Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!atl-c03.usenetserver.com!news.usenetserver.com!wns13feed!worldnet.att.net!216.196.98.144!border2.nntp.dca.giganews.com!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!newsread.com!newsstand.newsread.com!POSTED.newshog.newsread.com!not-for-mail Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Sender: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: <3.0.6.32.20041201055455.00a1c100@pop.netaddress.com> From: tory_anderson@yahoo.com (Tory Anderson) MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com Subject: NEW: VOY Few and Far Between 1/1 [R] (P/T) Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 879 Date: Wed, 01 Dec 2004 13:55:06 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218 X-Complaints-To: Abuse Role , We Care X-Trace: newshog.newsread.com 1101909306 209.198.142.218 (Wed, 01 Dec 2004 08:55:06 EST) NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 01 Dec 2004 08:55:06 EST Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:85863 X-Received-Date: Wed, 01 Dec 2004 05:55:16 PST (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) From: tory_anderson@yahoo.com (Tory Anderson) 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 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_anderson@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_anderson@yahoo.com http://www.geocities.com/tory_anderson ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. 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