Puberty, a Star Trek : Voyager tension reliever by Brenda Antrim Paramount owns the universe but the fantasy is mine... sue me and pay my debts. Please :} c. 1995 Caution : THIS STORY CONTAINS SEX. Wouldn't relieve much stress if it didn't. So if you're under the age of consent don't read this or your computer will implode. Don't say I didn't warn ya. Also, this was written during the first season of Voyager, so Blood Fever followed Puberty (and man, does that sound weird!).
Tom Paris took a deep breath and wondered how the hell he'd managed to do it again. Nothing was ever simple, hadn't been since he'd gotten tanked one time too many over one argument with one girlfriend too many, and killed three of his friends. Probably even since before then, since the first time he realized he'd never, ever measure up to his oversized hero of a father. "Only the best." He'd heard the motto so many times he thought he'd puke whenever he thought about it. And always falling short, never quite making the grade, good thing he was such a shit hot pilot 'cause he couldn't do another goddamned thing right -- his fevered thoughts finally gave him the last bit of push he needed to break through the fall of metal and rock blocking the passageway. He didn't dare use his phaser to burst through the barrier, didn't know where B'Elanna was on the other side and didn't want to risk hitting her with any sort of energy ricochet if she had somehow managed to make it through the initial avalanche unscathed. The jolt under his feet had knocked him to the side, the earthquake taking them completely unprepared, but Chief Engineer Torres and her frigging precious crystal detectors had been caught in the worst of it. Now for some reason he hadn't had time to figure out, not that he probably could, he wasn't a damned electrician, his communicator wasn't working and she hadn't made any noise and he wasn't sure if she was even still alive and deep inside he just knew that this was his fault too--
His knees actually swayed with relief at the gruff bark, weaker than he was used to hearing but half-Klingon nonetheless. He couldn't see anything in the darkness through the small hole, but she didn't sound completely healthy.
"Torres? You okay in there?" Where the hell are you? He didn't want to say it, didn't want to admit he felt as helpless as he did.
"No, you fucking moron, I'm not okay!"
Now, that sounded more like Torres.
"I'm getting there!"
"Get help, damnit!" She sounded exasperated, but also fuzzy, as if she were in more pain than she wanted him to realize.
"There seems to be some sort of interference." His breath caught in little puffs from the exertion of widening the hole, but he was compelled to keep trying. He'd prided himself on being in shape, but some of those rocks were heavier than they looked.
She didn't respond, and he began to work faster, ignoring complaining muscles and shifting debris in an almost obsessed drive to get through to her. Running through his mind was the determination to get to her, not to lose her like he'd lost others, before. He wasn't about to let this one down, if he killed himself in the process.
With a grunt, he tore the last of the larger rock fragments out of the way and pushed his head and shoulders through the hole. His eyes were becoming adjusted to the inky blackness, and he could make out a female form huddled in a graceless mass on the edge of the newly-created cave. Struggling to free himself, he felt the wall around him shift, and an answering sinking in his gut. Hurriedly he pushed the rest of his body through the opening, sliding to a halt on the floor, his legs curled up underneath him. Pushing himself to his feet, he moved across the floor toward B'Elanna, when the rumbling noise started again and the world tilted on its axis. Crying out incoherently, he threw his body over her still form, tucking her head under his chest, feeling the warm chuff of her breath on his throat before a sharp pain knocked the present away from him.
B'Elanna Torres was a warrior. Her Klingon mother had tried to instill within her all the proper patterns of honor and fighting skill, before deciding that she had too much of her Human father in her blood, and washing her hands of her. But the early lessons hadn't been wasted. Sitting in the murky darkness, trying to make some contact with her crewmates, she refused to believe that they were actually stranded. She knew Chakotay, trusted him in ways she had never trusted anyone else, knew that he and the Captain would find a way to get them out of this mess. Both of them.
She gave up trying to reconfigure the communicator to cut through the low level electromagnetic noise that was rendering it useless, confident that it wouldn't be very long before a rescue. Their last known coordinates would serve as a good starting place for the rescue team, although the same interference that was bolluxing up the communicators would probably make transporters too risky. She bit off a curse, knowing there was nothing to do but wait but hating the feeling of helplessness the knowledge gave her. She was not a patient person under the best of circumstances and these were definitely not optimum conditions.
Paris. Of all people to end up stuck in a cave with, to be here with the Pig made her teeth grind. True, when she came to she'd been glad, momentarily, that he'd been on top of her. If he hadn't, she'd have taken the chunk of rock that knocked him out right between the eyes. But other than his being a Human shield, he was a waste. Involuntarily, her eyes traced the lines of his body, stretched out where she had laid him after she realized he was unconscious. A well formed waste, with that odd Human flaxen hair and those strange, alien bright blue eyes. Blue eyed blondes were rare, unknown in fact on the Klingon world where she was raised. She'd seen some blondes since joining the Maquis, but most of them were cosmetically enhanced. She caught herself staring at his chest, then his groin, wondering if all that golden hair was natural. And how far down it went. Abruptly pulling herself from her reverie, she put her hand tentatively to her throat. She felt oddly flushed, and her skin was warm, but she couldn't believe that it was with arousal. Not for Paris. Young Kim, perhaps, she found him appealing in a little-boy sort of way, but Paris? His ego and his callous attitude toward females was too hard for her to accept. And she never had liked skinny Humans. Gradually, her eyes drifted back to Tom's legs, splayed slightly where she'd rolled him off, one leg gently flexed, the muscle smoothly stretched from his knee along his thigh. Not really aware of her actions, preoccupied with the fever beginning to buzz in her blood, she shifted closer to him and continued her study. A slice of smile curved her lips, and her skin continued to heat.
"Any luck, Mr. Kim? Mr. Tuvok?" Captain Janeway's voice cut through the tension on the bridge, steady and hard, not showing her fear that they, no, she had lost two members of their crew.
"No, Captain, not yet," came Harry Kim's frustrated reply, followed closely by the calm tones of the Vulcan.
"The interference pattern is shifting at irregular intervals, Captain. We are as yet unable to lock on to their signals. Communication is still not possible."
Chakotay and Janeway exchanged looks. Her worry and his meshed as their emotions so often did, as they often found themselves mirroring one another.
No one replied, but two heads bent even more determinedly to two separate consoles. The captain and her first officer stared at the viewscreen, willing it to yield up clues for their crewmen to follow.
What a weird noise. The thought popped up in Tom Paris's fuzzy mind, pushing its way past the pain in the back of his head until he finally forced his eyes to open and try to locate the source of the trilling. The figure looming over him caused him to start, instinctively rolling into a defensive position before he realized it was B'Elanna. Relief at her apparent good health warred with damaged pride at reacting so badly to her nearness, and he snapped off a wisecrack to cover his embarrassment.
"Some sort of Klingon death ritual? Don't go getting excited, Torres, I'm not dead yet!"
She didn't answer, only hummed a little softer and moved a bit closer. In the dim light of the cave he could see an odd gleam in her eyes. If she had been anyone else, he would have sworn it was predatory. On her, it looked ... almost feral.
"Um, Torres?" His uncertainty showed in a not-quite-steady voice. "You okay?"
She swayed toward him, like a snake in her sinuous movements, then slowly collapsed across his lap. He sat still with shock for a split second before reaching behind him for the medical tricorder Janeway had ordered him to bring along. Snapping it open with a muffled curse, he ran it over her supine body and tried to remember what the obnoxious holodoctor had told him about interpreting the readings. With a short "sunuvabitch!" he realized he was holding it upside down and reversed it. Unfortunately, the readings didn't make any more sense to him that way than they had before.
"Why did she do this to me? I'm no fucking medic!" It was almost a prayer. "I'm a pilot! That's all!" He gently lifted B'Elanna into a sitting position, wincing as her unexpectedly heavy mass pulled sore muscles in his back. "C'mon, Torres, wake up. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, you know that!"
She stirred slightly, but didn't fully awaken. He shifted her until her head rested comfortably against his shoulder, adjusting to the angular Klingon musculature, wishing he were bulkier. Not for the first time, he wished he was built like Chakotay. Trying the tricorder one more time, he remembered how to match the readings it currently showed with the profile stored in it's memory. The only differences he could make out were slightly elevated hormonal levels, an elevated body temperature, and increased adrenalin.
"Great. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? The flu?" He muttered between his teeth as he racked his brain to figure out what was wrong with her and how he was supposed to fix it. Looking up from the little instrument panel, he was shocked to find himself looking directly into her fever bright eyes. Perhaps it was whatever strange illness she had that was causing the effect, but her eyes looked enormous in the half light. He was really starting to feel concerned about her.
She brought her left hand up across his chest, sliding it firmly across the firm surface of his muscles, testing the flesh with her palm. He looked back at the readings, noticing a peak in her body temperature, and increased pulse rate. This was not good. Without any warning, her right arm whipped out to brace against the wall behind his back, and the fingers of her left hand speared through his hair, pulling his head back.
"Shit! I'm not the enemy, Torres!" He tried to bring his arms up to break her hold, fearing in her fever that she was reverting to her "Maquis versus Federation" mindset. The LAST thing he wanted was for an out-of-her-head Klingon to rip his head off, then try to apologize for it later. He managed to get his hands up, but was unable to break her hold. At the same time, he twisted underneath her, trying to buck her off and put some distance between them. She growled, sounding strangely delighted, and he felt her teeth close on the skin at the side of his neck. The sharp jolt of pain caused him to buck in earnest, more frightened than he would care to admit, but she was stronger than he and held him easily. He felt the slight trickle of blood seep into the collar of his uniform and went abruptly still, fearing any further movement would cause her to hurt him even more. To his intense shock, she released her hold and lapped at his skin, the roughness of her tongue causing him to shiver.
"Uhhm, Torres?" Softly. Didn't want to startle her. She'd probably break his neck with her teeth, like a terrier killing a rat. "B'Elanna?"
"Mmm?" she purred against the side of his throat. He swallowed heavily, and she traced the movement with her lips. He was completely confused now, knowing she was ill, but not knowing quite what to do about it. Worse, her actions were causing an unwilling arousal, and he just knew if she felt his erection she was definitely going to kill him for taking advantage of her fever. The fact that he was pinned down and she was the one making all the moves wouldn't matter, he knew. It would be a matter of honor, and he'd get the short end of the stick. She'd probably challenge him to some sort of Klingon death dance or something and mop the floor with him. He shivered again, but not from anything pleasant. Images of his broken body under her booted foot loosened his tongue again, and almost distracted him from the sensation of her hand tugging at his hair, caressing his scalp, the imprint of her body holding his against the wall of the cave. Almost, but not quite.
"B'Elanna?" A little more loudly, trying to get her attention. "You ... um, you don't know what you're doing, here. You're ... sick, y'know? This is Paris, B'Elanna. You despise me, remember? Can't stand me. Think I'm a pig. Right?" His voice gradually grew tighter and fainter, as she pressed closer to him, rubbing the tips of her breasts across his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her nipples were already hard, and they drew an answering response from him. He inhaled sharply, and her scent went straight to his crotch, making him even harder and upsetting his already tenuous grip on reality. He couldn't believe this was happening, and was afraid at any minute she'd come to her senses and tear him apart. The thought softened him somewhat and strengthened his resolve to save her (and himself) from her unexpected lust. He didn't want to deal with the aftermath if he let this go any farther.
Leaning against him fully, she drew her right arm away from the wall and began to knead the muscles in his shoulder, then down the curve of his back, pulling him up to her, continuing to hold his head back with her other hand. Burying her face in his throat, licking and nipping the tender skin along the side of his neck and following the tendon down to the hollow of his collarbone, she finally stopped her exploration at his buttock, digging her fingers into the muscle. That was his cue. Ignoring the erection that demanded he respond in kind, he flipped B'Elanna onto her side, dislodging himself from her hold and rolling away from her grasping hands. Now there was pain in his scalp, from wrenching her hand from his hair, to match the pain in his neck where she'd bitten him, but at least he had a little distance. Maybe he could get her to listen to him.
"Torres!" he snapped authoritatively, hoping command voice would get her attention. It didn't -- his command voice wasn't really all that commanding. She came at him in a crouch, like a street fighter, and he had to twist like an eel to escape her outstretched hands. She growled low in her throat, and he looked frantically around for a way out. They continued the dance, she lunging and he twisting away, as he tried to reason her out of her madness.
"Look. It's ME! Okay, B'Elanna? PARIS! What the hell is wrong with you? You don't want me! If you do this, if WE do this, you're gonna come out of it, and you're rip my fuckin' head off, and you're gonna HAND it to me on a friggin' PLATTER, Torres!" She nearly got him then, and he whimpered a little as she ripped the sleeve off his uniform. She laughed, a soft coughing noise like a wild cat might make, and he found himself cornered. Looking wildly around for an escape, any escape, he made one final effort to get her back to reality. "You do not WANT this, B'El-mmmph!"
She tackled him neatly, rolling him to lie spread eagled on his back, her heels pinning his legs to the dirt, her hands holding his wrists, her tongue in his mouth cutting off the endless stream of words that was beginning to annoy her. Raising her head briefly, she growled at him. "You talk too damned much."
He looked up at her wild eyes and sharp teeth, bared in a victorious grin, and gulped. The air in the cave felt cold on his skin as she ripped the uniform away from his chest, leaving a faint burn on the back of his neck where the material in the turtleneck gave way. He stopped struggling then, knowing she was stronger than he, still not quite believing she was doing ... what she was doing. Which at that moment was nuzzling his chest hair and whispering something that sounded oddly like "All the way down." She slowly pulled his arms over his head, and he resisted passively, not helping her, not wanting her to be able to accuse him of being a willing partner in this. Trying to cover his ass in any small way he could. Not that he thought it would help, in the end. She'd find some way to blame him. Then she'd cut off his balls and hand them to him. He just knew it. As she gathered both of his wrists in one hand and proceeded to tear off the rest of his uniform blouse, he actually heard himself whimper. She heard it too, and chuckled. With no wasted movement, she opened her own blouse and lowered her torso to his, rubbing her breasts along his chest and growling softly, low in her throat. He responded to her nearness, the unexpected softness of her skin, her undeniable control of his body. It wasn't a sensation he was used to, and in fact, while his reputation said otherwise, he hadn't had sex since before being hauled off to the New Zealand penal colony. The combination of abstinence and sensual woman finally overcame his fear, and he thrust his hips up to meet the juncture of hers. She laughed aloud at his movements, and ground her sex over the hard ridge of his.
Keeping his hands firmly in place, she reached down between their bodies to slide her fingers over his penis through the soft material of his uniform. He groaned, involuntarily thrusting to meet her touch, and she rewarded his impatience with a sharp squeeze that elicited a gasp from him. His wide eyed gaze met hers, and she slid her hand back over him, tracing the ridges with her fingertips, pressing just hard enough to send goosebumps over his skin. Cupping his sac, she whispered, "Want this?" All he could do to reply was nod his head shakily. She continued her slow torture, slipping open his fly and pulling his flesh free to give herself greater access to him. She covered his face with little licking kisses, dipping her tongue between his lips, then licking his eyelids closed, nibbling along his jawline, tugging on his earlobe with her sharp teeth. All the while her hand continued its work, sliding his foreskin over the head of his penis, pumping the shaft firmly then pulling back, bringing him to the brink of orgasm then squeezing him tightly to stop it. He was moaning continuously now, trying blindly to meet her questing mouth, pulling against her hold in vain, wanting desperately to caress her as she was caressing him. She ground her wet vagina against his thigh, stimulating her clit on his hard muscle but not giving him the satisfaction of touching her, of making her lose control as she was forcing him to do, asserting her mastery over his body. Fever sang through her blood and clouded her mind, and his movements underneath her fed a need she had never felt before.
"I've found them!"
Janeway whirled at Kim's triumphant words, and she threw a quick grin over her shoulder at Chakotay. He smiled in return, hope springing to his normally calm eyes.
"Unfortunately, Captain, we still have no way to transport them to the ship. The field fluctuations are still too irregular to allow our instruments to get a solid lock." Tuvok's deadpan voice dampened their enthusiasm, but not much.
"At least we know where they are." Janeway's tone congratulated Harry.
And that they're alive, thought Chakotay, but he didn't say it aloud. "Can you ascertain their condition, Mr. Kim?"
"I can do better than that, sir. We can't get a communicator link through all the interference, but we can get a visual." Harry was anxious to make sure his friend Paris was in one piece. And more concerned than he'd care to admit about B'Elanna.
"Do so, Harry. Let's make sure they're all right." Janeway turned back to the screen, but couldn't make out the picture clearly through the snowy interference and the dark background. "Can you clean that up any?"
Tuvok went to work at his console, and the picture was abruptly clear. Every figure on the Bridge went still, and nothing broke the complete silence for several moments.
When she did manage to find her voice, it sounded strangled. "Mr. Kim, break the connection. Now."
"I'm ... trying, Captain." He sounded miserable, and utterly embarrassed. "It's..."
She finally managed to tear her eyes from the bizarre sight of Tom Paris fighting B'Elanna for his virtue, and losing, to stare at her communications officer. His skin was fiery red, and he was working furiously at his keypad.
"I didn't hear you, Ensign."
"It's stuck!" he blurted, looking up involuntarily at the screen before blanching and gluing his eyes back on his work. "It's stuck!" The reiteration was a forlorn wail.
"This I DON'T believe," Chakotay whistled. Then he surprised everyone by beginning to laugh. Janeway hurried over to him and grasped his arm.
"What is so funny about this, Chakotay?" she demanded, waving over her shoulder at the two figures writhing in the semidarkness of the cave.
"Well, I'm not going to owe him my life anymore," he managed to reply before losing his battle with his laughter. "'Cause somebody's going to have to keep B'Elanna from ripping his head off, and I have a feeling it's going to be me!"
She held his bright gaze for a moment before the humor of the situation struck her, than began to giggle. Taking a deep breath to try and control herself, she ordered Tuvok, "Send a rescue crew down there, Mr. Tuvok, to dig our little lovebirds out." As he reached for the button to call the crew she raised a hand. "Tomorrow, Tuvok. And, have them dig slowly." He quirked a brow at her but made no comment other than a dignified nod.
Harry continued to work frantically to cut the connection, while Chakotay and Captain Janeway carefully didn't look at the screen. Instead, they sat side by side and fought the giggles.
By now he was begging her, nearly incoherently, to let him in. She was close to losing control herself, and she shrugged out of the remains of her uniform. The lengths of their legs entangled, smooth skin rubbing against lightly furred, and the added sensation leant an urgency to her movements that matched his. Swinging her leg over his hips, she positioned herself over him and slowly lowered herself onto his shaft, filling herself at her own pace, ignoring his pleas. He held perfectly still, too close to orgasm to do anything else, needing to have it end but never wanting it to stop. For long moments she sat perfectly still, milking gently with her internal muscles, driving him beyond his limitations, taking them both beyond anything they'd ever felt before. At last he couldn't hold back any longer, and he bucked underneath her, forcing her into a rhythm in time with the pulse roaring in his head. She finally released his wrists, sliding her hands down his arms, burrowing one hand into his chest hair to tease a nipple, reaching behind her with the other to scratch his inner thigh with her nails, to cup his sac and roll his testicles between her fingers, sending him over the edge. His hands move of their own volition to her breasts, squeezing and kneading as he exploded in her. He shouted something as he came, he didn't know what, didn't hear the Sassenach war cry bred into him, but she heard it and smiled. More to this Human than she'd thought, as she continued to ride him, guiding his hand down to her clit, moving his fingers under hers until she joined him with an explosive climax of her own. Shudders ran up and down her spine, and she slowly curled over until she lay against his chest, still linked, exhausted.
He felt her breathing even out against the side of his face, and gradually felt the thunder of his heartbeat slow to a more normal pace. Perhaps it was the length of time it had been since he'd last had sex, but he was not through, and he felt himself grow harder, still inside her. But this time, they'd do it HIS way.
B'Elanna wasn't quite asleep, more like drifting off into sleep, when she felt herself gently rolled onto her back. Paris slowly withdrew from her, and she murmured a protest at the loss of his warmth and fullness. Featherlight touches on her forehead ridges and along her chest, lightly across her full breasts, toying for a bare moment with her nipples before drawing along the edges of her ribs began to awaken her. She opened her eyes when the touches settled around her hips, and then tried to sit up just as she felt the first touch of his lips at the curve of her stomach. Then they trailed lower, and his hands left her hips to hold her open to his questing tongue. The jolt of sensation when he whirled the tip of his tongue around her clitoris threw her head back, and all thoughts of stopping him flew from her mind. He moved over her with long, deep strokes of his tongue, alternating with short flicks at her most sensitive spots, until she lost track of everything except the way his mouth felt on her opening, the stabbing motions he made with the tip of his tongue, the firm kneading of his fingers on her thighs. He raised his head to look at her, his arousal heightened by the intense look on her face. Slipping two, then three fingers into her vagina, he rotated his thumb over her clit and moved over her to meet her open mouth with his. She moaned into his mouth, tasting their combined juices, and put her arms around his shoulders, trying to touch all of him at once.
He drew back slightly, allowing the barest cool breeze between them before whispering close to her ear, "Slowly." She almost didn't hear him over the blood rushing in her ears, in time with the movements of his hand in and out of her. When she did realize what he said, she opened her eyes to growl at him incredulously. He smiled wickedly, and she reached forward to bite him gently on the pec. He tasted so good she did it again, and he found himself leaning into it. He'd never been into lovebites before, but then B'Elanna was unlike anyone he'd ever had before. She began to pump his hand, moving faster and harder, and he kept pace, bringing her to another orgasm, less intense than the first but still enough to send shivers through her frame. Without missing a beat, he slid his hand from her and replaced it with his penis, thrusting into her with controlled force, determined that he would take her with him this time. They settled into a steady, driving rhythm, and she drew his hand to her mouth, sucking on his fingers one by one at a matching pace. His breathing quickened, and her eyes gleamed at the signs of his impending climax. She snaked a hand behind him, seeking the vulnerable line of his ass, probing delicately. His eyes widened as her fingers pushed in, and an involuntary scream rose to his lips.
"No fair! This was supposed to be slo-unhm..." His eyes closed as she found his weakness, and pushed him too close to the edge for any thought of restraint. In retaliation, his fingers found her clit and rubbed hard, sending another jolt through her that was echoed by his own. She reared up to meet his thrusts, her teeth fastening in the flesh above his collarbone, his mouth roaming along her throat and shoulder as the universe imploded around them.
A long time later, she was staring into the darkness, wondering how long it would be before she came to regret this -- and how long it would take to get rescued. Paris lay curled around her, one leg curved over hers, his head pillowed on her breast. She softly played with the short blonde curls at the nape of his neck and wondered how the hell she was supposed to explain this to him. It had taken her completely by surprise. She had thought she wouldn't have to deal with this, since she was only half Klingon. She'd gone through a normal adolescence, for a Human, and the absence of any sort of mating frenzy in any of her previous relationships had led her to think that there was one part of the Klingon heritage she had managed to escape. Now, she could only wonder at her rotten luck, that it should catch up to her in these circumstances. She felt him stirring and sighed. This was going to be ... embarrassing.
He slowly sat back from her, eventually looking up to meet her eyes. At the seeming lack of hostility, he relaxed a little, but not completely.
"So. Are you going to kill me, or just cut them off?" he tried to sound like he was joking, but he was worried enough that it rang through.
She met his clear sapphire eyes, and growled once, for show. He swallowed, and she smiled coldly.
"It wasn't your fault." He started to perk up, and she snarled at him. He watched her carefully. "Or mine. It was ... a Klingon thing." He looked confused, and she sighed unhappily. "Look. It was a mistake. It won't happen again." He started to protest and she bared her teeth. He shut up and listened. "I won't say anything. Neither will you." She paused significantly. "Or it'll be the last sex you ever enjoy."
He whitened, and she knew the point had gone home.
"No one will ever know from me, B'Elanna."
"Hunh?" He looked startled.
"Torres, Paris. And just for the record..." he looked at her defiantly, but not too defiantly, since she still could tear him apart, "I don't think you're a pig." He smiled at her, and she growled, "You just act like one."
They sat side by side in the darkness, trying to ignore what had happened between them, and failing miserably. Each was only comforted by the thought that no one else would ever know what had happened there, for both their reputations' sakes.
The next morning, Commander Chakotay's face was the first they saw as the rescue party broke through the landslide to dig them out. Neither one knew why he kept laughing at odd moments, and he wouldn't tell them. But the debriefing in the Captain's ready room was one none of the participants would ever forget.