Title: "Resistance Is"
Author: jlr ( jlr at babealicious.net )
Pairing Code: J/7/Borg Queen
Rating: NC-17, non-cons.
Archiving: ASCEM, BLTS. Anybody else: I'd prefer you LINK to this page OR contact me first.
Feedback: is always appreciated (by email or here)
Disclaimers: The ParaBorg is the rightful commander of the known universe. Their devious collective mind created all characters mentioned herein. My devious individual mind is just playing with them. If it's not legal or logical for you to be here, stand down or be assimilated.
Summary: The Borg queen has a sexual fantasy. A response to "Dark Frontier."
Author's Note: So I was like, hey, these ASCEM folks are so fabulous, I really should try to get some more smut finished for them soon. Hence, this monstrosity (sooner than expected). I finally got to watch this ep a few days ago, and it was so drool-worthy I felt it was my responsibility to write a response. I've never really tried to do that before, especially not so fast. I would have liked to get something more subtle and narrative out of it, but I didn't have it in me--this is some kind of short. It's also darker and weirder than anything else I've ever written--don't quite know how that happened. Probably not very erotic, but hopefully interesting. Feel free to use this as a jumping-off point for your own work--I would love to see more of this tripling by those more ambitious than I. The Borg queen is sex and sadism on wheels--irresistible.
I am Borg.
I am One.
I am Perfection.
I do not make flawed decisions. I collect data, and adapt to new information. And the drone Seven of Nine and her captain Janeway proved to be a rich source of it. Based on my observations of their behavior, I have identified the error in the parameters of this experiment: it will be impossible to retrieve my drone from her human matrix without severing her link to her limited human leader.
Seven of Nine has been convinced that she is an individual. The very zeal with which she conforms to the patterns of thought and behavior imposed on her by the human matrix betrays the superficiality of her transformation. She obeys the commands of a hive mind, with Janeway as its queen. Seven of Nine is as I am: Borg, and not-Borg. Her body, down to the nanoprobes that pulse in her blood, knows its allegiance. If she will allow herself, she can hear the voices of the Many echo inside her head, touching every thought, every reflex. But she is also apart from the Borg, hybrid, unique. Her mind has the agility of an independent consciousness, the invaluable knowledge of a human consciousness. Her distinctiveness will compliment my own. That is why I permitted her to be made this way, in my own image.
Janeway is imperfection. She is the leader of a group of humans, but the bonds of her control are weak. They are fragmented by human flaws. Her intelligence and determination will be put to better use when they are added to the collective.
After my recent experiences with these subjects, I have revised my strategy of conquest. I must exploit Seven of Nine's human weakness further before I can capitalize on her Borg nature. And I must face Janeway. In the next iteration, it is both of them I must bring to my complex. Lacking weapons, surrounded by the drones that I command, they are too logical to attempt to mount an immediate resistance. They will listen as I describe their fate to them. But they will insist on denying the truth of their situation, of their natures. So I will have to show it to them.
My Seven, my creation. It is my desire to merge with her uniqueness that spurs my impulse to touch her, to lay my hand on her cheek--an incongruously human gesture. I enjoy surprising her. But this time, I will not stop at her shoulder, I will move this touch along the intriguing flesh of her neck, back to the fastening of the superfluous garment the humans have clothed her in. And I will remove it, slowly. Seven of Nine will not resist me, but she will look at me, with confusion, fear, and defiance in her eyes. These human expressions of hers give me pleasure, and I will savor them for a moment before I turn to Janeway. She will be experiencing, what might she name it--horror. Delightful, indeed.
"You desire her, sexually. That is human." That is what I will say to her. She will direct her anger at me, but it is irrelevant. I will circle her, to brush against her back, and I will lift her hand, to press it toward Seven of Nine's sexual organ.
"Touch her. Don't move, Seven of Nine, or there are drones to restrain you."
Inevitably, Janeway will not comply.
"You may choose. You will touch her, or I will."
Seven of Nine, so much exposed human flesh, so much uniqueness. What can I do to you that will give me pleasure? I will consider this for a moment while I pensively stroke the curves of your breasts. I know these human sensations confound you. On your back, the port where you interface with the alcove for regeneration is still active. I will move my hand to it, and activate the connection in reverse. This is uncomfortable for you, and Janeway can see that it is, as you throw your head back and contort your features. But I like to feel your energy flowing into me, suffusing me. If I trail my hand along your hip now, a starburst of cybernetics will spring up under my fingers. Oh, that frightens you. And frightens your captain. She will start cursing at me, but she knows what I require.
"I'll do it." A sound of anguish.
"You might show a little more gratitude to me, Janeway, for giving you what you want."
Most impressive, her human dignity. She will fix me with a glare of fury, which I find mildly intriguing, but she will not speak to me as she moves toward her temporary crewmember. Her subordinate. Her protege. It is a terminal flaw that humans allow their sexual impulses to confound them.
Seven of Nine will look no less afraid. The paroxysms of helplessness and arousal and disgust that pass between them are almost touching. Almost. Janeway will reach up to stroke her face, to calm her, she will speak softly to her, not realizing that these gestures of affection make the experience only more confusing and terrifying for my poor Seven. Then she will begin stroking her, sliding her fingers into her to stimulate physical pleasure. Primitive. But informative to watch, the captain with her head bowed in sick concentration, the drone whimpering involuntarily in time to the movements of her arm. My Borg does not appreciate the treason of her human body, which tells her that she likes what she knows to be most forbidden, most unconscionable: the passion of her chosen leader, her queen.
When she approaches the threshold of a physical and chemical climax, I will restrain Janeway. Seven of Nine will now be in a better frame of mind to make the correct choice.
"These human relationships are messy, Seven of Nine. They will harm you. Look what your captain has made of your bond, that was so pure, so uncomplicated. Look what you have made of it, sullied it with human sexuality. Wouldn't you prefer to know her in the aseptic community of the collective, where you will converse directly, mind to mind? You are Borg, Seven of Nine, you could be free of all of this weakness, all this pain and confusion. And you could have your Janeway. She could be part of you, her essence flowing through you like the human blood in your veins. You could both be part of perfection; isn't that more desirable than this vulgar and clumsy attempt at oneness? Take what you want, Seven of Nine, wipe both of you clean, claim her forever. Assimilate her, now."
Watching the silver tubules snake out, undulating like a living thing, watching them penetrate biological flesh and impregnate it with their violent and beautiful seed, the pleasure that pulses in me when I witness this is a perfection no human could ever know.