Work Text:
Seven hadn’t expected this.
She’d entered Raffi’s quarters in – honestly – a Janeway-like rage. Couldn’t hear reason, all but tossing things onto the floor, shoving down any attempt to pacify her. Her anger is directionless, and she’s just stopping short of blaming Raffi for everything, but she’s also angry at everything , and Raffi’s the only one here.
But Raffi can take it. She watches Seven. When it’s clear her replies aren’t working, she stops talking and lets Seven rant, gives her the space she needs while gracefully dipping out of the way of Seven’s barbs.
Starfleet is fucking infuriating, honestly, and Seven struggles with it on a good day. But now? But now?
“Like why the fuck do I even try?” snaps Seven, at everything and nothing. “I don’t feel like I fit here. I don’t feel like people fit me. Sometimes I don’t even want to fit here. Why do I want this so badly? Why now? Why here?”
Raffi knows the answers to all of these questions, actually. They are, in order:
- That’s who Seven is.
- After all her time as an xB and all of the experiences she’s had, she still sees Starfleet as a place where she can make a lot of difference in a lot of directions on a large scale, which makes the lack of utter efficiency and at times, the blatant discrimination, worth fighting against to move the needle forward.
- Ever since Seven’s come to love herself as an xB, it’s physically and mentally impossible for her not to try. It’s who she is. She’s a person who gets what needs to be done done, if she has the ability.
- See above answer.
But Seven doesn’t need that right now. She needs someone to listen, but then she also needs someone to get her mind off of this, pull her away from this perspective so she can look upon it again with fresh eyes, from a bird’s eye view from where she can zoom in, see that today is just a day, that Seven can come back to it tomorrow. That Seven’s definition of failure is very harsh and is a lot of people’s definition of passing , and that her workaholic tendencies, her hyperfocus, make it hard to see that sometimes.
Raffi waits – quite a long time, but that’s alright – for a pause in Seven’s rant. When it comes, Seven with both of her arms on the top of a set of drawers, looking over at Raffi as Seven leans.
“You want to take a couple of hours?” asks Raffi. “Let me help you with this?”
There’s a 50/50 chance Seven’s going to fight her on it, but Seven just closes her eyes and nods.
Seven meets Raffi’s lips like a new favorite flavor of ice cream: tentativeness before devouring. Raffi backs Seven into the wall, where Seven’s hands brace themselves and then roam Raffi’s back as Raffi literally works her way into Seven’s pants.
“You want to forget about your day?” asks Raffi.
“Can’t,” hisses Seven, canting her hips forward to capture more of Raffi’s fingers, which lie flush across Seven’s mound and not nearly close enough.
“You can take a few hours, though, right?” asks Raffi, slipping her hand between Seven’s legs, where her underwear is already growing damp. (Raffi loves it, loves that her touch has this ability to help Seven relax.) “For improved efficiency?”
Seven makes an affirmative noise, and Raffi begins to stroke her there, as Seven whines into her mouth.
“You work so hard,” continues Raffi, and Seven winds her arms up and around Raffi’s neck, presses their foreheads together in a way that would be almost cute, two people kissing against a wall, were Raffi’s fingers not very far down Seven’s very undone uniform pants. “No one has worked harder than you to get to where you are. And we need the way you think, because none of us do it quite like you.”
She feels Seven’s face grow warm against hers and kisses her cheek.
“But we don’t want to talk about Starfleet, right?” Seven makes a noise that agrees with her. “We want to talk about you feeling very, very good, and how much I want to take care of you.” Seven whines, and Raffi shakes her head. “We’re not going to talk about how you don’t think you need this or should need this, because we all get needy sometimes, and work is stressful when you’re working on something new you care about. And also, when you take care of people all the time, it makes sense to have some people who take care of you.”
Seven just breathes hard, her underwear now slick against Raffi’s hand, and she braces herself more fully against the wall, relaxing a little, as Raffi begins to toy with the border of her underwear, where Seven’s cunt meets her thigh. Seven moves sideways a little, as if to encourage Raffi’s hand in.
“Good girl,” praises Raffi, and Seven opens her mouth to let out a small, sharp cry of pleasure. “Is that where you want me? There?” She moves her hand from there to the top of Seven’s waistband, keeping pressure on her mouth. Seven grinds into her, making small noises of anticipation. “What about here?”
And then – a wondrous occurrence – Seven just starts undressing in front of her. She peels away the uniform jacket, pulls off her shirt and everything underneath it, then drops it on the floor. “I want you to fuck me like we’re in your quarters,” says Seven, “and not like we’re in some secret back alley somewhere.”
Raffi grins. That’s more like it.
Without a word, drops to her knees (Seven gasps) and yanks down her pants fully, then her underwear.
And yes, they’re in Raffi’s quarters, so she should take Seven to bed like the deserving lady Seven is, but Raffi’s already down there, so she learns her head into Seven’s hot, sumptuous center and licks her, long and slow.
“Raffi,” protests Seven, but it’s half-hearted, deliciously whiny, and Seven’s bracing herself against the wall again, opening her legs wider.
“I’d never do this in an alley,” says Raffi (a bold-faced lie, and they both know it – Raffi can be convinced with little effort to do a lot of things, provided they’re not putting anyone in real danger or fucking around with consent). She frames Seven’s hips with her hands and licks again, where Seven’s glistening with need. “You’re so naked. How would we run away if we were caught?”
To her surprise, Seven takes a hand off the wall and pushes Raffi’s head closer. Message received. Raffi stops talking and starts working Seven’s cunt with her tongue.
Does Seven have a thing for this? She makes her tongue flat, warm, and wet, licks over and over and over again, with consistency that Seven can time her own pleasure to. Seven, who struggles so hard to work within Starfleet’s rules right now – would she find it sexy, in a forbidden kind of way, to be so blatantly flouting rules with her body? With Raffi as her only confidante? As Seven gives herself over into something she and only she really wants, pleasure of her own design, without any input from anyone else?
“Oh fuck,” breathes Seven, and against her cheeks, under her hands, Raffi feels Seven’s thighs start to quiver. “More, Raffi. More, right there. Raffi, Raffi, Raffi, fuck .”
There’s something very sweet, actually, about the way that Raffi holds knowledge of the way that Seven quivers when she comes, how it corresponds to how intense her release is. This is one hard, long, and honestly, exactly what Raffi intended. She holds Seven’s hips firm with her hands as Seven continues to shake.
It’s over (this round, anyway), when Seven drags Raffi to her feet, and kisses her face clean. She looks a little dazed, still, so Raffi gently pulls her off the wall and leads her to the bedroom.
“Anywhere you want,” says Raffi.
“Hm?” asks Seven, as they enter the doorway and Raffi gently lays Seven down on the bed, like dipping her during a dance.
“We could be anywhere you want in here,” suggests Raffi. “But it’s still just my quarters. No one knows but me.”
Seven lights up a little bit at that idea, so it’s definitely a thing. Raffi leans in to Seven’s very soft lips – pliable after their first round of pleasuring – and kisses distraction and devotion into the space between them.