TI: "The Games We Play." (VOY-AU, P/T) NC-17
AU: SnoopMary (MillicentFawcett@aol.com)
DI: Paramount owns them. We just let them have more fun. Heheh. Quoted dialogue belongs to the writers of said episodes. No infraction intended or profit earned.
RA: NC-17 (so if you're in high school right now, go do your homework)
AN: Thank you to my betas, Diane Bellomo and AnnieM! And the poem is mine. Be kind, it's the first since high school (even though I wrote for another tv show's fanfic; but I still think it's X-ellent).
Special Felicitations to PJinNH, for writing stories that inspire me so!
SU: Second season, immediately after "Investigations", when Tom (with Neelix's help) nailed Seska and Jonas, and throughout the series until right after "Revulsion". B'Elanna decides to teach Tom a lesson he won't soon forget. Also explains why Tom started chasing B'Elanna, and why she ran like hell for so long. Heheheheh.......
There were times she just wanted to rip his throat out and watch the light die in those unnaturally blue eyes.
She wanted him dead. It was that simple.
But not before he'd suffered a tremendous amount of agonizing and blistering pain.
Her wrath - and the reasons for it being present on this for-once dull day in the Delta Quadrant - was the subject of much merriment aboard the good ship Voyager. Stupidly, she had picked a fight with Paris last night and had, as only she could, left herself wide open for a risque (some would say cruel) rejoinder from an irritated and cranky Paris.
She admitted to herself that he hadn't done anything to provoke her attack, other than sit down and eat dinner with Sue Nicoletti and Megan Delaney, the objects of his attentions for many months now. Before she'd been able to stop herself, and still smarting from Tom's playacting to catch Jonas, she'd engaged the enemy too closely the minute the "ladies" (and she used that term loosely) had left.
"Well, well, well," she had sneered, "couldn't keep it out of sight for long, could you, flyboy?" His kind was the same the universe over, she had thought bitterly. They only cared about themselves and their needs.
Paris had slapped the padd he'd been perusing down onto the table, his temper obviously worn thin after days of former adversaries damning him with faint praise for nailing Jonas. "Is there something you'd like to say, B'Elanna?" he'd snarled, his blue eyes flashing steel.
She'd hissed right back at him, her temper taking hold of her tongue. "They're not interested anymore, Paris! Not many women of discriminating taste want damaged, secondhand goods!" She'd known the minute she'd said it, when his eyes had glittered dangerously and his flesh had paled, that she had for once gone too far.
Tom had surged to his feet, padd in hand, staring down at her with that supercilious curl to his lips that drove Chakotay mad. He'd blown her out of the water with one simple, succinct sentence.
"Since when is frigidity a synonym for 'discriminating taste', Torres?"
Then he'd just walked away, leaving her standing there, mouth open and the centre of amused and smirking attention.
He would pay. As much as she hated Seska, she had learned some things from her, like how to exact painful revenge, how to effectively slice and dice an ego in creative and innovative ways.
Frigid? Not hardly, Lieutenant Paris.
Tom leaned heavily against the lift wall as it took his exhausted body back to his deck and his bed. After Janeway had left the bridge, Chakotay had been a miserable bastard. He was still miffed at being kept in the dark about Tom's mission, and newly annoyed by the pilot's unwilling participation in the mess hall incident the night before.
He'd regretted it the minute he'd said it, and he regretted it even more now. Boy, did he regret that comment now. But dammit, sometimes she went too far!
Tom knew he normally let B'Elanna Torres away with bloody murder. She knew how to goad him into dangerous territory, to push buttons he tried to keep hidden from prying eyes. And that very ability put her at risk and his dark side in the driver's seat. But he wouldn't retaliate most of the time, like he would with anyone else. He couldn't. Tom didn't want to hurt her, and he knew that he had the power to cut her so deeply that the wounds would never heal. He'd learned to eviscerate hopes and dreams from an expert, and there was no way in hell he'd do that to someone. His father had done it often enough for Tom to know what it felt like to feel worthless, to feel second-best and unwanted. He'd been made to feel unwelcome in his own skin, and he'd die before he did that to anyone.
Tom knew that B'Elanna Torres had been hurt enough in her life. And he knew himself well enough to know that if he did retaliate, he wouldn't be able to stop until he'd decimated her already shaky self-confidence. Kathryn Janeway had given him the chance to change, to pick up the pieces of his life, rebuild his faith in himself, and reform into someone worthy of respect. The trust his Captain had placed in him required him to let go of that part of himself that revelled in returning the hurt tenfold. He wouldn't let her down. So he would not hurt B'Elanna Torres.
Besides, B'Elanna was so vibrant and lively when she sparred with him -- it was stunning to watch as she sparked like an interrupted circuit. He was obsessed with her mind, and that mouth of hers, had been since they'd worked for warp ten. She was only the second woman he'd ever met who could be more of a smart-ass than he was. He shut his eyes against the familiar rush of pain and loss, pushing the image of Odile away, forcing her laughter and her voice from his mind. He opened his eyes, and let out a cleansing breath, locking his heart again.
He wanted to trade barbs with B'Elanna again.
Hell. Who was he trying to kid?
He just wanted her. Badly.
He could've cared less about B'Elanna's hatred of him. Hell, it probably would've made sex all the more passionate. He knew, just as he knew exactly what speed the ship was travelling at in any given moment, that they would be fabulous, insanely fierce, in bed together. However, he knew that if he tried anything, tried to fulfill any of his fantasies, she'd butcher his body and decorate main engineering with his entrails. She'd made it perfectly clear without him trying that she was *not* interested in some ex-con playboy with, what was it she said? Delusions of grandeur.
Tom Paris was clearly not B'Elanna Torres' idea of a good time.
But he could dream. He could dream of soft skin and softer lips, eyes like an autumn night's sky and a voice like hot buttered rum.
The lift stopped and he staggered out onto his new deck, walking towards his new cabin, once more silently bemoaning the loss of his personal belongings aboard the Talaxian convoy. They'd been vaporized in the original attack, much to his dismay. It didn't help matters that during those last few seconds while Voyager had waited to beam him out of the inferno his appropriated shuttle had become, the Kazon had landed a blow to Voyager. That blow had destroyed his quarters and the few items he'd hidden there, just in case he survived that hellish mission.
Now he had new quarters, new furniture, and was in an even worse position than when he'd boarded the ship. His personal belongings now consisted of the basic kit every cadet got the first day at the academy, and not much else. That tattooed bastard wouldn't even advance him rations to replace some of what he'd lost, and there was no way he was going to do an end-run around Chakotay and ask the Captain. He didn't want to make the smug little shit more pissed off. God only knew what he'd dream up to make Tom's life even more awkward.
Tom still wasn't sure whether Chakotay was more pissed off that Tom had knocked him on his can, or whether it was because Tom Paris, perennial screw-up, had been the one who'd had to clean up after yet another one of Chakotay's 'loyal' Maquis' attempts to fuck Voyager over. At this point, he was too tired to even try to care. Right now, all he wanted to do was listen to his favourite music program, the one he'd spent *years* organizing. But that was out of the question; it had been included in the lost and/or destroyed items list.
He really could've used that program tonight, he thought sadly as he rubbed the severe crick in his neck. He turned the corner, and suppressed a groan. Torres was leaning against the wall beside his door. Damn.
She straightened, and spoke before he could tell her to go away, to give him a break just for tonight. "Paris, you and I need to talk."
He sighed heavily. "B'Elanna, I - ."
She cut him off. "I know you're tired. I'm sorry. I just think we need to clear the air, for the sake of the ship. We have to work together, and resolving some of these issues, the sooner the better, will make that easier."
She was serious, he thought, studying her face. He nodded, and tabbed the controls to open his doors. He waved her in before him, and followed at a polite distance. He sighed as he stepped into the darkness, calling for the lights. He heard the *shush* of the doors shutting behind him. He motioned for B'Elanna to grab a seat.
"I'd offer you something, but I have no rations," he said, yanking his uniform jacket off and tossing it into the reclamator. At her confused look, he explained, wincing internally at the bitterness he could hear in his voice. "My rations were redistributed when I left. Your mentor won't return them or advance me any new ones."
"Do you want something, Paris?" She asked, obviously surprised by her mentor's petty act.
He was surprised at the offer. He didn't expect that from her. "No. I'm fine. But feel free to indulge, Torres." He sat down in the chair by his desk, rubbing his neck.
She watched him as she stood at his replicator, ordering ice water. "Are you all right?"
He felt an unwelcome smirk spread over his face. "I'm touched by the concern, Lieutenant. Our XO seems to think that manually recalibrating the thruster controls was necessary, even though the diagnostics on helm were free and clear." He felt a short burst of triumph at the slight wince she gave. "Now that we've exchanged pleasantries, can we get this over with? It can't be doing your reputation any good to be here, alone, with damaged, secondhand goods, B'Elanna."
When she saw how utterly tired and worn out Tom Paris looked rounding the corner earlier, she'd had second thoughts about extracting her pound of flesh. When she saw how bare and cold his new quarters looked, and realized that Chakotay was being a jerk over his rations, she'd been seconds from backing out. Then he'd opened his trap, again.
She was really going to enjoy this.
B'Elanna stood up, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her engineering smock, swallowing the chuckle that threatened to spill over. The weight of the cuffs was oddly comforting against her thigh. "This is exactly what I mean, Paris! You make a smart-ass comment, I retaliate. And vice versa. It has to stop. We're both professionals, we know better," she snapped, pacing the room, making him adjust to her constant movements.
He sighed. "You're right. I apologize, B'Elanna. I'm just really tired." He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the exhaustion away. She was standing closer when he looked at her again. "Tell you what. I won't be such a... a...."
He returned the mild grin Torres shot him. "My parents were married, Torres, and," he chortled slightly, holding up a hand, "my mother would not appreciate what you're thinking, either." The grin fell away. "I won't be so snappish, B'Elanna, if you cut me some slack." She saw the moment of good humour drift away, and something she didn't think Tom Paris felt take up residence in his face: loneliness. "I'm not stupid, you know. I know what people say about me."
Her head popped up and cocked on an angle. "You do?" She felt mildly uncomfortable as she realized that he wasn't as obtuse as people thought.
"Dumb blond? A walking example of oxygen deprivation?" Paris shook his head as he repeated two of the more popular comments. Torres felt stunned. He was actually *talking* to her. This was not what she'd expected. He ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it. "Torres, I can usually handle anything you throw at me. I have a very thick skin. But don't call me stupid. I may not understand temporal mechanics, but that doesn't make me a moron." They were both silent for a few minutes, both surprised at the hurt in his voice.
B'Elanna finally broke the chilling silence, surprised at her own need to take the sting out of the sotto voces comments he really had heard. "I don't think you're stupid, Paris. Just not very well-rounded. You were taught to be a Starfleet officer, and from what I've heard, nothing else."
Paris' laugh was almost a dry cackle. He stood up and walked into his bathroom. She heard water run. When he stepped back into the living area, there were water splotches on his shirt and his hairline was wet. His voice was caustic and bitingly cold. "Torres, you don't even know me, so do me a favour? Don't guestimate my education." He walked over to the armchair that faced the door and flopped down. His face was suddenly cold in its intensity, while his eyes were weary. "Torres, I *am* a Paris. I went to the best private schools on Earth; whether I enjoyed them is another story, but I went to them, nevertheless. That means that while you were studying basic warp theory in high school, I was building mock-ups and tearing apart the real thing." He suddenly surged to his feet and started to prowl his quarters, his body moving in tight, staccato gestures.
He whipped around and stared down at her, his eyes like phaser fire. "I *am* well-rounded, dammit! I'm not some obsessive piloting prima donna incapable of having a non-flight-related conversation! I'm enthralled by history, especially Earth's twentieth century! I love chemistry, which is a good thing since the Doctor's intent on turning me into our field medic! And guess what? I love math! Hell, Torres, as far as I know I still hold the highest recorded mark for Advanced Subspace Geometry in Academy history! You and your friends don't know shit about me, and you haven't even tried all that hard to get to know me! Just because I didn't give a flying fuck about Civics, temporal mechanics, or any of the other courses that future officers are supposed to enjoy, it doesn't mean I'm stupid!"
In the space of a breath, Paris' voice dropped to nothing from the decibels it had reached. He seemed to forcibly calm himself, to lock that anger back inside him somewhere. His voice was a low rasp in the dry room as he stared down at her, dissecting her with those oh-so-blue eyes. "Tell me something: do people think I'm stupid because I didn't blindly follow in my old man's footsteps? Because I gave it all up when I just could've kept my mouth shut and everyone would've been none the wiser? I did my damnedest to get the hell away from the Paris tradition and all the so-called laurels that went with it!" Torres found herself taken aback by this blunt honesty, by the absence of Paris' ever-present mask. "Hell, I never wanted to join Starfleet. I didn't even want to go to university. I had my own plans." Paris dropped back into his armchair, exhaustion etched into his body. His head lolled against the back of the chair.
She couldn't help but ask. "I thought you wanted to be a pilot."
He gave a positively chilling laugh. "Nope. In fact," he smirked slightly, whether at her or at himself she didn't know, "I tried to quit flying when I started high school. Spending all my free time in a simulator with my father cursing me was not my idea of fun. My grandfather managed to keep Dad off my back for six months, but he died before I finished first year. I wasn't strong enough to hold out against my father by myself."
B'Elanna couldn't figure out how she'd become Tom Paris' confidant. She was even more stunned to realize that she didn't want him to stop talking. She withdrew her hand from her pocket and sat back down. "What about your mother? Or," she thought hard, trying to recall the brief biography she'd read in the computer, "your sisters?"
Paris lifted his head and stared at her, those blue eyes slightly bloodshot. "What about -? Mom was too busy with Kat and Moira. Besides, she couldn't understand why I wanted to quit either. Dad was Mr. Wonderful to spend so much time with me, I should've been more grateful," he simpered. He became serious again. "I tried to keep my sisters out of it for the most part. If he was focussed on me, he left them alone."
Now that's surprising, she thought. Tom Paris is protective of his sisters. "You miss them," she noted, realizing that Harry was right, Tom Paris wasn't superficial or an amoral mercenary. He just didn't show all his cards.
Paris looked surprised. "Of course I miss them! They're my sisters. Hell, they still acknowledged my existence after I got cashiered and tossed in prison. And believe me, my parents did not let that go unremarked." He blinked quickly, a sense of earnest entreaty filling his eyes and softening his voice. "B'Elanna, I know you probably won't believe me, but I didn't take Janeway's offer out of some desire to fuck the Maquis over. I did it because I was tired of having to tell Kat and Moira that I didn't want them visiting me in prison. I didn't want them to see what it was like there. I was hell-bent on getting out and letting them help me fix the disaster I'd become." He braced his elbows on his knees, balancing his chin on folded hands. "I love my sisters, B'Elanna. They're the only reason I didn't stay with the '37s. I need to go home. I need them in my life, I need to make the mess I made out of my life up to them. I hurt them so much, it isn't even something I can joke about. And they still never left me. So I won't leave them."
"What did you want to do? I mean, since you weren't planning on joining the fleet," B'Elanna asked, quickly changing the subject. This Paris was almost... nice, she realized.
He leaned back and stretched in the chair, smiling at her. "Well, it did involve a uniform, although that didn't impress the Admiral." His smile was actually true. It was a real smile. "I didn't exactly have anything momentous planned. It wouldn't have got me in the history books or anything. My goals consisted of finishing high school, joining the Federation Naval Patrol, and starting a family with some nice girl who wouldn't take shit from my father." The smile abruptly vanished, the bitterness in his eyes driving a pang of regret into her chest as she discovered she liked seeing those eyes dance in real joy. "But I was the Paris heir. My life was planned out for me before I was even born. I wasn't given a choice. I had to take over the family business, whether I wanted to or not."
She didn't know what to say to that. Paris stiffened suddenly, as he realized that he'd told her so much, had actually shown her the real Tom Paris. An icy glint drove the bitterness away, leaving him looking years older than he really was. "So, do we have a deal? I don't goad you, you don't goad me?" She nodded, dumbfounded by how quickly he shut her out. "Good." He stood, silently signalling that it was time for her to leave. She padded to the door, and turned to say... what? She was glad she'd come? She shook her head.
She smiled at him, suddenly feeling more than a little daring. "You're not the hard-ass you seem to be, Paris." She straightened up as she realized how close together they were standing, and played the professional engineer. "Well... Good night, Paris." She felt her breath catch slightly at the soft smile that the helmsman gave her.
"My name's Tom, B'Elanna," he whispered. "Good night."
She stared at the doors for a few moments after they shut. The man was an enigma wrapped inside a mystery.
B'Elanna strolled into the lounge a few minutes early, glad to see that her target was there early, as was his wont. She stalked over and dropped into the chair opposite him.
"Good morning, B'Elanna," Chakotay smiled. "I've never known you to show up early for briefings."
B'Elanna felt a slight twinge of anger at the affable man before her. "And I've never known you to be petty, Chakotay." His smile dropped away quickly, stunned at the ice in her voice.
"Tom Paris nearly died to stop Seska from taking this ship. He lost everything he owned in the process of catching yet another Maquis who was out to screw us, Chakotay. He wasn't the one who decided you shouldn't be included in the operation. So why are you taking it out on him?" Chakotay opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off. "Why won't you give him back his rations? Or advance him enough to let him start rebuilding his life?"
Chakotay looked a little angry. "Did Paris put you up to this, B'Elanna?"
She shook her head. "I decided that it was well past time for Paris and I to clear the air. Our sniping was getting out of hand. So I went by his quarters. He was exhausted, after working nearly eighteen hours and reprogramming the thrusters, which had just been recalibrated," she reprimanded, a little fire seeping into her voice. "But he was willing to talk, even though he was so tired I thought he was going to fall down. Then I find out that the reason his closet is empty, except for a bathrobe and a spare uniform, is because a certain Maquis first officer is taking out his anger at being left out of the loop on the guy who got stuck picking up the pieces of the Maquis' bad judgment." She held up her hand, forestalling her friend and mentor's comment. "What you're doing is unfair, Chakotay. I expected better from you."
The doors opened and the others streamed in, preventing the older man from responding. But she noticed that he wouldn't meet her or Paris' eyes throughout the briefing.
The Captain adjourned the meeting, and just as the doors shut behind her, she heard Chakotay tell Paris that he'd restored his rations.
"I'm just curious how someone with Klingon blood seems to live the life of a Tabern monk."
- Tom Paris, "The Swarm", Stardate 50252.3
Kahless, she needed to sleep. If you asked her, she'd tell you she'd never felt so tired. Or terrified, for that matter. When Kes had told her what had happened while Tom was in surgery....
He could've died.
She rolled over, again. She knew that it was one of those things that disturbed her to no end, Tom Paris' not-quite-a-death-wish. She couldn't figure it out. She wondered when his luck would finally run out, when that smile would stop scraping her nerves over the table at the morning briefing. When would the day when he didn't come home come? And the fact that he didn't appear to care really did make her wonder about his stability. She knew that he was still a mystery to most people, but the one person who could probably tell her was Tom's best friend. And asking Harry was as good as telling Tom Paris that she was checking him out.
She was still pissed off, too. That Tabern monk comment struck just a little too close to home. She was willing to admit to herself that she was lonely, that coming home to empty quarters, to another night of romance novel heroes, was starting to wear pretty thin. Especially when she found herself delighted when the hero had blue eyes.
But it wasn't just the monk comment that bothered her. It was the Klingon crack, too. She had been so tempted to take him up on his offer, curious about his infamous Lake Como programme. It was still the only programme he'd written that was off-limits, marked personal use only, in the database. She knew that people had tried to hack it, but it was buried under so many levels of encryption, she doubted even she could break into it.
Proof of his self-declared love of math, she gathered.
But she was so... scared? No, more worried and nervous, she realized, that maybe he was only asking because he wanted to see if those damn rumours about Klingons and sex were true. And she really hoped it wasn't that that had made him ask. She didn't want to think that Tom Paris, someone she had started to consider a friend, was that callous, that he could possibly just see her as a way to see whether or not Klingons were really like the rumours suggested.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. How dare he make a crack like that! How dare he make out that I'm some kind of... of ... nympho!
She bolted upright and asked the computer to detail Lieutenant Paris' schedule for the next few days.
She'd teach him about Tabern monks and Klingon blood.
She stared down at the naked pilot, smiling at his discomfort. She was sure that he hadn't expected her to slip into his quarters while he was showering, tackle him as he emerged from his bathroom, and cuff him to his only armchair. "Computer, set lights at 23%." She watched, delighted, as he finally realized who had locked him up. She laughed out loud as his voice cracked an octave when he finally noticed that she was barely clothed. She'd purposely left only her tank-top and panties on, wanting him to drive himself mad, trying to figure out what she really did look like underneath.
She wanted to make him beg.
"B'Elanna?" His normally solid drawl bled confusion, a little fear, and just enough lust to convince her that this was the right course of action. After all, as far as he knew, she'd left Sandrine's and gone straight to bed.
"Yes, Paris," she whispered, confirming that it was indeed her in the low lit room. She noticed that the slight chill in the air had had the effect on his body that she'd wanted: gooseflesh. She also noticed that his body had begun to tighten at the sound of her voice. "I hope you don't mind. I wanted to...surprise you." She smirked as his breath quickened when she leaned across his body to light the rose and patchouli candle she'd placed on his coffee table.
"No!" He took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. "No, not at all. But, B'Elanna -."
"Yes, Paris?" She deliberately let her gaze drift down towards his cock, which had decided to pop up and say 'hello!'.
Interesting. Tom's body got hot when she talked. She'd have to remember that.
His voice was barely a whisper. "What are you doing? Why are we seriously out of uniform?"
She released a thick, lustful, breathy chuckle. "I thought it was high time I proved I wasn't frigid, *Tom*." She smiled when his body flexed involuntarily at her use of his first name, sweat breaking out on his chest.
Tom squinted at her from his position, his voice slightly frantic and throbbing with regret as he shifted under her scrutiny. "B'Elanna, I *know* you're not a Tabern monk. That remark was totally uncalled for. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... upset you." His skin continued to flush and tighten as she traced it with her eyes. His cock jerked slightly every time she let her eyes linger on it.
She let a predatory, almost-evil smile spread across her face as she stepped over his towel and her clothes on the floor and slipped onto his lap. She leaned over and stretched against his body, tangling her legs with his, letting her lips just brush his ear while her toes traced his calves. "I know you, *Tom*, and you always mean what you say. And I think my actions speak far, far louder than your words, don't you?" She swallowed a chuckle at his almost-imperceptible shiver. She trailed her index finger across his jaw, down his neck, letting her fingers slide over the damp, hot skin covering his clavicle. She slid her hand lower, tugging at his chest hair, finding a flat nipple and playing with it.
He swallowed, hard. His voice cracked as he said her name. She cut him off with a smile. Her voice was a rumbling purr against his body. "Just remember, Tom," she laughed slightly as his body flinched at the sound of his name on her lips, "easy come... easy go."
Tom thought he was going to die. She leaned over him, letting her hair trail across his shoulder and nipped at his jaw. He sucked in a deep breath and thought he was going to go stark staring crazy. In spite of that candle she'd lit, all he could smell was B'Elanna, the not-musk, not-spice, not-sandalwood thing that was her. He knew it would linger on his body; he prayed it would.
His eyes fell shut and he moaned her name as she scraped her teeth down and over his adam's apple. He groaned, a sound wrenched deep from his gut, as her tongue lapped at the hollow of his throat. He cursed as her teeth pierced his skin there, his lungs emptying rapidly as she lapped and sucked at the love bite.
He felt his eyelids flutter as she raised her head, licking his blood from her lips. A tiny grin played there as she swung her body up and straddled him, his erection pressing hard against her panties. He tried to slouch down, trying desperately to save the skin he was sure she was setting him up to rip off. His breath exploded from his chest again, as B'Elanna slid up his body until she was sitting on his stomach. She pushed down, making him gasp as he felt her arousal soaking his skin. There was no way that was a game; it was real, she wanted him. He reared up to grab her, to touch her, only to be bounced back by the cuffs. Her grin widened until it split her face.
"Problems, Paris?" She whispered against his ear, laughing softly as he shuddered against her.
He let his head fall back against the back of the armchair, looking straight into black fire lit eyes. He could barely believe that it was his voice that sounded like gravel in a jar. "Uncuff me and there won't be any, B'Elanna," he drawled, dragging out her name until she blinked slowly. Her eyes were dancing with laughter as she slid down slightly, coating his abdomen in her juices. God, he could *smell* her. She was really getting off on this, on driving him out of his mind. He inhaled deeply, trying to commit her to memory, positive that this was going to be a one-time deal.
She pressed her breasts hard against his chest, rubbing the stiff points against him. His mouth watered at the mental image of his head at her breast, his mouth devouring her erect flesh. He felt his cock jerk, and a little wetness slide over. B'Elanna shifted on him, turning and smiling slightly. He felt a finger slide up him, gathering the leaked fluid. When she turned back, he could see a dab of his seed glistening on the tip of her finger. She raised the hand, watching him watch her, and sucked the finger into her mouth, wiping it clean with her tongue. He felt his heart skip and pound irregularly as he gasped for air. "Goddamn, you bitch, let me go!" he begged, straining against the cuffs as he tried to reach for her. Every inch of his frame was shaking in welcome agony, desperate to lose its always-fragile grip on reality in her body.
"But where's the fun in that, Paris?" She murmured against his cheek, her tongue licking his stubble. He felt another surge in his cock at the sound of his name on her lips. He moaned and had the uncontrollable urge to hear her scream his name, to feel her nails scoring his back. Sheer lust swept through him, making him buck up against her, hard. She pushed herself up slightly, but enough to put his eyes level with the upper planes of her breasts. He could see the shadow between them, watched a bead of sweat trickle down out of sight. He licked his lips unconsciously. His eyes flew up to meet hers as she settled herself back down on his erection. Her eyes were molten, flashing in delighted ecstasy at him.
She found this funny? Making him so fucking hot that he thought his enzymes were going to start breaking down?
Her eyes twinkled, as if saying, yes, I am laughing at you. He leaned back slightly, watching another bead of sweat disappear into her cleavage. He realized that anyone who said cotton wasn't sexy didn't know what the hell they were talking about. It clung, sweat-stuck to her body, defining her curves. She caught his chin in hand and forced his eyes back to hers. He felt as if she was tearing into his soul, demanding his surrender.
Her grip became bruising as she started to rub her wet, cotton-covered self against him, grinding and circling over him until he was flailing beneath her. His hips drove upwards, thrusting mindlessly against her, the friction of his hot flesh against the wet hot material nearly painful. He could hear his own voice, raw and shaking, chanting her name and begging her for more, to do it harder, faster, longer. He heard himself hissing about how good this was, about how beautiful she was, about how he'd wanted *this* so bad for so long that his teeth hurt.
He stared up into her beautiful, flushed face when she stopped suddenly, holding herself high enough above his hips so as to catch his attention. Tom could see where she'd been chewing on her lower lip, rubbing it raw with her teeth. He tried to reach her, to soothe the mark with his tongue, but the cuffs prevented him from finally answering his much-pondered question of what B'Elanna's mouth tasted like, of what her skin tasted like. Of what those teeth would feel like on his tongue.
"B'Elanna....." he moaned, thrashing beneath her, driving deep bruises into his wrists as he tried to wrestle free of the cuffs.
"What do you want, Paris? Ask me," B'Elanna growled, pressing down hard, making him bite his lip in blissed-out agony. Her voice was bewitching him; it was the only explanation. "I asked you a question, Paris! Or should I say Piglet?" she whispered, a hint of dark amusement playing over her lips.
Tom felt the blood drain from his face, realizing that B'Elanna could completely humiliate him with that nickname. He let his head fall back, closing his eyes for a moment. "Goddamn. I'm gonna fuckin' kill Harry."
She laughed, a glittering scale echoing in the small room. "That's all right, Paris. I'm not being maternal when I call you that." She became serious again. "What do you want, Paris?"
Tom knew what he needed. "Kiss me," he implored, rising up as much as the cuffs would allow him to. She fairly flew towards him, her lips colliding with his at a heart-stopping speed.
It was like nothing he'd ever had before. Her mouth was wetter than water and sweeter than vermouth. He swore time actually stopped when her tongue slid over and around his own, drawing it into a duel. He was just learning the texture of her cheek when she reared back, gasping for air. He tried to follow, but was still cuffed. "B'Elanna, come back!" he begged, drawing his legs up in a futile effort to knock her forwards again.
"No, Paris," she soothed, stroking his cheek lightly, "not until I've done this."
She slid down and kneeled between his legs. She wrapped her hands around his cock, smoothing some of the escaping fluid over his hot flesh. The feel of her hands on him forced a deep gasp out of his chest. He looked down his body to where she knelt between his legs, realizing that he couldn't handle this, not now at least. Hell, he'd probably see this every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his life. But before he could stop her, tell her that it'd be too much, that he wouldn't be able to last if she went down on him, she'd taken him all the way into her mouth.
He moaned at the wet heat, flinching as he bumped the back of her throat. He shifted at she fondled the sensitive and tightening bundle beneath his cock while she slid him in and out of her mouth, perfectly varying the force and duration of the strokes. He couldn't focus on anything. His panting was so fast and desperate that he was incoherent. "B'Elanna! I need - stop - I - *God!*" He started to chant her name as she increased the suction, trying not to blindly thrust his hips into her face. He tried once more to stop the inevitable from occurring. "B'Elanna, I'm gonna come," he wailed. Her hands slid around to clasp his ass, her nails sinking in as she sucked him hard before releasing his aching cock.
Her name was a blissfully pained cry of need, cut from his soul. His body writhed and pulsed underneath her, desperately trying to make contact with her own weeping flesh. He was just about ready to blow.
It was time, she realized, feeling a pang of disappointment.
She slithered up along his frame, until they were breast-to-breast and face-to-face. His eyes were like an eclipse, his mouth drawn tight, his skin flushed a deep rose. His hair was plastered to his forehead, dark with sweat.
He was... beautiful, she realized.
He felt his body's flush increase as his frustration grew. He had to get inside her. He would surely die if he didn't get inside her. The feel of those breasts squashed against his chest, the sense of the wet heat so close to him, made him crazy. He needed to touch her, to clutch her hips as he slammed into her. He clanged the cuffs against the arms of his chair in a lust-driven fury. "Lemme go, B'Elanna! Right now, goddammit!" he snarled, shifting his legs beneath her, spreading her just enough to push right against her, right at what he viewed as the most perfect spot in the universe.
Her voice and his name were breathy, and coupled with the return of her hips to his own, sent his control out the window as he thrust without warning against her, grinding against her swollen clit. Her voice and the moist heat that touched his ear were a wet dream come to life. "Why, Tom? What do you want now, Tom?"
He bucked up against her, wildly grinding his cock against her smooth wet thigh, drawing a tight cry from both of them. The sound she released made him suck in a B'Elanna-scented supply of oxygen. Fire licked at every nerve ending in his body. He tried to catch hold of her, to pull her to him, but he couldn't. "Bitch!" he hissed, his frustration growing. He banged his head against the chair back. She leaned down and licked his jaw. He turned his head quickly, nipping her swollen lip. He felt a brief twinge of victory. He soothed the little wound with his tongue, revelling in the taste of himself on her.
"What do you want, Paris?" Her voice was commanding and beckoning. He tried to catch her lips again, but she sat back, waiting for his answer. He could barely understand himself through the harsh pants she was drawing out of him.
"I wanna fuck you clear into next week, B'Elanna. I wanna feel you fuck me until I can't see straight. I want you bucking under me and screaming my name so loud that every man on this ship knows who you belong to, who owns your body." She moaned as she pressed against him, making him shudder. He bucked up against her again, felt her heart slam in time with his own. He couldn't believe how smoky her voice sounded, how dark and depraved and wonderful she sounded when she gasped his name. He cried out as he felt her teeth barely graze his jaw, rolled his shoulders as she buried her face in his neck.
He couldn't stop talking -- he had to tell her, needed to share what he wanted right now, more than anything in his life, more than his freedom. "I wanna know what you taste like, B'Elanna Torres. I wanna devour you, drink you in until I'm so drunk on you that I have to go into rehab. I wanna make you ride my fingers while you taste your come on my mouth. I wanna know, B'Elanna, if having you tear up my back, your thighs wrapped around my waist, holding me so deep inside you that I don't remember where you start and I finish, is as good in life as it is in my dreams. I need to feel your body pulling my cock deeper and deeper until it locks onto me and won't let go. I wanna hold you down and slam into you so hard and fast that you'll be walking funny for a week, and everyone'll know that B'Elanna Torres has been well and truly fucked by Tom Paris. I wanna make you forget who and where we are. I wanna hear you whisper my name when I'm lying beside you, completely unable to move. I wanna kiss you until we're both shuddering, until the fever that's burning us up is so painfully sweet that we'd rather burn in hell than stop. I wanna be inside you when I come, B'Elanna." She pulled back sharply, gasping for air, staring at him as if she wanted to devour him whole. He deliberately shut his eyes, trying to maintain control in spite of what she looked like right now, poised to ride him into blessed oblivion, her face caught in a rictus of frantic desire, panting sobs for air making him harder and harder. He softened his voice, knowing that he was nearly snarling at her. "Lemme come inside you, B'Elanna. *Please*, B'Elanna." His eyes flew open as she laughed shakily and pulled herself off his body.
"B'Elanna?" She was shaking, flushed, her thighs dripping with her wetness as she pulled her clothes on and smiled with bitter victory down at his tense, damp, hot, quaking body. "B'Elanna, where are you going?" Tom suddenly thought he might have offended her, the way he'd been talking dirty to her. "B'Elanna, if I said something to upset you, tell me, I won't do it again!" He cursed silently at his frantic, pleading tone; he knew he didn't do desperation well.
B'Elanna grinned down at him, despite her body's rage at leaving its new best friend. She decided to add an extra twist to her plan. She shoved her hand down into her panties, collecting her juices. She leaned down over him and let her fingers play over his lips, giving him a taste of her body, pulling them away as he tried to suck them into his mouth. She lapped at her hand, snickering slightly at the choking sound that welled up out of Paris. She blew out the candle and picked the cuff key up and set it in his left hand, the arm furthest from her. She walked over to the door and snickered as she heard him curse. The clang of the cuff against the chair echoed through the room as he released himself. She turned back to him, still quaking and desperately wanting to tackle him and take what he was offering. But she had to do this. She'd promised herself that he wouldn't get away with what he'd said.
He stopped his desperate attempt to get his right arm free, to reach her. He stared at her, looking completely deranged. His eyes were wild and barely focussed. "Huh?"
She smiled and tilted her head slightly as she let the door slide open behind her.
"Do you still think I live like a Tabern monk?"
She laughed as the doors slid shut, cutting off Tom Paris' soft, stunned "You fucking *bitch*!"
Tom finally stepped out of the ice water shower and shivering, began to towel himself off. It had taken three hours' worth of his water rations, meaning the despised sonics for the rest of the month, but his erection had finally subsided. Normal methods, he thought wryly, do not compare to B'Elanna Torres. He'd barely been able to stop himself from chasing her down and fucking her against the nearest bulkhead. He realized that she'd tried to blow his brain out the back of his skull out of revenge for his crack about Klingon blood and Tabern monks. He'd obviously hurt her more than he'd thought, something he most assuredly regretted. But he'd been given access to a major chink in her otherwise impenetrable armour tonight. He'd already started to figure out how to clean up his reputation enough to get a chance with her, to get a chance to fuck his brains out in that hot little body of hers.
An education, as his father had often said, was never wasted. This hadn't been a complete cluster-fuck.
B'Elanna Torres wanted him.
"Lieutenant, thank God you're here!"
"Oh you need me." She smirked at him, enjoying his predicament. "I'm touched."
- Tom Paris to B'Elanna Torres, "Macrocosm", 50425.1
The bastard had stepped up his campaign to drive her mad. He'd sent her three dozen roses on Valentine's Day, delivered by a cupid-attired Naomi Wildman. He wrote holodeck programmes just for her, trying to get her to go out with him. He relieved half of alpha shift of their rations at pool one night, all to replicate a bat'leth for her birthday. He would catch her just as she entered the mess hall for meals, and would insist on treating her to 'real food'. People were starting to talk.
And she really, truly hated him at times. She hated him because he could get to her, she thought, as she peered in at the replicator's circuitry. She could still feel the shiver running up and down her spine, caused by his softly whispered rejoinder.
"I always need you, B'Elanna."
'I want you bucking under me and screaming my name so loud that every man on this ship knows who you belong to, who owns your body.' She shook her head, trying to forget what his voice had sounded like, growling his intentions so many weeks ago. Even as she did it, she knew it wouldn't work. It never worked.
She heard him in her shower, in her office, on the bridge, everywhere. She couldn't get his words, his wants, out of her skull. She couldn't stop the images either, whether memories from that night or creations dreamed out of his words.
She wondered if he knew what his attempt to claim her had done to her body, if he knew that he'd awakened something Klingon inside her that would not go away. Did he realize how close she'd come to biting him, to claiming him as hers and hers alone? Did Tom Paris have any idea how her half-Klingon self had nearly surrendered to his attempt to claim exclusive access to her body?
She was sure that he didn't. She was positive that Tom Paris was completely unaware of the fact that the Klingon inside her soul had revelled in his desire to make her his. And still wanted him to.
What the hell? she thought, poking the gelpack.
She stepped into her shower and leaned back against the cubicle wall, sighing in pleasure as the hot water hit her. She couldn't believe what had nearly happened. They had nearly died because of macrovirii.
She really couldn't remember a lot of what had happened, a side effect, she supposed, of the fever. But she did remember a calm Tom Paris fetching juice for her, mopping her brow, soothing her after she awakened from a fever-induced nightmare. All while ready to fall down himself. When he'd finally been forced to give in, he'd tossed Ensign Vorik out of the seat beside her, and had said something in badly accented Klingon. It had sounded like "ghopmeylIj 'uch tIqwIj", but she was positive she'd misheard him. She was so far gone, she couldn't have understood him.
But the look in his eyes....
Tom lay back on his bed, hoping she didn't remember what he'd said to her before everything faded to black. He hadn't even known that he was going to say it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to figure out why he'd said it.
'You hold my heart in your hands, B'Elanna.'
He figured he was safe; she hadn't come to kill him yet. She probably didn't remember. He didn't know why that bothered him.
"Harry and I will meet you and Vorik at the luau."
"You're pretty confident about your powers of persuasion."
"Yes. I am."
- Tom Paris to B'Elanna Torres, "Alter Ego", 50460.3
Tom didn't know what it was about the way that Vulcan ensign looked at B'Elanna. He just didn't like it. There was something in his eyes that Tom just found really disturbing. Well, it didn't matter. If there was something there, he knew it was one-sided.
[AUTHOR'S NOTE: The dialogue is Lisa Klink's, the authoress of "Blood Fever". I am simply borrowing it and describing the cinematic images in order to maintain a cohesive flow. No copyright infringement is intended. Hell, I think it's the best goddamn hour of TV I've ever seen! It's an homage!]
'Blood Fever' 50537.2
Tom coughed harshly and blinked the dust out of his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet and felt his heart sink to his knees as he realized that they were trapped in the small alcove. "It's alright. We'll find a way out." He hoped he sounded reassuring. Heaven only knew, he wasn't that confident; he was counting on Tuvok finding them, ASAP.
He really didn't want to be the notch on B'Elanna's belt that she'd rather forget.
B'Elanna groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, shaking some of the dust off her body. "We should use that weapon. It's worth the risk now."
Tom knew his days were numbered once he told her that he'd ditched the gun. He tried to laugh it off. "I might agree with you if I still had it. It's buried somewhere under all that," he motioned, hoping that she only tore one of his arms off.
"What?!" She turned and buried her face against the wall, anger radiating out of her fevered body.
"Sorry. Try to stay calm. I know it's hard -". The minute he said it, he knew he deserved whatever names she called him for that inept platitude.
She whipped round, back braced against the wall, crouched and clenching her fists. Her voice shook and triphammered in his ears. "You don't know anything! I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin! I need to do something. I can't take this!" Before he had a chance to react, she tackled him and straddled his legs. Her mouth was so hot and he allowed himself a fraction of a second to clutch at her and savour the softness of her skin, her lips. Then he flipped quickly and darted to his feet, trying to put some manouvering space between them.
She laughed bitterly as she reared up. "You've never been hard to get, Tom."
Tom desperately tried to drown out the little voice in his head screaming at him to just give in. It was the same little voice that had told him to tell a lie when he shouldn't have, that told him to take the job offered by the tattooed man. He took a deep breath and quickly began to survey the terrain of the small room, seeking an exit strategy. "Well I'm making an exception. I can't let you do this."
"Oh, oh, but you wish you could." B'Elanna surged to her feet. He dashed around her, trying to avoid eye contact. He'd be lost if he saw what he thought he'd seen in her eyes. "All those invitations to dinner. And on the holodeck, the way you would stare at me when you thought I wasn't looking. And get jealous when I'm with someone else." Tom felt the wall of the alcove behind him. He'd dodged her and trapped himself. Damn. "You can't tell me you're not interested in me." God, her mouth was so close, he could feel the damp heat beckoning him. He felt his body clench as her eyes finally caught his own; they were so damn hot. Any other day of the year, he'd grab the invitation in them and hold on for dear life. But not today. He couldn't trust what they told him today.
He blinked his eyes, trying to stop his vision from tunnelling, from helping him forget what had become this mission, not fucking B'Elanna Torres. "You're right. I can't," he said softly, trying to clear his head. Her scent, that not-musk-not-sandalwood that was her, was enveloping him, eroding his willpower.
"Then *don't* push me away!" She banged her hands against the overhang on either side of his head, pressing her body against his, making his blood race and his flesh damp with sweat.
He shifted his head, just in time to avoid her lips making contact with his own. He sighed, knowing that he couldn't lie to her. Anyone else, yeah, but not her. "Oh, believe me, I'd like to. But I know this isn't really you." He shifted against the wall, his stomach quivering from the heat he felt coming from her. "You've made it clear that you're not interested and I have to accept that's how you feel, even now." Dammit, B'Elanna, he thought, one hint of interest before now and I could make us *both* happy! I can't even count the night in my quarters as proof-positive!
Tom thought he'd gotten through to her as she dropped her eyes. She shook her head and looked at him again. The simple vulnerability he saw made his heart pound faster and his body tighten further. "No. No, it isn't. I was just afraid to admit it. You see, I've wanted this for so long." She finally brushed her lips against his, flesh dragging against flesh. It took every ounce of strength his father had drummed into him, every memory of every tear his sisters' had shed, and every fibre of self-respect he'd earned back under Janeway to pull away. He felt his tongue slip over his lips, catching her taste. He felt a bolt of something hit his bloodstream. He groaned as she brushed her body against his own again. "Just let it happen."
Tom Paris, Field-Commissioned Lieutenant J.G. and reborn nice guy, faltered.
'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,' he thought, as he began to surrender his flag. He let her lips catch his own, returned the sultry caress. He pulled her close and slipped his lips over her cheek as she sighed, let his tongue leave a wet trail over the side of her neck as he half-walked, half-staggered across the alcove into the wall opposite them. Her sighs had him bewitched.
'I can't do this!' he screamed silently, as her nails caught his suit slightly, his breath hitching in his lungs. 'I want *her*, not this!' He leaned back, letting his fingers gently slip over her beautiful face, making a tactile recording for his memories. He stepped back just enough to escape the heat rolling off her, drawing him in like a black hole. "I hope someday you'll say that to me and mean it," he whispered, bracing himself for the oncoming blow.
She let out an unearthly screech, and threw him into the wall opposite her. She crumpled into the wall. "You'd let me go insane rather than help me!"
He was going to kill that fucking Vulcan half-wit! "You know that's not true!" he barked back, feeling a pain lodge in his chest, burning him, as she crawled backwards, away from him, her body quaking and her voice raw in her agony.
"You just stay away from me!"
'I can't, B'Elanna. That's the problem,' he thought, watching her shake and completely at a loss on how to help her without losing her.
Tom still couldn't believe he'd turned her down. In his entire life, he'd never wanted any woman as bad as he wanted her. And he turned her down.
He'd turned her down.
He felt the almost-undeniable urge to find a bar and drink himself into oblivion.
Maybe that way he'd get the sound of her voice out of his head. Forget what she tasted like. Forget what it felt like to have her body meld against his own.
She hadn't said two words to him since she'd been released from sickbay.
He couldn't lose her. He just couldn't. He buried his head in his hands, and tried to figure out if he still had his arctic kayaking programme in the database.
TWO DAYS LATER:
Be careful what you wish for, Lieutenant.
Talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. B'Elanna had been driven nearly mad by dreams, half-remembered tastes from a night long ago. She'd caught his scent years ago. She'd become his friend after he'd dropped some of those shields, let him inside her own defences. She'd run like hell as he'd dogmatically chased her, his pursuit of Meg and Sue paling by comparison. No matter what she did, he wouldn't stop. No matter what she said, he was there, waiting.
Be careful what you wish for, Lieutenant.
He wanted to see that....she-devil.....again. She didn't scare him off. Kahless help her, she'd finally met a man who didn't want a Klingon, he wanted *her*.
Tuvok and the Doctor weren't completely correct. The blood fever was still affecting her. She'd let them believe it had passed, like in Vorik. It wouldn't kill her now. It would just linger until Tom Paris scratched the itch he'd driven into her soul. She needed him.
He walked into rooms and she knew he was there by his scent, by the way the taste of the air changed. Her blood pulsed and her skin felt too tight and tingly.
She swallowed and pushed the announcer, feeling her stomachs twist and flop as she prepared to temporarily surrender her flag to the man she'd thought was the enemy.
When there was no answer, she took a chance and let herself into his quarters. She wandered aimlessly, realizing that he must have been held up on the bridge. She bumped into his dresser accidentally. She noticed something keeping the middle drawer from shutting completely. Something... shiny?
She felt her jaw drop and her skin flush and tighten when she opened the drawer to see what had captured her attention. It was the cuffs she'd replicated and left here after teaching him not to make fun of Tabern monks. She was surprised that he'd kept them. She bit her lip when she saw that he hadn't even cleaned them. The blood from the slight cuts on his wrists had been allowed to dry.
"I thought that I should keep them, as proof that I hadn't dreamed the whole thing up." She dropped the cuffs and spun to face the source of the quiet drawl.
Tom was out of uniform, in a pair of dark track shorts and a white t-shirt. He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed casually in front of him. He just stared at her, mask at full power. She turned and picked the cuffs up, feeling his eyes trace her frame. She set them on the dresser and realized that she couldn't do this, she couldn't let herself do this. She turned and stalked towards the door, intending to go see Chakotay, maybe her spirit guide.....
She never made it. Before she was even halfway to the door, he'd caught her arms and pressed her up against the wall by his bed. He held her there with his body, catching her face in his hands. She shut her eyes to keep her own counsel.
"B'Elanna?" His voice was softly demanding. "B'Elanna, look at me." She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. His thumbs rubbed her cheeks, burning her skin. She took a deep breath, and was subsequently unsuccessful at muffling her moan. She heard him make a sound, not a squeak or a grunt, something caught between the two. B'Elanna felt her heart pound harder; she'd caught his scent again. She felt her nipples tighten at the bare hint of lime aftershave and male sweat. She tried to turn her head. He shifted his hands, bracing them on either side of her head, leaning into her. She nearly whimpered at the waves of heat that rolled into her, as he rested his lips against her ear. "Darlin’, look at me," he murmured.
Her eyes flew open at the endearment. It was a mistake. Tom was breathing rapidly, his eyes were dilating. She could see a touch of sweat on his upper lip, glistening through the stubble of his beard. "You know how I feel, B'Elanna. I told you in that cave. I told you when you tried to damn near drive me nuts in that chair." She felt Tom slide his body against hers, using his frame to keep her on her feet. He shifted against her, letting her feel how hard she'd made him. "You did this to me, B'Elanna. All you have to do is stand near me, smile at me, and I get hard. I can tell when you're near me. Sandalwood, patchouli and something else, I don't know what, maybe rosemary? I don't know what that perfume you wear is based on, B'Elanna, but I know that it drives me so wild. I could find you in a crowd just by following it on a breeze. And when you smile when you think nobody's watching...." Tom buried his face in her hair, groaning. The vibrations shook his chest and travelled into her own. "God, B’Elanna, I'd cut off my right arm for you to smile at me like that."
He caught her lips with his own. She went rigid when he suckled her upper lip, softened when his tongue slid over her bottom lip. She gasped, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, exploring the inside and gently tracing her tongue. He started to pull back, when her tongue followed and gently stroked his front teeth, then the inside of his cheek. He gasped, the feeling of B'Elanna savouring his mouth making him shiver. He let his tongue touch hers, slide over and around it, revelled in the feeling of her hot tongue wrapping softly around his own. He groaned deeply right into her mouth, swallowing her answering sigh. He felt her shudder against him, her hips pushing gently, unthinkingly, on his own. He pulled her closer, letting his fingers trace her hips as she sucked his bottom lip. The sudden nip nearly sent his legs out from underneath him.
He reluctantly broke the kiss, his lungs burning. He breathed in harsh gasps, letting their foreheads support each other’s heads. He stared into her face, desperately fighting the urge to grind against her, to relieve some of the ache. He wanted to see her eyes. He needed to see what they said, needed to know what they did when she was hot and shivery. "Open your eyes, B'Elanna. Please." Her pupils were dilated, molten and sparking.
Tom felt his heart pound harder and harder against his chest. When he'd first mounted this campaign, he'd done it just to get into her pants. He'd had no real honourable reason. But it had changed, it had taken on a life and a purpose for itself. He'd fallen and fallen hard for a woman with more bumps and bruises than him, and that was saying something. Now, he wanted all of her, for as long as she'd have him. He had little faith that she'd stay, since none of the worthwhile ones ever had. They never wanted him once they got to know him. But he wanted her to be different. He needed her to be different.
He started suddenly as he felt fingers slip under his shirt.
"Mmm?" She grumped as he tried to lean away from her body. She snuggled closer, letting her fingers slip through and twist his chest hairs. She started lightly grazing her nails over his skin, nuzzling his chin as she did so.
He couldn’t believe how tight his body was wound, or how breathy his voice sounded. "B'Elanna, what are you doing?"
“I’m trying to get warm.” She smiled against the side of his neck. He thought he'd been in charge of this seduction. Oddly enough, he didn't mind surrendering control to B'Elanna. It didn't make him feel nervous.
"It's not cold in here."
"I think it is."
He couldn't help himself. “You smell good," he blurted, blushing as she giggled against his throat.
"So do you, helmboy," B'Elanna purred, her tongue darting against his skin.
"Oh?" His voice cracked. He felt his face flush, but was more concerned with keeping his trying-to-wander-hands above the equator. He didn't want to take any chances.
"Mmhmm," she nuzzled into his neck, snuggling into him. “Like lime and sweat.” She shifted against him until her body was tight against his own. He knew that she could feel his erection pressing into her belly, and had to bite back a groan when she licked his neck. He suppressed the urge to grind against her, to devour her mouth.
She traced the outline of his ear with her tongue, and nibbled on the lobe.
He felt like... like... hell, he didn't know what he felt like. "B'Elanna?" He gasped, sucking in air and her scent, ratcheting his blood pressure up another twenty points. He didn’t understand why she was doing this. Did she mean what she'd said on the planet, that she'd been fooling herself?
"Yes?" Her teeth sunk into his neck, and he could feel her suck, then soothe the indentations with her tongue. She lapped at his jaw like a cat at cream.
"Are you, umm....?" His train of thought derailed when her right hand traced the inseam of his pants.
"Copping a feel?" Her whisper trickled like ice water on his spine. He rolled his shoulders, pushing her back into the wall and pressing tighter to her.
"Yes!" His voice cracked again as she trailed her fingers over the bulge in his pants, embarrassing him and depriving his brain of blood. He shuddered hard when her tongue flicked that spot where his neck met his shoulder.
“I may be doing just that,” she whispered as she pressed a wet kiss against the bottom of his chin. He felt his knees go. They crumpled to the floor, rolling over each other, each struggling for control.
For once, he won.
He slid a hand down and shifted her slightly, releasing a sigh as he was finally able to shift against her, to relieve some of the painful pressure burning inside his body. Suddenly, he found himself on his back, pinned to the floor.
She leaned up and over him. "Tom?”
“Yeah?” He was surprised he remembered how to work his mouth, considering he was living a dream. She grabbed his chin and forced his eyes to meet hers.
"Kiss me," she sighed, bracing herself on her elbows, planted on either side of his head.
He reared up, shoved his hands into her hair and plundered her mouth, bruising her lips. His tongue slammed past her lips and tangled with her tongue, sucking it into his mouth, nipping at it. She sagged against him, their bodies touching at all the right points. He bit and licked his way down her neck to the pulse point at its base, and sucked. Someone moaned, he couldn’t tell who. He felt his eyes start to roll back into his skull when she slid her hands into the waistband of his pants, scraping her nails over his backside. He gave up and rolled over, pinning her beneath him, attacking her neck with his mouth.
She shifted and pushed him underneath her, ravaging his mouth. Her hands slipped under his shirt and caressed his chest, scraped over his nipples. He grabbed at her hips and ground into her. She reared up and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. He pushed the shirt off his arms and collapsed back as she leaned over and gently caught his nipple between her teeth and tugged slightly. His head hit the floor and spun. He cried out when she straddled him, pushing and rotating herself against him. He grabbed her thighs and flipped them, catching her mouth again, thrusting hard against her, driving her hips into the floor. He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, sucking at the pulse point as she scratched her nails down his back. He pushed up and balanced on his knees, tearing her t-shirt off her body, falling back onto her. His hands caught her breasts and squeezed and twisted at her nipples. She arched up against him, pulling him closer. He slid his mouth down the plane of her chest and sucked a nipple into his mouth, through her tank top, lapping and scraping his teeth over it. She moaned his name over and over again, digging her nails into his shoulders.
She flexed and rolled them over, sitting up and staring down at him. She shifted hard and pushed herself down onto him. He grabbed her waist and rocked up, grinding harder and harder against her. He was sure he was going to hyperventilate. He slid his hands up and cupped her breasts again, desperately trying to not blow this. She pushed down and backwards with her hips, making him nearly howl her name in exquisite agony. He quickly recited the first three paragraphs of the introductory piloting manual, desperately trying not to come in his pants.
“B'Elanna,” he hissed, dropping his hands and holding her still. “B'Elanna, look at me!”
She tried to push against him, but couldn’t. She opened her eyes and stared down at him, her skin flushed and damp. “Tom?” she whimpered, pushing at his hands, trying to move against him.
“Can I take you into my bed? I don’t want to make love to you on a floor.” He winced at how raw and desperate he sounded. She nodded. He caught her at the door to his room. “B'Elanna, are you sure?” He nearly fell down when she cupped him through his pants and squeezed. He picked her up and crossed the room in a flash of lightning, dropping her onto the mattress and fell onto her, licking the valley between her breasts and desperately undoing her pants. He collapsed onto her as her hands scrabbled against his fly. He rolled off her, yanked her pants off and threw his on top of them. He crawled back over her, crying out at the feel of her smooth thigh against his erection. He thrust his hand between her thighs and felt his skin flush even more at the wildly primal sound she made when his fingers explored her. She was so wet and hot, he'd never felt anything so wet and hot before. He couldn’t help the hissed groan that he expelled when she dragged her nails down his back, breaking his skin. He sunk his teeth into her shoulder and shifted until he was just on the edge of being inside her. He lifted his head and met her eyes, asking for permission.
“Now, Tom!” she commanded, her tongue darting out and flicking at the corner of his mouth, her smile more enticing than water in the desert. He started to slowly push into her body, felt muscles start to give. He leaned over and gently touched his lips to hers, realizing he needed to hear the words.
"B'Elanna, say it, please," he implored, every muscle held taut and still quaking.
She sighed and began to say it. "Tom, I -".
The room exploded in red, the siren's and Captain's voice demanding they report to their stations immediately. "Fucking hell!" Tom snarled as he rolled off her and onto his feet, grabbing his pants and tossing hers at the bed. All he could smell on his body was B'Elanna. She yanked her clothes on, avoiding eye contact.
She ran down the hall ahead of him, diving into the turbolift and holding the door for him. He shook his head. "I'll get the next one, darlin'," he drawled, silently promising her that they would return to their recreational activities as soon as possible.
B'Elanna stormed into engineering, taking over. She could hear that little voice deep inside her raging that she'd nearly made a mistake of epic proportions, that even though her body felt bereft and in dire need of satisfaction, she couldn't take the risk with the man responsible.
Tom slipped onto the bridge and into his position, quickly processing the tactical data in front of him. He forced Voyager through the twists and turns only he could do, absently hearing the damage reports and other traffic rumble in the background. He lined up shot after shot for Tuvok, and got them out and far away from their unknown assailants. All the while, his body surged and screamed at him, furious at the withdrawal of its promised reward.
Much later, he took a deep breath and stretched, letting Baytart take the conn. He hissed as the skin pulled over the gouges B'Elanna had left in his back.
"You're out of uniform, Mr. Paris. Care to explain?" He quickly realized he was in the track shorts and shirt he'd worn earlier on his run, and that he probably stunk of sweat. He rubbed at the back of his neck. He felt his eyes widen as he noticed the blood on his fingers.
He felt his face flood with heat. He turned and saw the twinkle in the Captain's eyes. And the banked rage in Chakotay's. He swallowed, and not knowing what else to do, commented, "My mother would tell me that it would be impolite to do so, ma'am." He relaxed slightly when she laughed and sent him to sickbay to get cleaned up.
Chakotay darted into the lift after him. He waited several seconds, then halted the lift.
Chakotay didn't pull any punches. "Stay away from her, Paris."
Tom knew playing dumb would not work. He flatly said "No."
Chakotay's face was slightly mottled in his anger. "You'll hurt her, and then I'll have to kill you."
Tom felt his temper start to unfurl deep in his belly. "I am not going to hurt her, Chakotay."
"You, *Lieutenant*, can't help yourself. You'll get tired of her, and then -".
Tom felt his patience snap like a snow pea. "Commander Chakotay, I don't give a good goddamn what you believe. B'Elanna knows I will not do such a thing. Computer, resume lift."
"Halt lift. Paris, I am giving you an order. Stay away from Lieutenant Torres. Am I making myself clear?" Chakotay barked, his body ready to spring if necessary. "Are you listening to me, Lieutenant?"
Surging forward, Tom forced Chakotay back against the wall of the lift. He felt that dark part of his soul take over, felt the man his father had tried to raise take control of his mouth. His voice was flat, cold and deadly serious. "Listen up, Chakotay. I will follow no such order. If you do not rescind said order, I will turn right around and go straight to Janeway. I will tell her why you told me to stay away from B'Elanna Torres, and she will tear a strip out of that tattooed hide of yours so wide you won't be able to sit down for a week."
Chakotay laughed, not backing down. "Oh, and she'll intervene because I want to protect B'Elanna?"
Tom felt the Paris smile slide into place. He remembered shaking like a leaf in a tornado when on the receiving end of his father's Paris smile, for some real or imagined infraction. "Because you want B'Elanna." Chakotay was silent. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You've been spending a lot of time on the holodeck with B'Elanna, offering to help her find her spirit guide, offering to help her increase her emotional balance."
Chakotay smiled. "I'm her friend first, Paris. You aren't."
"Wrong. I am her first friend, Chakotay. She comes to me now when she's upset or angry. She comes to me now when she needs cheered up. She comes to me now when she wants to have fun." He let the smile fall of his face, let the charm, the poise, all those civilized little tools his father had drummed into him to hide the raw ambition and intelligence of his smart mouthed son. He let Chakotay see the real Tom Paris. "She's mine. Walk away now, Chakotay."
Chakotay smiled, relieved and seemingly a little bit sickly. Tom was confused. "You really do care about her, don't you? This isn't some game or conquest, is it?"
Tom realized the XO had taken him in. He stepped back and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he exhaled. He opened his eyes, mask back in place. Chakotay just stared at him with a little grin playing on his lips. "Yes, I care. Probably more than's good for me."
"Resume lift." The men were silent. The doors slid open. "Don't hurt her, Paris. I mean it."
Tom sat bouncing a padd against his coffee table, waiting for B'Elanna to answer the message he'd left for her. He wanted her to come back and finish what'd they'd nearly begun. Or he would go over there. Or meet her somewhere. He looked down at his rapidly returning erection. He couldn't stop replaying their earlier lovemaking.
God, he needed her.
"Torres to Paris." Every hair on his body jumped to attention, his cock surged and ached, all for the sound of that one blessed voice.
"I'm going to bed. I'm tired and sore, I need to sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Torres out."
Tom sighed and closed the commlink. He dropped the padd and wiped his face with his hands. God, he hoped she wasn't having second thoughts, that she wasn't changing her mind. He'd surely die if she did this to him, again. He looked down at his lap, groaned, and went to blow some water rations.
B'Elanna sat curled up on her bed, arms wrapped tight around her knees. She rocked back and forth, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't do it, she couldn't trust him. He'd just leave her. He wouldn't want to stay. No one ever stayed. No one ever wanted to stay once she let them in. She couldn't lose him.
TWO DAYS LATER:
Tom tossed and turned in his bed, worried about B'Elanna. He was petrified that he'd done something to put that wounded look in her eyes. When he'd seen her at the resort, he'd hurried over to try and talk to her, but she slipped away.
When the door bleeped, he sat up, realizing that talking to anybody was better than lying here torturing himself. "Computer, 30 percent lights. Enter!" B'Elanna stepped into the room. She sat down on the sofa and just stared at him.
"B'Elanna? Are you all right?" She didn't answer. He felt a chill slither along his spine. "B'Elanna?" he asked, climbing out of his bed and shrugging into his blue robe. He knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at him. The bleak self-hatred he saw there terrified him more than anything ever had. He pulled her into his arms and shifted until he had his back to the couch and her cradled in his arms.
"B'Elanna, talk to me, what's wrong?" He rocked her gently, the silent tears freezing his soul. He felt the stirrings of panic in his gut at this complete shift in B'Elanna's temperament. Normally, if he'd even tried to hug her she'd've knocked him clear into the next deck. "B'Elanna, you have to tell me what's wrong." He wondered if he would always break everything he loved. "Did something hurt you?" Did I hurt you? he asked silently. He could hear the pain and fear in his own voice and tried to sound more confident. "B'Elanna, whatever's wrong, I'll fix it or die trying, just tell me what it is! Talk to me, please!"
She finally lifted her head and stared wetly at him. He silently screamed "Shut Up!" at the little voice in his head that told him to kiss the tear tracks on her face. She opened her mouth and her voice was swollen, rough with unshed tears. "Tom, I-I-." She broke off and started to shake in his arms.
The girl she was feared her knowledge. The woman she'd become was unsure what to do with the knowledge.
Across the ages that they had lived, skirting the edges of reality, dressing the heavens, his passion for her screamed, whispering along nerve endings. She felt swollen, burned by his fire. By the ferocity in his eyes when she looked to him. She didn't know, couldn't know if she could be for him.
Her fear wasn't strong enough to overwhelm the undercurrent that pulled her to him, time and again. She couldn't imagine her life without his presence now.
A finger traced up her neck to her chin, wiping a tear away, turning her towards him. She shut her eyes, trying to hide in plain sight.
"Don't cry. Don't cry for me. I don't want you to cry for me," he rasped, his hand trembling against her skin.
This was *not* B'Elanna Torres, warrior queen of the engine room, he realized. "B'Elanna?" He got her to look at him, and he knew she could see the fear he felt for her. "B'Elanna, I promise, I'll fix it. It doesn't matter how hard it is or how long it takes, I will fix it, I swear, just tell me!" he begged, shivering at the block of ice lodged in his chest.
She took a deep, ragged breath and looked straight into him, letting down her guard and forcing him to do the same. "Tom, what happened the other night was a mistake. I'm sorry, but we can't be more than friends." She crawled out of his arms and back onto the couch.
He felt like he'd been shot. "Why not?" He heard his voice crack. He swallowed convulsively and blinked back the tears welling in his eyes, reminding himself that his father was right, Paris men didn't cry. "Why don't you want me anymore, B'Elanna?"
He heard her sigh. He couldn't look at her, though. "Tom, I can't. I just don't think there's any future in that sort of relationship, and I don't want to lose your friendship, Tom. And that's what would happen if we let this happen."
It hit him like a thunderbolt. She was scared he'd 'wham, bam, and thank you, ma'am!' her. There were times he hated himself, for his past, for everything he'd ever done.
He swallowed, taking a chance on dropping his shields before she did. "I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen. Don't interrupt, just listen, okay?"
"I won't hurt you. I care too much about you as a friend to do that. But I can't accept not having a chance with you. You mean too much to me for me to just walk away. I'm not going to stop chasing you. But I will back off. I won't put any more pressure on you to pick up where we left off the other night. I can wait as long as you need me to. But I want you to know something." He turned and looked right at her, no mask, no prevarication, nothing. "I know that this thing between us scares you. But this isn't some fling I'm after. I don't want to just fuck you and leave. I want a lot more than that, and I want it for a very long time. I am not going to leave you, and you will never lose my friendship. Do you understand? Before I am anything, B'Elanna, I am your friend. And that's why I won't walk away from this, why I won't let you hide in plain sight. So, you can start running again whenever you're ready. But I will be right there behind you, for as long as it takes me to win."
B'Elanna stood up and walked to the door. She turned and stared at him, a curiously blank palate in place of her normally-animated face. "It's your life, Paris. You do what you have to do." She stepped out and the doors shut.
"You know maybe you're onto something. I could add a steamy love scene between the Starfleet Conn Officer and the Maquis Engineer."
"Oh, that's realistic."
- Tom Paris to B'Elanna Torres, 'Worse Case Scenario', 50953.4
B'Elanna could've screamed as the turbolift shut behind her. He'd done it to her again. Just before leaving, pitched just low enough for her and her alone to hear, he'd asked if she thought life could someday imitate art. And the sonofabitch had been laughing at her as he'd said it! Daring her to comment. There were days when she regretted that night in his quarters, regretted not going to the holodeck or even to Tuvok. Why in the name of Montgomery Scott did she ever go to his quarters? Why did she let herself weaken, let him show her what he could do for her and to her? At first she'd thought that maybe, once he had what he wanted, he'd let it go, just go back to being friends with her. Then, she'd discovered that he didn't just want her body. He wanted *her*.
She remembered her human grandmother reminding her that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. She was right. She'd broken it off before it began in order to not lose his friendship. She'd hoped that he would understand and let it go at that.
He'd understood, better than she wished he had. He'd seen right through her. And as a result, he'd become utterly relentless, dogging her steps, refusing to let her pull away from him. He pushed and prodded, slowing, inexorably gaining ground. Quietly telling her that he'd chew on her lip if she wanted, whenever he caught her gnawing on it while dealing with reports in the mess hall.
She didn't think she could take much more of this... tension. She could hardly concentrate sometimes, it was so bad. But in a good way. Maybe. She shook herself, feeling the anger boil up out of nowhere. She stormed out of the turbolift into engineering, bellowing for Carey to bring her those calculations. Now!
B'Elanna flopped into her chair, tired beyond belief. She just wanted to sleep forever. She sighed as she saw the 'message waiting' light flashing on her console, figuring it was another 'efficiency report' from La Borg. She slapped the display key.
Tom's id code appeared. Then a poem flashed onto the screen.
"I am mad, drunk, in agony!
violent frantic half-breaths
between spread trembling souls
as almost-touches shudder and sizzle
and near-caresses flutter
about my head, over my back, rub my skin
almost as if she could come into me
You pushed in through my walls
probing the boundaries of my emptied soul
forcing from me the admission that
I am not what I say I am
Denying me the safety of the assumptions
I have always encouraged
Believe the lie
I worship you for that,
the fever you rammed in
until then felt only vicariously
not equal to the task
my ecstacy? your beauty
penetrating, gushing, warming
I've bottomed out
Been shafted, slit down
undressed and hounded
for crimes both real and imagined
So I ask, heart in hand
can you, would you explode
if I murmured the contents of my heart?
could I whisper, could I embrace you?
I know that there
deep inside you
raw perfect lava
I want that
I dream of that
God! This isn't lust
for your love
for your respect
for your everything
I am bare before you
always burning for you
craving knowledge of your self
I die a little in your self-imposed absences
every time wondering if it's the end
if my hopes are forsaken, once more denied
knocked over and undone
the distance between us
fills me with a terrible fear
that I'll lose you
that I'll never have the chance to know you
that I'll never be known by you
yet I stay
all for the sake of a future
for the first time believed in
swallowing my pride
I revel in your life
Give me any part of you
smear me, plunge me into devastation
tear into me
make me raw and pendulous
but do not fly from me
Take the chance
Peek into me and see
the tremendous thick passion
only for you
Stare awestruck into the edge of this oblivion and know:
I am yours
See your blows bite my life?
still you are all I see
a swollen diamond
your language thick and exquisite
dirty and raw
Languid torrents of pleasure
dance faster through me
all because of the ephemeral
scent of sandalwood
My welcome doom?
whether big or slow
pumps cracks into me
pounds my will from me
And behind every thought
beneath every wish
there is the image
grinding, begging, flickering
throbbing and wiggling into every crevice
of my much-abused heart
held tight within my quaking arms
an ever-wild fierce fire for my convulsing heart
I want, I'd die to lay you bare before me
I am frantic to suck at that spot, love
every night the need wells up
while you mount your unconscious campaign of domination
victory is always yours
I die, soaking sweat through my world,
drunk on the knowledge
hearing your voice
luscious wet words
that your lips haven't formed
feeling your hands cup flesh that yearns for a burning feathery kiss
my fingers, tangled, tear at you
only to wake, dripping and crippled,
my legs like rubber,
my resistance like a dried flower
full frantic at the thought
that if you only knew
that the mess that I am
has always been
you would leave
you have only to enter
and I crumple
the button of your fist
crushing me to you
a murmured dig like a shot
cleaving me unto you
I am a sack of a boy craving a woman
I know you
I see you
I accept you
I will never not fight for you
When will you give me a taste?
When will I be worthy?
Behind all the lies
beyond all the walls
after all the nights
above all else
I am yours.
I love you."
B'Elanna felt her face flush, felt the fever lick at her veins again. She clutched the edge of her desk, trying to regain control over her breathing.
The sonofabitch was... courting her.
"Day of Honour", Stardate unknown.
Tom couldn't believe this. He knew now that he really had pissed somebody off in a previous existence, because there was no way in hell anyone deserved the bad luck he'd suffered from in his relatively short life. He could hear his father telling him that a Paris always met death with dignity. He could do that, as long as he got the answer to a question he'd been wondering about. He had to ask her. After all, she was the reason he'd really made a concerted effort to clean up his act. "There’s something I've been meaning to ask you."
"Well, now's the time."
He couldn't help but smile at her response. "When we first met... you didn't have a very high opinion of me."
Tom could hear the smile in her voice. "That's putting it mildly. I thought you were an arrogant, self absorbed pig."
"Ha Ha. Flattery won't get you any more oxygen. Do you think I've changed?"
"A lot! Now you’re a stubborn, domineering pig." Tom barely noticed her pause. He realized that he'd obviously been less than successful in changing than he'd thought. Just as suddenly, he felt the weight that had started to press on his chest disappear. "I'm just kidding. There I go again. Pushing you away. You were right about me... it's what I do... push people away."
He didn't know what to say to that. "Well, it's a sure fire way of not getting hurt."
"I have to tell you the truth."
Her voice was... different somehow. As if what she wanted to say was momentous. He felt nervous, the good kind, all of a sudden. "The truth about what?"
"I... I love you." He didn't... he couldn't.... "Well, say something!"
"You picked a great time to tell me," he gasped out, completely and irrationally angry at her, for wasting what time they'd had, for not trusting him.
For not letting him love her.
Suddenly, before he could say anything, he heard Janeway's voice.
He still had a chance, he realized as he felt the world fade to black around him.
"About what you said. I mean the part about being in love with me. I realize you were suffering from oxygen deprivation and we were literally seconds away from death, so I know you probably didn’t mean it." Tom felt something deep inside scream at him to shut up, to force her to admit the truth. He couldn't do that to her. No matter how much it hurt, he had to let her off the hook. If he'd finally won her heart, he needed her to tell him so without the dark spectre of death haunting the moment.
He felt an overwhelming sense of relief when she told him that she did mean it. It was quickly overwhelmed by consternation as she told him that she was sure he didn't feel the same, and that it was best if they both pretended it never happened.
Before he even knew what he was doing, he tossed her into the bulkhead, like he'd wanted to years earlier. He leaned in and whispered "Shut up" just before he took what he'd dreamt of for a very long time.
Tom leaned against the bulkhead, waiting for word on B'Elanna. He could feel Chakotay's gaze, could feel him assessing his emotional stability. He heard the footsteps and sighed.
"She'll be fine."
"She'd better be."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"When I figure it out, I'll let you know."
B'Elanna turned slightly on the biobed to face him, a hint of the playful smile he knew she often hid visible. "Does this mean you’re too tired to meet later in my quarters?"
Tom felt his heart pound hard against his sternum. She was serious. No more games. He felt a grin break clear out of his heart. He leaned forward on her biobed just enough to let her feel the flash of heat that had scorched through his body. "Are you sure your heart can take it?"
"I’m detecting elevated hormonal levels. If you two don’t take it easy, I’ll have to declare a medical emergency," the Doctor interrupted, an irritated grimace contorting his photons. Tom leaned back, the warmth of the smile he could see in her eyes giving him gooseflesh.
B'Elanna touched the back of his hand lightly. "Why don't you bring that jewellery I left in your quarters with you?"
Tom felt every hair on his body stand on end. He swallowed hard, nodded, and took a deep breath, enjoying her slight titter.
She rolled off him and he swore that he'd let out a gulping sob. She shushed him and walked over to her replicator, lifting something out of it. She kept whatever it was behind her until she was able to set it down, out of his line of sight. "Tom?" Her voice was tentative, nervous, and had him completely enraptured.
"Yes, B'Elanna?" A little voice inside laughed at him. His father would've been delighted at the speed of his answer.
She smiled slightly, nibbling on her lower lip. She lightly twisted one of the straps of her tank top. "Do you want me to take these off, Tom?"
He couldn't even say it. He nodded enthusiastically.
She stepped forward, letting her hands slide over her body until her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties. "I'm sorry, Tom, I didn't hear you."
"Yes!" he hissed, letting his eyes roam over her body.
She tugged the panties and the tank-top off, standing proudly, letting him look his fill. His mouth felt drier than the Gobi. Her breasts, God, and her legs....
He couldn't stop staring at the slight triangle of ebony hair between her legs. He would've testified in court that it was calling to him.
It took a lot of effort to drag his eyes away to meet her own. God, he was sure he'd forgotten how to speak. "Yah?"
"Close your eyes." He tried to comply, but his gaze fell back to the blatantly wet curls. "Close them, Tom," she commanded, warmly amused.
He closed his eyes, listening avidly for her. He heard her pick whatever it was up off from the table and climb back onto the bed. Tom felt something cold slide down his chest. Something cold and wet. His eyes flew open. He looked down his chest to see B'Elanna, kneeling beside him, resting an ice cube against his lower belly. His cock twitched as she dragged the cube over and around it, making him quake and gasp her name. She pulled the minuscule cube away and sucked it quickly into her mouth.
Tom thought his heart was going to pound through his chest. The blood roared in his ears as she toyed with another ice cube, this one against her breast, over a firm nipple. She slipped it into the valley between her endearingly lopsided breasts and down her belly. She tweaked it through the curls he wanted to explore, slid it over her thigh, onto his own. He watched her artist's hand drag the rapidly vanishing cube up his chest until it reached his lips. He quickly dragged it into his mouth, nipping almost-gently on the tip of her finger. He grinned as she sucked in a breath and shuddered.
He knew she'd like that.
He felt his grin vanish as she swung a leg over his body (giving him an incredible view, one he swore he'd never forget) to straddle him, just below his waist. Her ass brushed his cock, making his vision blur for a few seconds. He could feel her curls brushing the sensitive skin of his lower belly, and the heat of her body increasing. He sighed and smiled up at her beautiful face, sliding his legs up again to let her brace herself against them.
'That's the smile,' she thought. 'That's the smile Helen smiled. Professor Xanakekadies tried to describe it, but I never believed it was possible until now. Kahless, but he's a handsome bastard.'
She knew that she wanted to do this, that she was ready to take this chance. She had doubted it would ever happen again, that she'd ever trust him enough to take him to her bed, her heart. But he'd found a way to win in spite of her best efforts. He never left. He'd promised never to leave her.
'B'Elanna, I'm not good with these words. You won't hear me say it very often, and rarely in front of other people. So I'm telling you now. I love you. I love you more than anything. More than flying, more than my own life. I would kill for you and I would die for you. Know that you are more essential to me than oxygen. I can live without everything. I can live without respect, without dignity, without my family's forgiveness. But I can't, I *won't* live without you. I want you for as long as you'll have me. I will not leave you. I promise.' She shivered at the memory of those words, at the memory of how clear his eyes were at that moment, of how his hands shook as he cupped her face.
She smiled as he bucked his upper body, regaining her attention. He tried to shift her lower, tried to rub himself against her. His arms were tensed and he was unconsciously pulling on the cuffs he'd kept. She reached out and caught his magical hands. "Shh, you'll hurt yourself, Tom," she whispered. She noticed that he was staring at her breasts like he normally stared at pizza. She quickly modified her plan of attack.
"Tom?" She whispered almost-sweetly, tittering slightly at the unconscious flinch that tracked through his body. This, she thought, was going to be a lot of fun.
He slowly brought his brilliant blue eyes back to hers. "Huh?" he grunted, licking his lips. His voice rasped across her nerves. She shivered at the deranged, barely banked lust in those eyes that....resembled her warp core? She felt her lips twitch, and a laugh roll up out of her belly. She couldn't believe she'd never noticed before.
He smiled at her, confused by her near-hysterical giggling. "What?"
She managed to explain, giggles shaking her small frame. "Your eyes. They match my warp core." He started to laugh, his belly shaking against her, making her sigh. A flash of delight flew through those eyes as he caught her shiver. His eyes slid down to her chest again. She unconsciously straightened, pushing her breasts out. His eyes widened and gave a slow, decadent blink. She caught his jaw in her hand and forced his eyes back to her own, smiling just enough to give him gooseflesh.
"Do you like my breasts, Tom?" She shifted against him, barely stifling a sigh as the hair on his belly rasped against her thighs. "I've always thought they were too small," she fake-pouted. She slipped forward slightly, using her hands to brace herself on his shoulders, which also let her further limit his mobility. She couldn't believe she was being this audacious, basically dangling her tits in his face and rubbing herself against his already-soaked belly. "Well, Tom?" She cooed. "What do you think? Are they too small?" She smiled as he swallowed convulsively, sweat breaking out over his upper lip.
"Sha....B'Elanna....perfect....". She couldn't believe she'd shaken loose the smooth-talking Tom Paris. He was licking his lips reflexively and kept trying to lean up. She quickly glanced at his hands, suppressing a sigh. His long fingers were twisting, unconsciously 'touching' what they couldn't have.
"Tom?" His eyes flashed back to hers, the pupils almost obliterating the blue.
"Yeah?" he grunted, his blond hair darkened with sweat. She bit her lip as he shifted beneath her, his legs splaying wider apart, stretching her slightly. His eyes darted between hers and her chest.
"What do you want to do?" She knew her voice was breathy. She shivered at the rumbled growl deep in his chest. She gasped and fell forward as he suddenly arched his back, and braced herself on her hands on either side of his head. She gasped as his tongue flicked out and curled around her left nipple, tugging it into his mouth. She arched her back and leaned closer, giving him more access to her flesh. He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he started to suck and scrape the sensitive tip with his teeth. She moaned his name, begging him for more. He pulled at the cuffs and sucked harder as a gush of wetness started to spread out across his belly.
Tom spread his legs as far apart as he could, forcing B'Elanna to sprawl over him, pushing her breast deeper into his mouth. God, she tasted like oranges and chocolate and rye whiskey. He knew he didn't have to worry about booze anymore; her skin was his new addiction. He needed to return the favour; mark her like she'd marked him earlier. He wanted her to look in the mirror and remember tonight, remember this first time with him. He wanted this memory to obliterate the feel of every man before him.
He mumbled her name around the mouthful he had of her breast. She pushed herself up slightly, rubbing her soaking crotch against his belly, drawing a choked moan from his soul. Her eyes were wet pools of lust. He sucked her breast quickly back into his mouth and started to sink his teeth into her swollen flesh. Never breaking eye contact, with a quick twist of his body, he pushed her underneath him. He suppressed a wince as the cool metal cut into his flesh slightly, enjoying the sensation of her underneath him too much to really care.
Her blood wasn't sweet or sour; it was tangy and had an almost-woodsy note to it. He finally understood why some authors compared blood to a fine wine; it had a body with an attitude. He released her and lapped at the beads of blood in a near-perfect circle around her dusky nipple. She choked his name out again as she arched her body into his own. He ground his raging erection against her as he leaned down and took her other breast into his mouth, feeding on her flesh once more. Tom could feel her nails scoring his forearms and dragged his teeth off her breast.
"B'Elanna, do something for me? Scratch my back, baby, please. Mark me, B'Elanna," he growled, dropping his head back to her breast. He gasped as her hands slid up his arms and over his shoulders, her nails scoring his flesh, staking her claim. He shifted until his cock was pressing against her hot, wet centre, moaning her name. He bucked violently against her as she dug her nails into his back and drew lines from his waist to his shoulders; his head fell into the crook of her shoulder. He lapped at her neck as she chanted his name, the feel of his cock rubbing against her clit making her gasp his name, making him pant harder than ever. He shifted into position, the tip of his erection resting just at the mouth of her, but he stopped himself. He had to kiss her again.
He needed to own her mouth before he took her body.
Tom leaned up and nudged her cheek with his nose, turning her head so he could have her mouth. But he wanted her to open those come-hither bedroom eyes first. "B'Elanna, open your eyes," he begged, moaning when she looked up at him, shattered wanton desire raging back at him. He tilted his head down and gently licked her lush, succulent, bee-stung lips. She whimpered his name and arched against him, her arms tugging him closer to her, their sweat-sticky flesh sealing their bodies together. The room smelled of sex. It smelled of B'Elanna. He was in heaven. He thanked God for the Caretaker.
His body demanded he take what she was offering, that he slam into her and lose himself in her tight wetness. But the manners of a lifetime, drummed in by his father's blunt lectures, his sisters' tears and many subsequent split knuckles, demanded he ask permission. "B'Elanna, let me come inside you. B'Elanna, please, let me love you," he growled, sprinkling kisses over her face.
B'Elanna sighed as she felt Tom's tongue flutter against the tip of her nose. This, she thought, was what she'd wanted: Tom wanting her, asking her to take the risk. She arched slightly, taking a smidgen of him inside her, drawing a groan and a hard shudder from Tom.
"Please, I need to hear you say it, B'Elanna," he begged, his legs and restrained arms quaking. She sighed, deciding to drive him out of his mind. She shifted, rolling them back over until she was on top. Tom groaned as she shifted off his cock, slipping over his thigh, spreading her wetness over another part of his body. He hissed in relief as she unlocked the cuffs, freeing his arms, lapping at the blood on his wrists. "I need to do this first, Tom," she whispered, licking his chest and slithering downwards.
A huge, blissfully lecherous grin spread across his face. "You know, B'Elanna, this is so incredibly erotic that I may just have to walk around with a dumb grin on my face all day tomorrow." She joined him in laughing, though for an entirely different reason. Rocking back on her heels between his spread legs, she contemplated her next move, gnawing lightly on her lip.
"What?" he asked feverishly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Whatever it is, B'Elanna, you can tell me." She watched a range of emotions dart over his face, wary concern suddenly etched into his face. "B'Elanna, you're not... No. Well, maybe, I - B'Elanna, are...."
She laughed softly at Tom's rambling. "Tom?"
He swallowed, hard. "You're not a virgin, are you? I mean, you're not trying to- ." He stopped as she fell backwards onto her ass, holding her sides as she snorted with laughter.
"Oh, Tom, no, I'm not a virgin." She paused. "Why did you want to know that, of all things?" she asked as he crawled over her, gently pressing her back into the mattress.
Tom grinned sheepishly, brushing her hair back from her face, settling himself between her thighs. "I don't think this is going to be gentle or slow, B'Elanna. I didn't want to hurt you." He caught her chin in one hand, and kissed her quickly, softly. "I love you, B'Elanna."
Then he turned her head and sunk his teeth into her cheek, drawing blood. She gasped, stunned at what he'd just started. "Tom?"
"Why..." she lost her train of thought. She twitched underneath him as he lapped at the wound, his other hand wandering through her curls, exploring and learning what made her gasp, moan, and claw at his torn-up back.
"I told you why."
B'Elanna rolled quickly, pinning him to the bed. She stared down at him, catching his hands in her own. "Tell me again," she demanded.
Tom smiled, laughter with a hint of steel shining out of his ever-changing eyes. "Claim me first. Then I'll tell you." She felt his breath catch as she fell forward and sank her teeth into his jaw, right where she'd originally marked him, so many months ago. He started to laugh, couldn't stop. He threw his arms around her and pulled her down on top of him, hugging her. B'Elanna stared at him, thoroughly confused, but happy too. He finally got himself back under control.
"Don't you remember?" She shook her head. He rolled her underneath him, wrapping her thighs around his waist, fitting himself to her. He looked at her, silently asking permission. She nodded and he pushed inside her. His head fell onto her shoulder as he moaned, telling her that the heat and feel of her was nearly breaking him. Her nails dug into his back, her thighs tightened as she gasped his name again, not believing that anything could feel this good, this... right.
"Tell me, please," she hissed, shifting her hips against his. He lifted his head and caught her hips, holding her still. She tightened herself around him, making him gasp her name and buck hard, once, into her. She cried out, asking wordlessly for more. Tom released her hips and sank back into her, holding her head still, staring into her face. His voice was a dark growl, like metal shearing at terminal velocity.
"I wanna fuck you clear into next week, B'Elanna. I wanna feel you fuck me until I can't see straight. I want you bucking under me and screaming my name so loud that every man on this ship knows who you belong to, who owns your body." He dropped his head and kissed her, hard, biting at her lips. He forced his head away from hers, and gasped at the air. "I wanna know what you taste like, B'Elanna Torres. I wanna devour you, drink you in until I'm so drunk on you that I have to go into rehab. I wanna make you ride my fingers while you taste your come on my mouth." He started to move against her, catching her lips for another hard, quick kiss, laughing a breathless, almost-pained laugh. "I wanna know, B'Elanna, if having you tear up my back, your thighs wrapped around my waist, holding me so deep inside you that I don't remember where you start and I finish, is as good in life as it is in my dreams." He gasped her name as she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, moaned his name, drew him deeper, once more cut the flesh on his back with her nails. "It is. Jesus, B'Elanna, do it again!" He lapped at his claim again, shuddering as she retraced her scratches. "I need to feel your body pulling my cock deeper and deeper until it locks onto me and won't let go. I wanna hold you down and slam into you so hard and fast that you'll be walking funny for a week, and everyone'll know that B'Elanna Torres has been well and truly fucked by Tom Paris." She screamed his name as he shifted slightly and bit down on her breast again. Tom lifted his head and stared at her, a half-crazy grin on his face. "Yeah, just like that, sweetheart." He lapped at her neck and let out a howl of his own as she clenched her body around him and twisted her hips. He let out a delirious chortle, slamming her into the mattress. "I wanna make you forget who and where we are. I wanna hear you whisper my name when I'm lying beside you, completely unable to move. I wanna kiss you until we're both shuddering, until the fever that's burning us up is so painfully sweet that we'd rather burn in hell than stop. I wanna be inside you when I come, B'Elanna." He started to slam faster and more brutally into her. "Remember?" he gasped, his body quaking against her own.
B'Elanna started to thrash underneath him, knowing it was close. "Yes," she hissed, pulling his body tighter to her own, not quite believing that he remembered it word for word. She closed her eyes, feeling the crashing sensations escalate suddenly, not at all sure if she'd ever felt wound this tight before, if it had ever been this powerful, this primal and basic and essential before.
She knew it hadn't. She felt her body arch higher and higher against his, felt his fingers bite into her hips and thighs as he slammed harder and harder into her body. She felt herself start to shake and convulse. Tom caught her head in his hands, forced her to look at him. "B'Elanna, look at me," he begged, as she started to clench around him, as she started to scream his name over and over again. "B'ELANNA, LOOK AT ME, GODDAMMIT!" he yelled, grinding against her, his fingers almost-biting into her head.
B'Elanna opened her eyes and stared up at the passion-darkened face of Tom Paris, convulsing against him and gasping for air. She reached up and wiped some of the sweat off his face, sighed as he turned and kissed her palm. "You're mine, you're mine," he gasped as she felt his body break apart in hers, felt him spasm inside her and against her. She clutched him to her chest as he collapsed against her, crying out to his god and begging her to not let him go. She felt her vision cloud and dim, and slipped into oblivion.
Tom wasn't sure how long they'd been lying there. The last thing he remembered was his ears hurting as she screamed "Yes, Tom, Yes!" over and over again next to them. He grinned as he realized that everyone and his brother would know by morning that B'Elanna Torres was no longer available; that he'd won. She'd fought him hard, it had gone into a seventh game, double overtime period, but she was his, finally.
Life was... actually good, he realized. Fabulous. Fantastic. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful. He stifled a belly laugh, and pressed a kiss against B'Elanna's shoulder. He took a deep breath and sighed. He finally figured it out. Cranberries. She smelt like sandalwood, patchouli, rosemary and cranberries.
And sex. He stifled another laugh and kissed the rapidly-bruising flesh of her breast. She also smelt like him and sex.
She tried to shift underneath him, and grumbled an ow. He carefully pulled her with him as he rolled onto his back. He didn't care how strong she claimed to be; she wasn't even sixty kilograms. He outweighed her by a good thirty kilograms and he was not going to smush the love of his life.
"Tom?" He smiled at the dulcet rasp against his chest.
"Yes, B'Elanna?" He dropped a gentle kiss on her ridges, smiling as she sighed.
"Do you remember when the Captain had to kill those macrovirii?"
"Not likely to forget that, dear," he groaned as he discovered what had disturbed her. He lifted himself slightly, groped for a few moments, then tossed the cuff key to the floor.
She gently slapped his stomach, snickering as his hand began to search for something else. "Did you say something in Klingon to me? Just before we passed out?" He caught his breath, realizing she had heard him. She sat up and looked at him. "You did, didn't you? What did you say?"
He caught her and pulled her back down onto him, brushing the hair off her face, tracing her spine with his fingers. "I told you that you held my heart in your hands." He kissed her cheek, right where he'd claimed her. "And you do."
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