Siren’s Song

Siren’s Song
by VoyWriter

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Chakotay sat in his chair on the bridge, his control station opened and active,
ostensibly reviewing second watch logs, actually watching the Captain work her
way across the lower level.

She stopped at the helm, leaning over Tom Paris’s shoulder, resting one hand
casually on the back of Tom’s chair for support while she pointed something out
to him on his station monitor. He nodded in response to whatever she had asked,
offered some explanation, and she shook her head and laughed. It was a throaty,
seductive sound. Her body swayed toward the conn and then back again and she
touched Tom on shoulder before moving on. Chakotay saw Paris shift in his seat,
heard him take a breath, as she left.

Did she realize what she was doing? Chakotay wondered. Every male on the
bridge was attuned to her – save Tuvok, maybe, and that was even in question –
and it wasn’t just because she was Captain, though the power issue was part of it
because it was so much a part of her.

He knew she thought the uniform protected her, made her sexless, or at least
genderless, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. The uniform only served to
emphasize her authority, define her as forbidden, enforce the tenuous barrier that
kept her separated from them all, driving them to find some way to cross it,
seeking that most basic level of connection where rank gives way to instinct. It
was a catalyst, not a deterrent.

She seldom appeared in off-duty clothes, none of them did. So the uniform had
become both civilian and standard issue wear. The line was not necessarily that
easy to draw, save here on the bridge where it was so absolutely defined. Yet even
here, there was that instinctive reaction to her presence that frustrated while it

The regulation jumpsuit was certainly sexless of itself, yet enticing as she wore it.
Material whispering against slim hips and thighs. Breasts constrained by layers of
fabric just as she was constrained by the red and black. There was a ripe fullness
to both, awaiting revelation.

She crossed to the upper level. To Harry Kim. Chakotay found a reason to turn
and follow her with his gaze. The Ensign began an earnest explanation in answer
to her query. His enthusiasm charmed her and she smiled encouragingly, touching
his arm. It could have been a caress, but wasn’t. She was careful – always – to
maintain the appropriate distance. Discretion without fail. And that, too, drew
them. Moths to a flame.

Harry flushed at the attention. Mother. Girlfriend. Commander. Which did he see
now as he nodded vigorously, his eyes bright.

Tuvok had just stepped off the lift, returning from routine duties. She caught his
eye. The smile stayed, but altered subtly. There was a safety here. She reacted to
it instinctively, the barriers shifting from alert to caution. There was always
caution. It, too, drew. If she had rushed forth, her over eagerness would have
dispelled the image.

They spoke quietly, no contact save her eyes which met his with interest and
intelligence – as if he were the only reason for her being on the bridge, and his
report her only interest. It was sincere flattery and recognized as such,
appreciated, the reason even Tuvok was not immune.

Then her boot steps returned to the lower level and she took her chair. At his side
now. Grace and power. Her scent reached him. It was the perfume of soft hair,
delicate features, dignity and command. It was a siren’s song. You could drown in
her presence. The bridge crew was treading water.



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