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I don’t want to tell you that I understand your loss, Seven, because I don’t , Harry had once said to Seven, a long time ago. Seven’s response to that statement had been first, flashed anger, and then curiosity. Because that’s not the kind of thing people normally told her. Humans, she’d learned, at least in Starfleet, liked to extend empathy. But it sometimes came off as more dismissive as they intended, at least to Seven.
Later, Tuvok would tell Seven that she had some power here, to dictate the way she wanted to be communicated with, but the humans around her were asked to ask the same of her. Compromise , he’d said.
Seven doesn’t like that word.
That word means weakness. That’s what Bjayzl teaches her.
But with Raffi, that word kind of comes to mean freedom.
There are two kinds of freedom, Raffi once tells her. Freedom TO do something and freedom FROM something .
To Seven, both words meant the same thing. Now, at the end of her Starfleet ships, she retires to her custom quarters and feels…a lot of things. Familiarity. Frustration. The old friend that is hope knocking on the walls, forever out of her reach. But just close enough. Longing. Satisfaction.
She knows she contributes here. She imagines that feeling of contribution is probably supposed to come without this feeling of blockage , but she always struggles when she sits with this kind of thing by herself.
And she thinks about freedom. Freedom from Bjayzl, from the confines of what she thought she was supposed to be. The freedom to be. The freedom to create a relationship, to love.
(Of course she loves Raffi. She has loved Raffi for a very long time. That term is a large one, that contains so much range.)
She misses Raffi.
She misses Harry too, and his ability to know that he would never be able to relate to what Seven had gone through without having actually gone through it. But even in that acknowledgement, there was grace.
She feels very little grace on this ship now.
Then Raffi appears, wearing the remnants of her cover. Thinner, hollowed.
Raffi hasn't gone through what Seven's gone through, but Seven's never doubted her ability to understand it, the timbre of it, the texture of its darkness.
Raffi has, for a long time, been the most beautiful person Seven’s ever seen.
Seven and Raffi have compared notes and agree: Starfleet can be very busy and then very loud . Until it’s not. Until it’s you on a ship that hums, out in the middle of a whole lot of nothing, with a ton of reports to catch up on.
So Raffi shows up during the busy and loud , and then it stops. It’s quiet.
Seven asks for Raffi assigned to her quarters as nearly an afterthought, having to remind herself that this ship and this crew is not as familiar with this, with them . Which is a little jarring, because Raffi is the first thing Seven thinks about when she wakes up and the last thing she thinks about before she goes to regenerate. She occupies permanent space in Seven’s mind, space which Seven has gladly given.
“I like them,” says Raffi, when they enter Seven’s quarters. Seven thinks that’s a little much, because they look like standard first officer quarters, only with a designated place to charge her regenerator, which can’t be seen from the door. “Do you like them?”
“They’re acceptable.”
Seven watches Raffi walk in, take the place in, turn around, and breathe.
She’s never seen anyone take up space the way Raffi does, actually.
Raffi stops. She’s whirled fast enough that that long ponytail of hers swings around and flips over her shoulder.
“How do you do that?” asks Seven.
Raffi looks at Seven with a layered look that Seven can’t quite parse – there’s exhilaration there, sadness, longing, curioisity, pride, and deep, deep pain. “Do what?” she begins to ask, but then Seven’s kissing her.
Starfleet boots are so annoying .
“It’s fine,” says Raffi. “You act like I don’t know how to get any of these off.” To her credit, she makes quick work of the boots, but Seven’s impatient. She’s half dressed, yanking up all of Raffi’s clothes to get her mouth on more skin surface area. On Raffi’s warmth. On Raffi’s perfect ratio of muscle and bone.
At some point, Seven decides that it’s all too much and just pushes Raffi onto the bed, clambers on top of her, pushes her clothes out of the way in a way that is decidedly inefficient so she can spend more time on her mouth. She can feel Raffi’s hands between them, her nimble fingers making quick work of the trouser fastenings. It’s not fast enough, but Seven’s missed Raffi’s mouth so much that it’s hard to care.
“Eager,” comments Raffi, from a place low in her chest that makes Seven shiver.
“I missed you,” says Seven softly, then sucks softly at that spot behind Raffi’s ear. “Didn’t know when I’d see you again.”
Raffi (magician!) pulls all of the fabric down from Seven’s shoulders, and it’s just Seven’s skin and implant in the suddenly cooler air of her quarters. Seven yelps – in release, maybe. In many kinds of release.
Raffi lifts Seven’s implant hand to her mouth.
“I missed you too,” says Raffi. She takes one metal-tipped finger into her mouth, then another. Seven hisses – she hasn’t felt this in so long that she’s almost forgotten that she could.
That’s the thing about Raffi, though, she makes her see so many possibilities.
“I’ll show you how much.”
It hasn’t been like this between them for a while. There’s no form or method to the way they’re touching each other. It’s more like they’re letting the hunger drive, the magnetic force that’s built up between two objects kept apart for so long.
On her back, her fairy-tale hair swept out of the way, Raffi rides Seven’s implant hand, Raffi’s thumb on the edge of Seven’s clit.
Seven’s hips slam into Raffi’s hand, into her hips, into the bed, and Seven opens her eyes for a moment to see Raffi’s eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth open and wailing. “Hey.”
Raffi whimpers in response and opens her eyes.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Please hurt me,” moans Raffi, jerking into Seven’s hand. Seven bites her lip. Raffi’s cunt always feels sublime against Seven’s implants. That’s been one of the upsides to feeling at home in her body again – it’s that much more open to pleasure, the pleasure that Raffi’s always so willing to provide. It’s like they test the limits of what Seven’s body can hold, except her capacity for pleasure just expands, and she always wants more.
Seven doesn’t know what to say to that. They haven’t had the chance to talk, really talk yet. That’ll come after this. But she knows that Raffi can’t have been having the best time. Seven braces herself on the bed, leans forward to kiss Raffi’s mouth. “More? You got a thing for–” She has to pause because Raffi rolls her hips in a way that’s true artistry, and Seven feels it spread from the tips of her implants to everywhere . “–for wrists out wherever you were?”
Raffi lifts her free hand to stroke Seven’s cheek, and Seven kisses it. “I have a thing for you everywhere, and I think it’s growing.”
Seven takes that in for a moment, and there’s nothing between them for a while except for that. The words and their hands and their involuntarily (hot) noises of effort. Then Seven just focuses on Raffi, eyes like amber jewels in the lowered light in Seven’s quarters, jerking her hips forward harder, firmer.
Raffi’s head rolls back, and she snaps her free hand back to the bad, bracing herself as she opens and opens for Seven. “You’re incredible.”
Seven would respond, but she can feel the orgasm beginning, building from her clit and her fingers and pooling power in the back of her spine. She opens her mouth, and the sound that comes out feels like it’s ripped from her center – not of her chest, not of anywhere physical, but from a place so deep and important that it’s not of this three-dimensional plane, maybe.
Wrapped up in her own desire, in her own need, Raffi does what she always does whenever Seven’s in need: she pulls herself back to help. “Seven,” she whispers, their rhythm solid and steady around them. “Good girl, make that sound for me again.”
Seven opens her mouth again to make – some sound, maybe. She’s not really paying attention to how she sounds maybe. Just that Raffi seems pleased with it, focused on it. On this. On them. Seven steels herself and keeps going, pleasure waving through her fast enough to burn. Except she knows Raffi won’t burn her. She chases it.
Raffi moans – a single, steady, drawn-out noise, a sound of pure emotion. Seven can kind of get that, the release that she feels sometimes that she can only get with Raffi, in this kind of space they’ve been able to carve out for each other when they’re together. A single, safe place, that they can translate across galaxies, planets, ships. It’s like putting down a very heavy load carried for a long time.
Seven wants to put hers down.
She groans, closes her eyes, rocks herself forward against Raffi’s hand and her cunt and the body with which Seven has become so familiar with, that she wants to continue to get to know for as long as she can. She thinks to the place in her spine where she’s building and building, rides toward release.
She leans forward so she’s nearly forehead-to-forehead with Raffi and comes, shuddering. Raffi gasps, first in surprise and then in pleasure, then she takes Seven’s wrist with her hand. On instinct, Seven curls her fingers, and Raffi clenches around her, hard and staccato, still making that beautiful noise. “Let it out,” murmurs Seven, even as she’s still shuddering on top of Raffi. “I’m here. I’m here.”
They spend time inside of each other, knowing, reacquainting, recalibrating. They’ve spent time away from each other and know what it’s like to come back to each other, but this feels different. Before was always temporary, them figuring themselves out. This feels more permanent, the regular exhalation and inhalation of what maybe lies ahead of them if they make this thing between them regular now.
They’re not alright, but there’s this feeling of acceptance between them now, like the disruption to who they are feels less disruptive now. Like they’ve learned to dance to this particular rhythm that’s become them and their vocations and their life together.
With her eyes, Seven follows one of Raffi’s curls – from scalp down over her shoulder. It ends past her breast.
They’re still too warm to pull the blankets back over them. Raffi in particular lies spread and satiated, still panting lightly.
“Can I touch it?” asks Seven, when Raffi meets her eyes with a mischievous glance.
Raffi chuckles and pulls Seven in for a kiss. “You’ve touched me everywhere else. I’m very grateful, by the way.”
Seven pulls the curve back over Raffi’s shoulder, envisions herself holding spun gold. Doesn’t Earth have a fairy tale about that? Except that move positions Seven’s arm over Raffi’s body again, so Seven has to roll in and kiss her again, for a long time.
A very long time.
She’s maybe never going to get over the privilege of having time with Raffi.
“Do you like it?” asks Raffi.
“Mhm,” says Seven distractedly, trying to get her tongue back into Raffi’s mouth.
“I mean the hair.”
Seven pulls away and kisses Raffi’s jaw. “I always like your hair.” But maybe she didn’t get that quite right. She raises an eyebrow. “You mean your look.” Raffi smiles. “Yes, but it’s not you. Do you like it?”
“Do I like that I don’t look like me?” Raffi laughs. “Wow, that got deep.”
“You started it.”
She leans into Raffi’s shoulder, and Raffi hisses when Seven’s nose presses into the place she’d bitten Raffi earlier in her ecstasy. “I guess I did. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Your hair looks a little…” She trails off.
“Bad?”
Raffi shakes her head. “It’s impossible for you to look bad. But you told me once that your nanoprobes can sometimes do things in line with your mood, and you’re looking a little–”
“Deflated,” finishes Seven. She wraps her arms around Raffi. “It hasn’t been the easiest time.”
“You good?”
Seven nods slowly. “I think so. You?” Raffi makes a blustery noise. “Okay, so that’s not for now.”
A smile creeps onto Raffi’s face, and she shakes her head. “Mm-mm. Not for now.” She takes Seven’s hand. “This is for now.”
Seven realizes suddenly that she viscerally wants this , wants them, for much, much longer than now. She’s familiar with the feeling seizing her in moments like this, but it’s never been so strong.
She raises Raffi’s hand to her lips and kisses it.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she murmurs.
Raffi looks at her sharply in that moment, then unsure. Like she wants Seven to confirm that she said it.
Seven has no intention of taking it back.
She pulls Raffi toward her, fits her strong, exquisite thigh over hers. “Come here,” she says, and kisses her for a very, very long time.