Title: Few And Far Between
Author: Tory Anderson
Series: Voyager
Rating: R. It's steamy (I hope), but no explicit on-screen
sex.
Codes: P/T? Romance? Meaningless fluff? I'm not too
familiar with Trek classifications...
Part: 1/1
Summary: Moments of happiness can be hard to find. Hang
onto them when you do.
Disclaimer: Nobody who appears in this story is of my own
invention. Watch Star Trek and buy their things and give
Paramount money.
Archive: Anywhere with these headers attached.
Spoilers: Blood Fever, Revulsion
Notes: Man, this whole code labeling thingmy is confusing the
crap out of me. I apologise if I violated newsgroup etiquette.
This is the first Trek work of fiction I've written, and I've
been sitting on it for quite a while before deciding to take
the plunge and post it. This is basically a feel-good mushy
romance story, cause I'm basically a feel-good mushy romantic
girl. I wish I could write angst, but I don't do it well, so
I stick with what I know. If you're in a mushy mood, read
on! If you're feeling bitter and jaded, better skip it.
This is my own story and I can't even read this sap right now.
***
Few and Far Between
by Tory Anderson
tory_ander...@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/tory_anderson
B'Elanna Torres awoke suddenly, her eyelids slamming open.
Her body was still. Something was wrong.
She felt a soft breath against her spine and heard a shifting
behind her. Warm hands reached around her waist and pulled
her back down to the mattress. There was a man in her bed.
And then she remembered.
***
Sitting on the biobed in Sickbay, she'd leaned backwards
towards him, almost flirting, as much as she was capable of.
She'd invited him to her quarters after he finished his shift,
because she'd been released from duty until the next morning.
She had gone back there to wait for him, even though it would
be another two hours until the end of his shift with the
doctor, and then however long it took him to shower and change
and arrive at her door. She'd sat on her couch, bouncing one
knee, twisting her fingers together. Her palms had been
sweating. Why was she nervous? She'd tried to tidy up her
space, absently plucking dirty uniforms off the floor and
throwing away crusts of replicated food that had begun to
grow fuzzy. Surely Paris wasn't concerned. He was probably
slouching around Sickbay, shooting the breeze with the doctor
and thinking, hey, maybe I'll get laid tonight. The injustice
of it all made her annoyed, and she pitched another pair of
pants with a little more venom.
After changing the sheets (hey, you never know) and surreptitiously
knocking some crumbs off the table into a dark corner, she
resumed her place on the couch and picked at her cuticles.
"Computer, time," she requested. Her voice sounded off.
She cleared her throat.
"The current time is sixteen hundred hours, forty one minutes,
and thirteen seconds," the computer informed her pleasantly.
Torres jumped to her feet and paced through her quarters once.
Twenty minutes till his shift ended. Another five to get
back to his quarters, and ten to shower and change. She had
half an hour.
She sat back down again. Why was she so nervous? For the
vast majority of her life, she'd resented her Klingon heritage,
wanting only to fit in with her peers, most of whom had had
smooth faces and even tempers. But now, sitting on her couch
with her stomach in knots, she cursed her father's genes that
would dare to care about some cocky blond pilot. It was
probably written in some ancient Klingon tome that it was
dishonorable to skulk in your quarters, pining and obsessing.
But here she was.
"Computer, time."
"The current time is sixteen hundred hours, forty seven
minutes and thirty two seconds."
This was getting ridiculous. Making a decision, she quickly
left her quarters and made her way to the hydroponics bay.
Standing just inside the large doors, she paused, breathing
in the moist, clean air. Other than the holodecks, this was
really the only place in the ship you could go for some fresh
air. She walked up and down the rows of greenery, pausing to
touch a mysteriously textured fruit or smell a funky-looking
flower.
"Lieutenant?"
Turning, she saw Neelix standing at the end of the row,
carrying a container in his arms. For a moment, she almost
felt guilty, like she was trespassing in his territory.
"It smells good in here," she explained shortly. The shorter
man nodded.
"I heard about your scrape today," he said. "I'm sure glad
to hear you and the doctor are all right."
Her mouth tightened. "We're fine." She forced herself to
relax. "Thank you."
There was silence for a moment, then Neelix gestured toward
her with his bin full of greenery. "I'm starting dinner in a
little while... a recipe for a stew I picked up on our last
shore leave. Sounds interesting. Think you're up for it?"
"Well, no, uh..." She looked down at her shoes. "I have
plans. Thanks."
She began to walk toward the exit, when Neelix's voice
stopped her.
"With Mr. Paris?" he called. She turned to look at him. A
smile creased his spotted little face. He seemed quite
happy. The engineer sighed.
"News travels fast." She envisioned reprogramming the doctor
with hot pink skin with turquoise polka dots. Not mean enough.
"Be gentle with him, Lieutenant," the self-appointed morale
officer said. "Mr. Paris is very sensitive when it comes to
you."
Angrily, Torres ripped a leaf off a nearby tree. "Next time
I need relationship counseling, I'll know who to ask." She
turned and stalked toward the exit.
On the way back to her quarters, she reflected that at least
she felt more like her regular self, rather than some
love-struck teenager. That wasn't her at all. No way Paris
was putting any kind of move on her tonight. Trapping her
outside the mess hall like he was some kind of stud...
I thought that's what you wanted, a voice inside her
insinuated slyly. If the doctor hadn't walked by... if you
didn't have to report back to engineering... if the two of
you had had hours to spare... what then? Don't say you
didn't want to rush back to your quarters and make hot monkey
love.
It was just a kiss, she told herself. And it's just dinner
tonight. We'll laugh, joke around, whatever. But that's it.
I am not going to be another notch on his bedpost.
Unless I damn well say so.
Her resolve strengthened, she exited the turbolift to see the
object of her speculations striding towards her.
"Tom." She blinked. "What time is it?"
"Just after seventeen hundred." He stared at her. "I came s
traight here."
She felt thrown off again. This wasn't how she'd planned it.
She was going to be comfortably settled in her quarters and
he was going to ring the bell and she would be all sedate and
relaxed and in control. She cleared her throat.
"Well," she said. She pushed past him and down the hall. He
followed close behind. It was disconcerting.
"I haven't replicated dinner yet," she threw over her shoulder
as they entered her quarters. "I wasn't sure what you
wanted."
"I don't know if I'm really hungry," he said into her ear.
She jumped. He ran a finger down the soft salmon-colored
fabric covering her arm. "I like what you're wearing. Is it
new?"
"Um, no." She backed up and sat on the couch. It was safe
there. Her fingers clutched the cushions, grasping for
something to ground herself to. His closeness was playing
tricks with her equilibrium and that wasn't the plan.
Paris was watching her, she realized, watching her struggle.
"Maybe some dessert?" she suggested. He smiled at her then,
a feral feline smile, and ordered a hot fudge sundae. With
peanuts. And a cherry. Only one sundae. With two spoons.
Not a 'just-friends' dessert.
He joined her on the couch, folding his long body down beside
her. He dug around in the bowl with a spoon, scooping up ice
cream and chocolate and nuts and offered the spoon to her.
The moment froze.
The light from the stars shone through the window and added a
cool glow to his cheek. The lights in her quarters were
dimmed from when she'd taken off to Kes's garden, but she
could see the gleam of blue in his eyes. His lips were
quirked, caught between looking at the loaded spoon and her
mouth. He was thinking carnal thoughts, she knew. He was
still wearing his uniform, slightly creased. She wondered
why he'd hurried here so quickly, and dismissed the thought
as being too burdensome. She swept his body with her eyes,
and the corner of her mouth curled in remembrance of the
heated kiss outside the mess hall that morning. Friends,
bullshit. Why? Why not something more? She wanted him, had
wanted him for some time, and at least in some form, he
wanted her too. Two could play at these games.
Time resumed. He leaned toward her with the spoon, wanting
her to take it. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and
opened her mouth.
For a moment nothing happened, as she heard Paris's indrawn
breath. She waited, counted one, two, three, four before she
felt the cool smoothness of the spoon on her tongue. She
closed her lips around it and he pulled it out. She flickered
her tongue around her lips, chasing away the errant bits of
fudge.
When she opened her eyes, she saw that his were dark, the
pupils dilated. And he seemed to be breathing a little
erratically too. Funny.
"You're a flirt," he said. His voice sounded a little choked.
She smirked.
"Me?" she retorted. "Tom Paris, you should know better. I'm
a tough, angry, bullheaded engineer. I never learned to flirt."
"Could've fooled me," he muttered under his breath. She took
the second spoon and filled it generously, lifting it up to
his mouth. Her hand was steady, a fact of which she was
extremely proud. She watched his throat move as he swallowed
compulsively, and he took a breath. Eventually he just
grabbed her wrist and brought the sweet treat up to his mouth,
cutting the anticipation short. He let her go, but she
glanced at her hand, puzzled. It tingled from where he had
touched it, almost the way her cheek had when he'd cradled it
this morning, outside the...
She had to stop thinking about it. They were playing a game
here, and she was going to ruin it for herself if she kept
coming back to that damned kiss.
The silence thrummed in her suddenly small quarters, and her
senses pricked up. She could hear his every breath, and the
shift of his uniform as he moved. If she listened closely,
she could hear the pulsing of the engines and the buzz of
people talking, far away above her head. Or maybe that was
just blood ringing in her ears.
She was primed, ready, her senses attuned. Gone was the
woman who'd paced here, a trembling bundle of nerves, wanting
to be what this man wanted her to be. Now, finally, she was
in control.
Her eyes lifted and his mouth came into view. She smiled
then, predatory, catching sight of the small smear of hot
fudge sauce across his chin, just out of range of his tongue.
She reached out and grabbed his jaw with her hand, and
relished his startled look. She leaned past him, and
whispered into his ear,
"Don't - move."
She heard him breathe again. It seemed he might be having
some trouble with that particular biological function.
She pulled back, letting her hair slide over his cheek, until
her mouth was in close proximity to his. She watched as his
lids slid to half-mast, watching her, wondering what she was
up to. She paused there, and counted as they breathed
together.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
She kept her eyes open, watching his slide all the way shut
as she leaned in to his mouth. Just as she was about to make
contact, she dipped her head and flicked her tongue out,
lapping up the little spot of chocolate. He gasped, surprised
and unprepared for her sudden move. She felt the shiver that
ran through his body.
Friends, bullshit. They had stopped being just friends about
a hundred calories ago.
The ice cream was melting. The room was getting warm. If the
ship's temperature controls allowed it, the windows would be
fogging up. A bead of sweat gathered in the hollow of Torres'
throat, and her hands shook with anticipation. This was fun.
"More ice cream, Tom?" she asked.
His eyes opened. "I think it's your turn," he rasped. He
took the bowl from the table and swirled his finger in it.
B'Elanna arched her eyebrows. Nice move, hotshot, she thought
to herself. Raising his hand to her mouth, he gently traced
the cupid's bow of her lips with the sticky dessert. Her
heart thumped in her chest and she realized what his next
step would have to be.
First popping his finger into his own mouth to clean it of
the ice cream, he took both her hands in his and pinned them
to the couch. She knew she was by no means restrained, but
she went along with his game anyway.
"B'Elanna..." He shook his head at her. "You're all dirty."
She curled her sugar-coated lips in invitation.
Still holding her hands captive, he swooped down on her
mouth, busily clearing away every trace of the vanilla ice
cream. She tilted her chin up to allow him easier access,
but kept her lips pursed closed, like a child letting her
mother clean her with a washcloth. He let her hands go, but
stayed hovering above her face, waiting, watching to see what
her next move would be. His fingers crept up her arms and
cradled her head in his palms, threading through her silky
dark hair.
Moving in reciprocity, she started at his shoulders, touching
him gently, feeling his muscles move underneath the synthetic
fabric. She traced mysterious Klingon patterns on the back
of his hands, raising goosebumps unknown to her along his
arms. Slowly, quietly, she glided her hands back up to his
chest and shoved. Hard.
Following the momentum of her action, she took advantage of
his surprise by swinging a leg over and coming to land in the
center of his lap. She smiled again, feeling the evidence
pressed against her that she was, indeed, a pretty good
hostess.
"Bored yet?" she murmured, straddling his legs and rubbing her
nose in the crook of his neck. She had never realized how
good he smelled there. More-than-friends had definite benefits.
"Never."
Limber from her athletic pastimes, B'Elanna arched backwards
and took the bowl of melted ice cream from the table. Humming
like a girl, she dipped her finger into the cold liquid and
began to trace random patterns all over her guest's face.
The chill of the dessert numbed Tom's skin, and the heat of
the woman perched in his lap made his body heavy with lassitude,
so that he was unable to do more than sit there and allow
himself to be painted with the sugary substance.
Putting the finishing touches on her masterpiece, including a
long line of chocolate down the front of his neck, the dark-haired
woman returned the bowl to the table and leaned forward to
study her creation. His blood heating with desire, Tom could
do no more than sit there under her and wait for her to move
until he couldn't take it any more.
"What are you waiting for?" he asked finally.
She smiled again, quickly. "I don't know where to start,"
she confessed. Finally she chose the stream of hot fudge that
was beginning to pool in the space between his collarbones -
better get that before it stained his uniform. His breath
escaped him in a whoosh of air as he felt her warm tongue
flatten against his skin and draw upwards under his jaw. As
she had before, he tilted his head back to allow her easier
access. Satisfied, B'Elanna settled back in his lap and
tugged at the collar of his shirt, examining the damp flesh
to ensure that she'd cleaned off all of the chocolate, and
only then moving on to the rest of the mess she'd made of him.
She started at the top of his jawbone, moving down to the
point of his chin and back up the other side. His nose got
cleaned next, then the two spots of whipped cream she'd dabbed
on his cheeks. Funny - she hadn't thought they would start
incorporating things like that until at least the second month.
Second month, christ. She still didn't know if this was
anything more than a one night stand to him.
Refusing to think things like that, she resolved to herself
that if this was indeed only going to last the night, she
would enjoy it. She was just as capable of taking advantage
of him as he was of her.
There was only one spot of ice cream left on his face - the
line she'd painted across his lips.
For all her bold {slutty, is the adjective you were looking
for} her mind supplied - for all her bold moves earlier, she
hesitated now. She looked up, meeting his eyes - the bluest
eyes she had ever seen. Even before she had discovered her
interest in him, when he was just another Starfleet macho man
high on himself and in her way, she had always been startled
by his eyes. Even raised among humans, she'd never seen a
brighter shade of blue.
A somber mood fell as she traced the edge of his face with
her fingertips. All the flirting and playing up until now - it
was just a game. A pretty risky game, sure, but one they
would be able to go back from. She felt it hovering in the
air, unspoken, that to press forward from this point would
push them in an entirely different direction, and she realized
that it wasn't casual, it wasn't a one night stand, and she
changed her resolution. She couldn't treat this as meaningless
sex, use him the way she figured he was using her, but what
she could do was savor it, file it away in her memory to last
her the rest of the long trip home. She could take whatever
he was offering, but she wouldn't ask for anything in return.
Tom's hands reached, almost tentatively, to rest against the
curve of her bottom. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed
into his caress. He swept up the planes of her back, on
either side of her spine, until he held her head in his hands.
Slowly, he urged her closer to him, closing the distance
between their mouths until she could taste the vanilla on her
lips. Striking out like a snake, she captured his lower lip
between her teeth, tugging it into her mouth and glossing the
ice cream away with her tongue. After giving his upper lip a
similar treatment, she withdrew, hovering mere millimeters
above his face, waiting.
He paused there too, then smiled up at her. "You can't take a
hint, can you, Torres?"
This time when he pulled her head down to his, he maintained
the pressure, not letting her withdraw just to parry again.
Her heart beat wildly - {this is it} - and her hands kneaded
his shoulders restlessly where they lay.
See, second kisses are funny. First kisses can be easily
dismissed if needed - too much wine, too much pressure, too
much holy-shit-we're-gonna-die. A lot of people kiss once,
for whatever reason. After the first kiss, you have time to
think about it, to decide that yes, you really want to try
that again, or no, that was a spur of the moment thing and
can easily be explained as such. Second kisses are affirmations.
Tom and B'Elanna's second kiss was everything they had thought
it would be, and somehow more. It started lightly, just a
flutter of skin on skin, until the half-Klingon got impatient
and bit down. Tom gave chase, capturing her lip and grazing
it with his teeth. They played there for a few moments,
learning the taste and texture of each other's mouths, hands
content to roam the skin that was already exposed.
Remembering the scent she'd picked up earlier, B'Elanna
abruptly moved her nose into the crook of his neck, grazing
the skin of his earlobe and tasting the coppery richness of
his blood. Tom gasped, a choked sound, and thrust up
involuntarily into her body. She responded in kind, circling
her hips and pressing herself against his chest. She bit
little kisses along his jawbone, along the old ice cream
trail, until she came back to his mouth. She'd missed his
mouth.
Until this point, Tom's hands had mostly grazed over relatively
neutral areas of her body - arms, hair, back, thighs. But
time was ticking, and he needed to see more of her, and touch
more of her. The blood-coloured outfit looked good, but he
would bet that she looked better with it off.
He fingered the zipper pull on the jacket, small and cool and
tear-shaped. Tugging on it produced an unexpected reaction -
the woman in his lap tore her mouth away from where it had
been so nicely feasting on his.
"Tom," she gasped, slightly out of breath. She looked
startled, almost, like she wasn't expecting her advances to
take them anywhere. His eyes were tender as he stroked the
metal tab.
"B'Elanna," he said. "I don't want to-"
She placed her palm over his lips, regretfully, since they
were so nice and pink and kissable. She sighed, letting her
breath catch up to her, giving herself a moment to think.
When she was certain that he wouldn't try to talk, or anything
else silly like that, she removed her hand from his mouth. He
watched her, quiet.
Decisively, she pulled the zipper down in a single fluid
motion. The opened shirt hung over her, shadowing her breasts
from his view. It was time to liven things up a little.
Sliding his hands inside her shirt, Tom grabbed her around the
waist and pulled her down on top of him. He went after her
mouth, coaxing her lips open while slipping his hands under
the elastic waistband of her pants, causing her hips to wriggle
in a satisfying way over his.
"Christ...!" he gasped. "Do that again."
"Do what?" she asked. "This?" And she did it again. He
moaned. She caught the sound in her mouth and trapped it
between them. Impatiently, he brought his hands back around
to her stomach and started sliding them up, and up, trying
to act non-chalant when they skimmed the curve of her breasts.
He kept moving his hands onto her shoulders, and slowly pushed
her shirt down and off her arms, watching as she let it fall
to the floor.
She sat there in front of him, cheeks flushed, and Tom thought
that perhaps he had never seen anyone so beautiful. She was
warm and radiant and alive, and for tonight at least, she was
his.
B'Elanna watched the conflict in his eyes. He had drawn his
lower lip into his mouth, and was holding it there with the
edge of his teeth. She followed its movements as he came to
a decision and released the moist bit of flesh. She leaned
down and kissed it.
She felt him shift beneath her, and his hands came back to her
shoulders as he slipped his finger between the narrow strap
of her bra and her skin. He rubbed the material between his
fingers, and from the intense look on his face, she was suddenly
glad she had chosen one of her own, more feminine pieces of
lingerie, rather than her utilitarian Starfleet-issue set of
undergarments.
"You look good in this colour," he said again. "Although I
never would have pegged you for one to wear pink."
She shrugged. "Girly to you, but it's the colour of blood to
me." She touched his neck with her fingers, finding a red
smear where she had gotten a little too excited. "Sorry."
"Don't be."
"You're overdressed," she pointed out. He smiled one of his
lazy cat smiles again and spread his arms.
"I'm all yours, baby."
She rolled her eyes at both parts of his sentence, and yanked
the front of his uniform open. That shut him up. He squirmed
out of the tunic and tossed it aside, not caring where it
landed. The undershirt was quickly disposed of, and she
resumed her spot on his lap, both in relatively similar states
of undress.
There was so much skin now, she found herself stalled. Stop
thinking! She screamed inside. You want to absorb every
moment that is happening - nothing's going to happen if you
don't *do* something.
So she turned her brain off and decided to let herself feel.
Feel the way his skin felt under her hands, feel the way his
heart beat when she lay her cheek on his chest and flicked
out her tongue at the pinkish nipple she found there. Feel
the way his hands shook when he dragged her to her feet and
stripped them both of the clothes that remained on their
bodies. Feel the thrill that raced through her nerves when
they stumbled, kissing, over to the wall, and the pleasure
she felt when he pinned her there roughly, pushing her up
higher until her legs wrapped around his waist. And then
later, when she finally felt more than she had ever thought
she could feel, in ways that she would never find words to
describe.
****
B'Elanna allowed herself to be pulled down into the soft
blankets, but her body stayed stiff and tense. What had
seemed so fulfilling and right and necessary in the heat of
the moment seemed cheap in the reality of distance. Distance,
that was a good idea.
She carefully wriggled out of the pilot's arms and, after a
few moments of searching, found her underwear where they had
been carelessly tossed underneath her desk. She pulled her
pants on, and after declaring her bra missing in action,
zipped her shirt over her bare torso. It was late - early,
rather, according to the chronometer, and she doubted many
people would be roaming the corridors at this hour. Except
her, and her demons.
Before leaving, she took the sticky bowl of warm melted ice
cream off the table and dumped it into the recycler.
The door made only the tiniest sound as it swooshed open, but
she cringed. Light spilled into the room from the corridor,
but Tom merely muttered and turned over onto his other side.
He was unaccustomed enough to slumbering with another body
that he didn't even register her absence.
The mess hall was dark and empty when she arrived - which was
odd, because there was usually *someone* for whom this was
the only time to grab a bite, even now at the beginning of
alpha shift.
"Computer - lights, twenty percent."
With a confirmatory blip, the murkiness lifted enough so that
she could see her way around. She walked over to the replicator
at the far end of the room and said without forethought, "Ten
large green olives. With pimentos."
The computer complied and a small dish of olives appeared on
the platform. She carried it over to a table in the corner,
next to the windows, and curled up in a chair.
What had happened? Where had all her staunch, stoic resolutions
gone? Despite being labeled an angry work-obsessed well,
bitch, was one word she'd heard circulating, with a chip on
her shoulder and a bone to pick with the galaxy in general,
she was still a warm-blooded woman with sexual needs and the
occasional romantic desiring. Throughout her abbreviated
Starfleet education and subsequent stint with the Maquis,
she'd been by no means celibate. She'd had her flings and
her affairs, but the men she'd had them with knew what she
was looking for, and it was likely what they were looking for
in her. A good time, not a long time, some fun, some friction,
a bit of sweat and a release of tension. She wouldn't even
know how to contact them if she'd tried.
When she'd become trapped on Voyager a few years ago, she
realized that would have to change. She wasn't going to
develop a reputation of being easy on a ship and with a crew
that she might have to live with for a very, very long time.
She'd leave that to Harry.
Tom Paris had piqued her interest almost from the beginning - for
one, he wasn't a starched and stuck-up Starfleet do-gooder
with a pole up his ass. On Harry, it was cute, but on any
other man, it got old fast. He was also smart, and mostly,
he wasn't afraid of her.
He'd been interested in her too, and she knew that even at
the beginning, she would've only had to toss him a flirting
smile or give him one of those insinuating caresses while
handing him some trivial piece of work-related drivel, and
she could've entertained him in her bed for weeks, maybe even
months before they got tired of each other and moved on. But
she hadn't wanted that. She'd wanted his friendship, she'd
wanted someone she could confide in and have fun with and
trust. And then, after a year of this wonderful friendship,
she'd started to feel something more.
But of course, at that point, she couldn't say anything to
him. It was more than obvious to her that while he also
considered her a friend, it didn't stop his eye from roving
over every female he met on every planet they stopped at, and
a great deal on board the ship as well. And she wouldn't risk
their friendship by making some silly, wimpy declaration of
love. It would be just too embarrassing, the entire ship
would know, and she would have to see that pitying look in
his eyes as he awkwardly made some joke to allow her to save
face. 'Cause that's what friends did.
With her dumb sense of honor though, she told him anyway, and
sure enough, he made that stupid little joke and at least
she'd had the escape of floating away into unconsciousness.
And then, she should have taken his out. Should've agreed
with him - "yes, Tom, I was severely deprived of oxygen and
see, the reason I told you that was because I was hallucinating
of you being this stuffed pink qanraD that I had as a kid
which I loved dearly." But no, the honor thing interfered
again and she told the truth.
And he kissed her.
Stomping off to Engineering after the doctor had interrupted
their little tete-a-tete - {how long had he been watching,
anyway!?} - she had wondered: What the fuck was Tom trying to
pull? So, what, he thought that now that she loved him, she
would be easy? That she would fall in bed with him, no
problem, and when he got tired of her, oh, poor B'Elanna, go
cry on someone else's shoulder, I have a date with the latest
vacuous blonde.
Engineering had been spick and span by the time she'd finished
taking her irritation and confusion out on her staff. When
Janeway and the doctor had approached her to visit the
isomorph's ship, she'd welcomed the distraction from her
turbulent thoughts.
Of course, she hadn't wanted that much of a distraction.
When she'd returned to Voyager, her life and limbs still
intact, she'd had an epiphany, so to speak. Life was short,
and space was dangerous - why not live a little? She'd shut
herself off since becoming part of this crew, and she began
to regret it. If Tom Paris wanted a couple rolls in the hay,
why shouldn't she throw herself into it wholeheartedly? If
they stayed friends after, great. If not, well, then he
wasn't worth her time.
This philosophy lasted her until she actually asked him to
her quarters. Then her nerves took over.
It *had* been fun, she recalled with a smile and a warm flush.
Tom certainly lived up to his reputation - truthfully earned
or not - as an attentive and creative lover. But while her
body still glowed with satisfaction, all eight chambers of
her Klingon heart felt very, very heavy. Because she didn't
think that this whole friends-with-benefits thing was going
to work. There were too many messy emotions involved, and
maybe... maybe it would just be easier to cut it off now.
Chalk it up to post traumatic horny syndrome. It wouldn't be
too bad. Easier to end it now than after an extended period
of being with him.
She popped an olive into her mouth, wiggling out the soft
pepper with her tongue as she chewed thoughtfully. It would
have to be done. She'd been stupid to tell him how she felt,
stupider to let him kiss her, stupidest to have sex with him.
This would be the first thing she did right, even if it came
a little late.
Suddenly the doors to the mess hall slid open and B'Elanna
jumped, feeling almost guilty, like she was doing something
wrong by being there. And, considering who strode through
the doors, that was a likely possibility. The olive that had
been halfway to her mouth dropped from her fingers and rolled
across the floor.
Tom had no problem discerning her figure in the near dark.
He strode over to where she sat and yanked a chair from the
table. He seemed irritable. She raised an eyebrow in
response to his glare.
"You weren't there." His voice was low, deceivingly intimate,
but she knew better.
"Yeah, I guess you're used to it being the other way around,
huh?"
Ooh, wrong answer.
"This isn't a *game* anymore, B'Elanna," he hissed. "Why did
you run away?"
She sighed, staring at the round green fruits. Unfortunately,
they weren't in a helpful mood. "I just needed some time to
think. Alone." She clarified.
He stared at her with the same blue intensity that made her
knees wiggle. Stop wiggling, she ordered herself. This has
to stop.
"Do you regret what happened?" he asked.
"That's a complicated question, Tom..."
"No, not really. There are two answers. Yes, or no." His
voice was deliberately light.
"Then no," she said. She couldn't look at him. "But just
because I don't regret it, that doesn't make it a good idea."
"I thought you wanted this."
"I did... I do, but not in the same way that you do. And I
thought that would be okay, you know, I thought that it didn't
matter what we were doing so long as no one got hurt and it
was all fun but then suddenly it *mattered,* Tom, and I just
don't think..." B'Elanna ran her fingers through her tangled
hair, trying to contain her frustration. "I just don't think
that we're what we're looking for."
"How would you know what I'm *looking for?*" he said with
quiet incredulity. "I feel like I've been looking for you all
my life."
"You can't say things like that, dammit!" The olives shook
with the impact of her hand hitting the table. She jumped up
from her seat and started walking away briskly.
"B'Elanna!" Tom called. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her
around to look at him. She was momentarily too startled by
his impudence to knock him over.
"Let me go," she demanded through clenched teeth.
"You think this is something this isn't."
"Damn straight. And I'm trying to do the right thing. This
can't happen, ever again. I'm sorry we tried, and it was
great, don't worry. I won't cry, I won't spread nasty rumors
about you, but I can't be only your fuck buddy, either. I
thought that I could, but I can't." She yanked her arm out
from his grip. "I'm sorry."
"You think that's what I wanted? I thought we were friends.
I *care* about you."
"Spare me your sympathy," she snarled.
He reached up and gently touched her cheek with his fingertips,
and she quieted under his caress. Damn him for being able to
manipulate her like that. And while she was at it, damn
herself for liking it.
"B'Elanna, if all I wanted from you was sex, I could have had
that back in those caves on Sakari. But that wasn't how I
wanted our first time together to be. I wanted it to mean
something... kind of the way you mean something to me."
"You never said anything," she replied, her voice just as
quiet as his. "When you kissed me... all you said was 'shut
up.' What was I supposed to think?"
"You're right," he said, with a slight smile, his fingers
still stroking her face. "With you, sometimes I feel like
I'm just a dumb kid with a crush. I keep saying the wrong
things, because the right things get jumbled up in my head
before I say them."
"We make quite a pair then. You spout nonsense and I push
you away. We're going to get nowhere fast."
"I don't mind," he said, pulling her closer. "So long as I'm
getting there with you."
"You'd better watch it, flyboy," she said, poking him in the
chest. "You're going to get soft - ruin your reputation."
Tom chuckled as he began to sniff at the curve of her neck.
"Well, then," he suggested, "how about we go back to your
quarters and I can prove to you just how hard I can be
instead?"
B'Elanna suppressed a snort. That was a terrible line. He
lifted her chin up and lowered his mouth to hers. Her mouth
opened slightly in anticipation of his kiss and Tom blinked.
"Olives?"
She arched an eyebrow at him. "They're a warrior's fruit.
Got a problem?"
"Never," he breathed, closing the whisper-thin space between
them. He circled his arms around her waist and pulled her
body flush against his, content just to hold her in his arms
and to know that right now, in this moment, they were happy.
***
the end.
Let me know what you think. I welcome compliments, of course,
and constructive criticism. I'm an actress - I make a living
out of handling rejection. :o) I like to know where I can
improve, but it's useless to just say, 'your story sucked.'
And that reminds me, does anyone know where I can find any
Trek beta readers? I reread this at least ten times, but
it's always useful to get a fresh perspective.
Did you know they *close* Dairy Queens in Quebec during the
winter? And that really makes me mad, cause now I want a
sundae.
tory_ander...@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/tory_anderson (
geocities.com/vienna/stage/Stage) (
geocities.com/vienna/stage) (
geocities.com/vienna)