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Kathryn is ready. And she is waiting.
It's not only typical of B'Elanna to keep her waiting; it's actually a mercy. Kathryn is as much the captain as she is B'Elanna's woman. And, as much as she sometimes wishes it were otherwise, being the captain needs to come first. So many people lives, including B'Elanna's, rely on that. But her rank doesn't change the fact that, when her mistress arrives, Kathryn is expected to be on her knees and waiting to greet her. Once, during a staffing snafu that took hours to sort out, she had run down the corridors knowing that B'Elanna was doubtlessly sitting alone in her quarters, burning up with anger. She can still remember the sickening feeling of disappointing her mistress settling in her stomach and the icy coldness of that week when B'Elanna made her sleep on the floor, untouched and alone and yearning. Now B'Elanna makes a point of being late so that Kathryn can be as sure as possible to have enough time to get into the correct position for a greeting and she knows she's lucky to have such an understanding woman to adore.
She shifts a bit, spreading her knees slightly wider. She is cold now too; the chill combines with anticipation in raising goosebumps on the back of her neck. She normally wears her uniform when they meet, pips and all, because B'Elanna loves to be reminded that it's the captain grovelling at her feet, silently waiting for permission to lick her boots clean. But this is a special occasion and she's been given permission to dress up for it a bit, so her back and arms are bare and unprotected. She hasn't worn this gown since the party celebrating her promotion to captain. She still remembers hobnobbing with admirals and ambassadors, all of them congratulating her on her newfound and hard-won professional authority. It feels particularly appropriate to be wearing it tonight, when she will formally give her personal authority away.
She hears the doors to her quarters woosh open and drops her eyes to the floor. She knows exactly who it is; no one but B'Elanna is authorized to enter without permission. She hears her footsteps, solid and strong, then then a pause just outside the door to the bedroom. She imagines her mistress's appreciative smile when she discovers the tray with the bloodwine; she's so glad she saved up her replicator credits for it. And then B'Elanna is there, her long shadow falling into the room and the air filling up with her presence, and Kathryn's chest tightens with joy.
She feels B'Elanna's rough engineer's hand, calloused and strong from a lifetime spent propelling hundreds of people through the universe, under her chin and then the cool metal of the goblet presses against her lips. "Drink." B'Elanna's voice sounds so tender and Kathryn gratefully places her lips where her mistress's have been, tasting what she's tasted.
"You can look now." Those are the words she's been longing to hear. The sight of B'Elanna standing over her with the lights catching on her forehead ridges and filtering through her wild hair has become a familiar one, but a work of art remains beautiful no matter how many times one looks at it. Kathryn understands why ancient tribes carved huge models of the deities they adored to tower over them. She beams up at B'Elanna and is treated to a perfect smile in return, and a soft murmur of approval. "You're beautiful."
Kathryn shakes her head. She knows what she looks like; the strain of the last few years have put new lines beside her mouth and eyes and the dress is looser than it was she last had occasion to wear it; having no real options besides Neelix's terrible cooking is doing some damage to whatever curves she once had. B'Elanna's hand tightens on Kathryn's jaw; no real pain yet but a reminder of the possibility of it. "I said, you're beautiful."
And so she is.
"Come", B'Elanna commands, and Kathryn crawls after her as she strides toward the desk. The contracts are sitting there, where they've been all day, just waiting for their thumbprints. B'Elanna picks one of them up and runs her fingers along the sides of the padd. Kathryn shivers as though those fingers are touching her own skin.
"Do you consent?", B'Elanna asks, as Kathryn starts. Of course she does; they've been negotiating the minute details of these documents for weeks. They're perfect now. She blinks owlishly up and B'Elanna, trying to interpret what she means. "I just need to hear it one more time."
"I consent." Kathryn tries to put all her feeling into the words. "I want to serve you; I want to have no will besides yours." She knows, in this moment, that she has to be entirely honest. "I wish… there are times, outside the two of us, where that might not always be possible, but please know that here, in the center of us, I submit. With so much joy." She raises a hand. "May I?"
B'Elanna lowers the padd so she can reach it. "I give you my permission." And then Kathryn's print is on her slave contract and she belongs to B'Elanna in a way that she has never belonged to anyone before.
B'Elanna looks down at her, as formidable as any Klingon warrior-goddess. "And as for me, I vow to care for you, always. I promise to honor your submission, to respect its limits and to never forget the trust you've given me along with it. I promise to love you. I do love you, Kathryn. Very much."
Her knees are sore from kneeling on the hard floor; she's cold and the muscles in her lower back are beginning to cramp. And yet, she's never been happier. "I love you too."
"Well then." B'Elanna heads for the door, and Kathryn feels bereft for a moment until she returns, carrying it. Kathryn feels her heart speed up. They've done this before, collaring for a evening or a night; once, during a delicious shore leave, they'd had three days. But this was different. From now on, she will be collared whenever she isn't on duty.
The cool metal snaps into place, and B'Elanna presses her fingers against the brilliant little locking mechanism. It's coded to the engineer's DNA; she had created it just for this special occasion. Only B'Elanna will be able to fasten or release the collar, and the idea of being dependent on her for such simple things as getting dressed into the morning fills Kathryn with a kind of wild joy.
"May I see?" She's aching to looking at it; to see the evidence of B'Elanna's ownership of her. After the nod of permission comes, she rises and walks to the mirror. There she is, in the flesh. A middle-aged woman, dressed in clothes that are probably years out of style back at home, with the unmistakable signs of hard living etched into her face. But around her neck is a band of gold, a symbol that there is someone in the world who understands that her need to submit is every bit as strong as her need to command, someone who accepts her strength and her weakness and knows that one informs the other. Someone understands her, and the thought of that is so glorious that she nearly breaks down crying.
The only thing that stops her her the sound of B'Elanna's voice, low and husky and just plain impossible to ignore. "Kathryn. Come serve me." She turns to see B'Elanna reclining on the bed, jacket off and the hint of a smile already playing around the edges of her mouth. "I'm waiting."
And Kathryn hurries to her side. Because the wait is over now. For both of them.