned it just now.”
Raffi hums in delight. “What are you going to do about it, then?”
Gently, Seven grips Raffi’s hip in her hand. “Turn over.”
Actually, from the back, spine curved, offering herself like this, Raffi looks even more catlike, one stretching after a nap.
“How long do I have to wait?” she whispers, as Seven kisses down her spine, strap grazing Raffi’s thighs, her ass.
“Long enough,” replies Seven, and does not change her pace at all.
“You’re so good at this,” murmurs Raffi, wiggling her hips a little bit. “You’ve been holding back on me.”
“I won’t do that anymore,” says Seven, and means it, for more situations than just here. Raffi can take many things.
“So can I have you now?”
As far as Seven’s concerned, Raffi can have her whenever she wants (within reason — reasons usually meaning work).
Seven realizes she probably should not (1) say that and (2) definitely say it like that.
She drags her nails gently along Raffi’s hip, lines herself up, and thrusts in, hard and fast.
“Should I stop?”
“No, fuck no.”
On all fours, Raffi dips her head to the bed and then back up, arching her back. She’s making these staccato groaning noises as she slams her hips back against Seven’s, and it’s so fucking hot. “You take it so well,” says Seven, digging her fingertips into Raffi’s hips. Raffi groans.
“So I can have more?”
Seven grips harder and thrusts harder, faster. This is the kind of pace that leaves Raffi sore the next day, the way she likes it. She’s told Seven about this, how she feels like she carries Seven with her, inside her, how the soreness reminds her especially when she sits down. She draws back her hand and spanks Raffi, gently, twice, to focus her attention.
“Fuck, Seven.”
“More?”
“More.”
Raffi’s not in this headspace often, but when she is, she really, really commits. Seven spanks her again. “Good?”
“Very…good…” Raffi flexes her back and moans.
Seven bends — it’s a little difficult — and kisses the part of her girlfriend’s back she can reach. “Touch yourself,” she murmurs. “I’ll hold you still.”
The best person at getting you off should always be you, Raffi has always told Seven. Ideally.
With that mindset, Seven always thinks watching someone masturbate is like watching a master at work, with their permission, of course. And she should pay this action respect.
Raffi reaches for herself and moans. Seven pauses just for a moment to make sure everyone can reach everything. “Don’t stop, just do me,” groans Raffi, and Seven smiles just a little. Raffi’s ever the performer.
And Seven’s prepared for this. “Do you,” she repeats. She’s answered by another moan as Raffi grinds into her hand. “Look to your left.”
Seven isn’t really one for performing, but Raffi and several years with Starfleet have taught her the value of a good staging. That’s why she’s made sure they ended up like this, with this exact angle to the side reflective surface in Raffi’s room.
It takes Raffi a minute to process, and then she turns. The look of ravenous delight on her face makes Seven drive into her harder.
“You look so good,” groans Raffi.
And Seven, to her surprise, agrees. It’s not the kind of way she’s used to seeing herself, but she’s changed. Or maybe become more of herself. “We look good,” she replies, and Raffi comes with a cry and a glorious shudder. “Do it again.”
Raffi does. Sometimes Seven tries to see how many times she can help her come, a game that Raffi loves to play. It’s kind of become their thing.
Satiated and blissful, Raffi lies, clean and warm, nuzzling Seven’s neck.
“You’re still watching us in the mirror,” notes Seven, trailing her fingers down Raffi’s perfect back.
“I like to look at beautiful things,” Raffi replies, kissing Seven’s neck. “Thanks for helping with the stress.” It’s not that the stress feels like it’s dissipated. Actually, it feels like it lives on another planet altogether, one that looks small and manageable from a distance, even beautiful.
Seven wraps her arms around Raffi, Raffi who has fought so much and soldiered on. “It’s the least I can do.”