Five More Minutes

He'll be here soon.

His shift was over 20 minutes ago, and he'll be in his quarters, showering, rubbing those big, brown hands over himself, tracing a path for my fingers to follow.

I can feel the tender places on my skin where he gripped me last night. The bruises will make him sigh when he sees them. I don't know why he worries. I love to see the marks his hands make on me.

He's late. I want his fingers in my hair. I want his mouth on my body. Voyager is a demanding mistress, but he always comes back to me.

Its been a difficult year in some ways, both of us have had to learn to compromise, to fit three lives into two. His life, My life and Our life.

We still have the space we need, the separation. But now we also have the Us stuff. Three or four nights a week, shared between our quarters. Regular off duty time, when the schedules allow it. It works for us both.

I think we were both scared that we would lose our minds over the sex. It is still amazing. Consuming. Like burning and drowning at the same time. Sometimes it does make us crazy, and we'll fuck until we can't walk. Other times we just kiss and stare and stare and kiss for hours. Still burning and drowning, but in slow motion, mouths on fire, falling into each other's eyes.

Shit. I'm getting poetic. I always do that when he's late.

It's an anniversary tonight. One year to the day since I was poisoned on that desert planet. Those crucial minutes that nearly killed me, and in the end, proved to be a beginning.

Ahhh. The door.

He's only five minutes late.