Puberty, a Star Trek : Voyager tension reliever
by Sue Castle. Rated NC17, no
infringement intended. Written
during the first season of Voyager, so Blood Fever followed Puberty (and man,
does that sound weird!).
Tom Paris took a deep breath and wondered how the hell he'd managed to do
it again. Nothing was ever simple, hadn't been since he'd gotten tanked one
time too many over one argument with one girlfriend too many, and killed three
of his friends. Probably even since before then, since the first time he
realized he'd never, ever measure up to his oversized hero of a father. "Only the best." He'd heard the motto so many times
he thought he'd puke whenever he thought about it. And always falling short,
never quite making the grade, good thing he was such a shit hot pilot 'cause he
couldn't do another goddamned thing right -- his fevered thoughts finally gave
him the last bit of push he needed to break through the fall of metal and rock
blocking the passageway.
He didn't dare use his phaser to burst through
the barrier, didn't know where B'Elanna was on the
other side and didn't want to risk hitting her with any sort of energy ricochet
if she had somehow managed to make it through the initial avalanche unscathed.
The jolt under his feet had knocked him to the side, the earthquake taking them
completely unprepared, but Chief Engineer Torres and her frigging precious
crystal detectors had been caught in the worst of it. Now for some reason he
hadn't had time to figure out, not that he probably could, he wasn't a damned
electrician, his communicator wasn't working and she hadn't made any noise and
he wasn't sure if she was even still alive and deep inside he just knew that
this was his fault too--
"
His knees actually swayed with relief at the gruff bark, weaker than he
was used to hearing but half-Klingon nonetheless. He
couldn't see anything in the darkness through the small hole, but she didn't
sound completely healthy.
"Torres? You okay in there?" Where the hell are you? He didn't
want to say it, didn't want to admit he felt as helpless as he did.
"No, you fucking moron, I'm not okay!"
Now, that sounded more like Torres.
"I'm getting there!"
"Get help, damnit!" She sounded
exasperated, but also fuzzy, as if she were in more pain than she wanted him to
realize.
"There seems to be some sort of interference." His breath
caught in little puffs from the exertion of widening the hole, but he was
compelled to keep trying. He'd prided himself on being in shape, but some of
those rocks were heavier than they looked.
She didn't respond, and he began to work faster, ignoring complaining
muscles and shifting debris in an almost obsessed drive to get through to her.
Running through his mind was the determination to get to her, not to lose her
like he'd lost others, before. He wasn't about to let this one down, if he
killed himself in the process.
With a grunt, he tore the last of the larger rock fragments out of the
way and pushed his head and shoulders through the hole. His eyes were becoming
adjusted to the inky blackness, and he could make out a female form huddled in
a graceless mass on the edge of the newly-created cave. Struggling to free
himself, he felt the wall around him shift, and an answering sinking in his
gut. Hurriedly he pushed the rest of his body through the opening, sliding to a
halt on the floor, his legs curled up underneath him. Pushing himself to his
feet, he moved across the floor toward B'Elanna, when
the rumbling noise started again and the world tilted on its axis. Crying out
incoherently, he threw his body over her still form, tucking her head under his
chest, feeling the warm chuff of her breath on his throat before a sharp pain
knocked the present away from him.
B'Elanna Torres was a
warrior. Her Klingon mother had tried to instill
within her all the proper patterns of honor and fighting skill, before deciding
that she had too much of her Human father in her blood, and washing her hands
of her. But the early lessons hadn't been wasted. Sitting in the murky
darkness, trying to make some contact with her crewmates, she refused to
believe that they were actually stranded. She knew Chakotay,
trusted him in ways she had never trusted anyone else, knew that he and the
Captain would find a way to get them out of this mess. Both
of them.
She gave up trying to reconfigure the communicator to cut through the low
level electromagnetic noise that was rendering it useless, confident that it
wouldn't be very long before a rescue. Their last known coordinates would serve
as a good starting place for the rescue team, although the same interference
that was bolluxing up the communicators would
probably make transporters too risky. She bit off a curse, knowing there was
nothing to do but wait but hating the feeling of helplessness the knowledge
gave her. She was not a patient person under the best of circumstances and
these were definitely not optimum conditions.
Abruptly pulling herself from her reverie, she put her hand tentatively
to her throat. She felt oddly flushed, and her skin was warm, but she couldn't
believe that it was with arousal. Not for
"Any luck, Mr. Kim? Mr. Tuvok?"
Captain Janeway's voice cut through the tension on
the bridge, steady and hard, not showing her fear that they, no, she had lost
two members of their crew.
"No, Captain, not yet," came Harry Kim's frustrated reply,
followed closely by the calm tones of the Vulcan.
"The interference pattern is shifting at irregular intervals,
Captain. We are as yet unable to lock on to their signals. Communication is
still not possible."
Chakotay and Janeway exchanged looks. Her worry and his meshed as their
emotions so often did, as they often found themselves mirroring one another.
"Keep trying."
No one replied, but two heads bent even more determinedly to two separate
consoles. The captain and her first officer stared at the viewscreen,
willing it to yield up clues for their crewmen to follow.
What a weird noise. The thought popped up in Tom Paris's fuzzy mind,
pushing its way past the pain in the back of his head until he finally forced
his eyes to open and try to locate the source of the trilling. The figure
looming over him caused him to start, instinctively rolling into a defensive
position before he realized it was B'Elanna. Relief
at her apparent good health warred with damaged pride at reacting so badly to
her nearness, and he snapped off a wisecrack to cover his embarrassment.
"Some sort of Klingon death ritual? Don't
go getting excited, Torres, I'm not dead yet!"
She didn't answer, only hummed a little softer and moved a bit closer. In
the dim light of the cave he could see an odd gleam in her eyes. If she had
been anyone else, he would have sworn it was predatory. On her, it looked ...
almost feral.
"Um, Torres?" His uncertainty showed in a not-quite-steady voice. "You
okay?"
She swayed toward him, like a snake in her sinuous movements, then slowly collapsed across his lap. He sat still with
shock for a split second before reaching behind him for the medical tricorder Janeway had ordered him
to bring along. Snapping it open with a muffled curse, he ran it over her
supine body and tried to remember what the obnoxious holodoctor
had told him about interpreting the readings. With a short "sunuvabitch!" he realized he was holding it upside
down and reversed it. Unfortunately, the readings didn't make any more sense to
him that way than they had before.
"Why did she do this to me? I'm no fucking medic!" It was
almost a prayer. "I'm a pilot! That's all!" He gently lifted B'Elanna into a sitting position, wincing as her
unexpectedly heavy mass pulled sore muscles in his back. "C'mon, Torres,
wake up. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, you know that!"
She stirred slightly, but didn't fully awaken. He shifted her until her head
rested comfortably against his shoulder, adjusting to the angular Klingon musculature, wishing he were bulkier. Not for the
first time, he wished he was built like Chakotay.
Trying the tricorder one more time, he remembered how
to match the readings it currently showed with the profile stored in it's memory. The only differences he could make out were
slightly elevated hormonal levels, an elevated body temperature, and increased
adrenalin.
"Great. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? The flu?" He muttered between his teeth as he racked
his brain to figure out what was wrong with her and how he was supposed to fix
it. Looking up from the little instrument panel, he was shocked to find himself
looking directly into her fever bright eyes. Perhaps it was whatever strange
illness she had that was causing the effect, but her eyes looked enormous in
the half light. He was really starting to feel concerned about her.
She brought her left hand up across his chest, sliding it firmly across
the firm surface of his muscles, testing the flesh with her palm. He looked
back at the readings, noticing a peak in her body temperature, and increased
pulse rate. This was not good. Without any warning, her right arm whipped out
to brace against the wall behind his back, and the fingers of her left hand
speared through his hair, pulling his head back.
"Shit! I'm not the enemy, Torres!" He tried to bring his arms
up to break her hold, fearing in her fever that she was reverting to her "Maquis versus Federation" mindset. The LAST thing he
wanted was for an out-of-her-head Klingon to rip his
head off, then try to apologize for it later.
He managed to get his hands up, but was unable to break her hold. At the
same time, he twisted underneath her, trying to buck her off and put some
distance between them. She growled, sounding strangely delighted, and he felt
her teeth close on the skin at the side of his neck. The sharp jolt of pain
caused him to buck in earnest, more frightened than he would care to admit, but
she was stronger than he and held him easily. He felt the slight trickle of
blood seep into the collar of his uniform and went abruptly still,
fearing any further movement would cause her to hurt him even more. To his
intense shock, she released her hold and lapped at his skin, the roughness of
her tongue causing him to shiver.
"Uhhm, Torres?" Softly.
Didn't want to startle her. She'd probably break his
neck with her teeth, like a terrier killing a rat. "B'Elanna?"
"Mmm?" she purred against the side of
his throat.
He swallowed heavily, and she traced the movement with her lips. He was
completely confused now, knowing she was ill, but not knowing quite what to do
about it. Worse, her actions were causing an unwilling arousal, and he just
knew if she felt his erection she was definitely going to kill him for taking
advantage of her fever. The fact that he was pinned down and she was the one
making all the moves wouldn't matter, he knew. It would be a matter of honor,
and he'd get the short end of the stick. She'd probably challenge him to some
sort of Klingon death dance or something and mop the
floor with him. He shivered again, but not from anything pleasant. Images of
his broken body under her booted foot loosened his tongue again, and almost
distracted him from the sensation of her hand tugging at his hair, caressing
his scalp, the imprint of her body holding his against the wall of the cave. Almost, but not quite.
"B'Elanna?" A
little more loudly, trying to get her attention. "You ... um, you
don't know what you're doing, here. You're ... sick, y'know?
This is Paris, B'Elanna. You despise me, remember? Can't stand me. Think I'm a pig. Right?"
His voice gradually grew tighter and fainter, as she pressed closer to
him, rubbing the tips of her breasts across his chest, leaving a trail of fire
in their wake. Her nipples were already hard, and they drew an answering
response from him. He inhaled sharply, and her scent went straight to his
crotch, making him even harder and upsetting his already tenuous grip on
reality. He couldn't believe this was happening, and was afraid at any minute
she'd come to her senses and tear him apart. The thought softened him somewhat
and strengthened his resolve to save her (and himself) from her unexpected
lust. He didn't want to deal with the aftermath if he let this go any farther.
Leaning against him fully, she drew her right arm away from the wall and
began to knead the muscles in his shoulder, then down the curve of his back,
pulling him up to her, continuing to hold his head back with her other hand.
Burying her face in his throat, licking and nipping the tender skin along the
side of his neck and following the tendon down to the hollow of his collarbone,
she finally stopped her exploration at his buttock, digging her fingers into
the muscle. That was his cue. Ignoring the erection that demanded he respond in
kind, he flipped B'Elanna onto her side, dislodging
himself from her hold and rolling away from her grasping hands. Now there was
pain in his scalp, from wrenching her hand from his hair, to match the pain in
his neck where she'd bitten him, but at least he had a little distance. Maybe
he could get her to listen to him.
"Torres!" he snapped authoritatively, hoping command voice
would get her attention. It didn't -- his command voice wasn't really all that
commanding. She came at him in a crouch, like a street fighter, and he had to
twist like an eel to escape her outstretched hands. She growled low in her
throat, and he looked frantically around for a way out. They continued the
dance, she lunging and he twisting away, as he tried to reason her out of her
madness.
"Look. It's ME! Okay, B'Elanna?
She nearly got him then, and he whimpered a little as she ripped the
sleeve off his uniform. She laughed, a soft coughing noise like a wild cat
might make, and he found himself cornered. Looking wildly around for an escape,
any escape, he made one final effort to get her back to reality. "You do
not WANT this, B'El-mmmph!"
She tackled him neatly, rolling him to lie
spread eagled on his back, her heels pinning his legs to the dirt, her hands
holding his wrists, her tongue in his mouth cutting off the endless stream of
words that was beginning to annoy her. Raising her head briefly, she growled at
him. "You talk too damned much."
He looked up at her wild eyes and sharp teeth, bared in a victorious
grin, and gulped. The air in the cave felt cold on his skin as she ripped the
uniform away from his chest, leaving a faint burn on the back of his neck where
the material in the turtleneck gave way. He stopped struggling then, knowing
she was stronger than he, still not quite believing she was doing ... what she
was doing. Which at that moment was nuzzling his chest hair
and whispering something that sounded oddly like "All the way down."
She slowly pulled his arms over his head, and he resisted passively, not
helping her, not wanting her to be able to accuse him of being a willing
partner in this. Trying to cover his ass in any small way he could. Not that he
thought it would help, in the end. She'd find some way to blame him. Then she'd
cut off his balls and hand them to him. He just knew it. As she gathered both
of his wrists in one hand and proceeded to tear off the rest of his uniform
blouse, he actually heard himself whimper. She heard it too, and chuckled. With
no wasted movement, she opened her own blouse and lowered her torso to his,
rubbing her breasts along his chest and growling softly, low in her throat.
He responded to her nearness, the unexpected softness of her skin, her
undeniable control of his body. It wasn't a sensation he was used to, and in
fact, while his reputation said otherwise, he hadn't had sex since before being
hauled off to the
Keeping his hands firmly in place, she reached down between their bodies
to slide her fingers over his penis through the soft material of his uniform.
He groaned, involuntarily thrusting to meet her touch, and she rewarded his
impatience with a sharp squeeze that elicited a gasp from him. His wide eyed
gaze met hers, and she slid her hand back over him, tracing the ridges with her
fingertips, pressing just hard enough to send goosebumps
over his skin. Cupping his sac, she whispered, "Want this?"
All he could do to reply was nod his head shakily. She continued her slow
torture, slipping open his fly and pulling his flesh free to give herself
greater access to him. She covered his face with little licking kisses, dipping
her tongue between his lips, then licking his eyelids closed, nibbling along
his jawline, tugging on his earlobe with her sharp
teeth. All the while her hand continued its work, sliding his foreskin over the
head of his penis, pumping the shaft firmly then pulling back, bringing him to
the brink of orgasm then squeezing him tightly to stop it.
He was moaning continuously now, trying blindly to meet her questing
mouth, pulling against her hold in vain, wanting desperately to caress her as
she was caressing him. She ground her wet vagina against his thigh, stimulating
her clit on his hard muscle but not giving him the satisfaction of touching her,
of making her lose control as she was forcing him to do, asserting her mastery
over his body. Fever sang through her blood and clouded her mind, and his
movements underneath her fed a need she had never felt before.
"I've found them!"
Janeway whirled at Kim's
triumphant words, and she threw a quick grin over her shoulder at Chakotay. He smiled in return,
hope springing to his normally calm eyes.
"Unfortunately, Captain, we still have no way to transport them to
the ship. The field fluctuations are still too irregular to allow our
instruments to get a solid lock." Tuvok's
deadpan voice dampened their enthusiasm, but not much.
"At least we know where they are." Janeway's
tone congratulated Harry.
And that they're alive, thought Chakotay, but
he didn't say it aloud. "Can you ascertain their condition, Mr. Kim?"
"I can do better than that, sir. We can't get a communicator link
through all the interference, but we can get a visual." Harry was anxious
to make sure his friend
"Do so, Harry. Let's make sure they're all right." Janeway turned back to the screen, but couldn't make out
the picture clearly through the snowy interference and the dark background.
"Can you clean that up any?"
Tuvok went to work at his
console, and the picture was abruptly clear. Every figure on the Bridge went
still, and nothing broke the complete silence for several moments.
When she did manage to find her voice, it sounded strangled. "Mr.
Kim, break the connection. Now."
"I'm ... trying, Captain." He sounded miserable, and utterly
embarrassed. "It's..."
She finally managed to tear her eyes from the bizarre sight of Tom Paris
fighting B'Elanna for his virtue, and losing, to
stare at her communications officer. His skin was fiery red, and he was working
furiously at his keypad.
"I didn't hear you, Ensign."
"It's stuck!" he blurted, looking up involuntarily at the
screen before blanching and gluing his eyes back on his work. "It's
stuck!" The reiteration was a forlorn wail.
"This I DON'T believe," Chakotay
whistled. Then he surprised everyone by beginning to laugh. Janeway
hurried over to him and grasped his arm.
"What is so funny about this, Chakotay?"
she demanded, waving over her shoulder at the two figures writhing in the
semidarkness of the cave.
"Well, I'm not going to owe him my life anymore," he managed to
reply before losing his battle with his laughter. "'Cause somebody's going
to have to keep B'Elanna from ripping his head off,
and I have a feeling it's going to be me!"
She held his bright gaze for a moment before the humor of the situation
struck her, than began to giggle. Taking a deep breath to try and control
herself, she ordered Tuvok, "Send a rescue crew
down there, Mr. Tuvok, to dig our little lovebirds
out." As he reached for the button to call the crew she raised a hand. "Tomorrow, Tuvok. And, have them dig slowly." He quirked a brow at her but made no
comment other than a dignified nod.
Harry continued to work frantically to cut the connection, while Chakotay and Captain Janeway
carefully didn't look at the screen. Instead, they sat side by side and fought
the giggles.
By now he was begging her, nearly incoherently, to let him in. She was
close to losing control herself, and she shrugged out of the remains of her
uniform. The lengths of their legs entangled, smooth skin rubbing against
lightly furred, and the added sensation leant an urgency
to her movements that matched his. Swinging her leg over his hips, she
positioned herself over him and slowly lowered herself onto his shaft, filling
herself at her own pace, ignoring his pleas. He held perfectly still, too close
to orgasm to do anything else, needing to have it end but never wanting it to
stop.
For long moments she sat perfectly still, milking gently with her
internal muscles, driving him beyond his limitations, taking them both beyond
anything they'd ever felt before. At last he couldn't hold back any longer, and
he bucked underneath her, forcing her into a rhythm in time with the pulse
roaring in his head. She finally released his wrists, sliding her hands down
his arms, burrowing one hand into his chest hair to tease a nipple, reaching
behind her with the other to scratch his inner thigh with her nails, to cup his
sac and roll his testicles between her fingers, sending him over the edge. His
hands move of their own volition to her breasts, squeezing and kneading as he
exploded in her.
He shouted something as he came, he didn't know what, didn't hear the
Sassenach war cry bred into him, but she heard it and smiled. More to this
Human than she'd thought, as she continued to ride him, guiding his hand down
to her clit, moving his fingers under hers until she joined him with an
explosive climax of her own. Shudders ran up and down her spine, and she slowly
curled over until she lay against his chest, still linked, exhausted.
He felt her breathing even out against the side of his face, and
gradually felt the thunder of his heartbeat slow to a more normal pace. Perhaps
it was the length of time it had been since he'd last had sex, but he was not
through, and he felt himself grow harder, still inside her. But this time,
they'd do it HIS way.
B'Elanna wasn't quite
asleep, more like drifting off into sleep, when she felt herself gently rolled
onto her back.
She opened her eyes when the touches settled around her hips, and then
tried to sit up just as she felt the first touch of his lips at the curve of
her stomach. Then they trailed lower, and his hands left her hips to hold her
open to his questing tongue. The jolt of sensation when he whirled the tip of
his tongue around her clitoris threw her head back, and all thoughts of
stopping him flew from her mind. He moved over her with long, deep strokes of
his tongue, alternating with short flicks at her most sensitive spots, until
she lost track of everything except the way his mouth felt on her opening, the
stabbing motions he made with the tip of his tongue, the firm kneading of his
fingers on her thighs.
He raised his head to look at her, his arousal heightened by the intense
look on her face. Slipping two, then three fingers into her vagina, he rotated
his thumb over her clit and moved over her to meet her open mouth with his. She
moaned into his mouth, tasting their combined juices, and put her arms around
his shoulders, trying to touch all of him at once.
He drew back slightly, allowing the barest cool breeze between them
before whispering close to her ear, "Slowly." She almost didn't hear
him over the blood rushing in her ears, in time with the movements of his hand
in and out of her. When she did realize what he said, she opened her eyes to
growl at him incredulously.
He smiled wickedly, and she reached forward to bite him gently on the pec. He tasted so good she did it again, and he found
himself leaning into it. He'd never been into lovebites
before, but then B'Elanna was unlike anyone he'd ever
had before. She began to pump his hand, moving faster and harder, and he kept
pace, bringing her to another orgasm, less intense than the first but still
enough to send shivers through her frame. Without missing a beat, he slid his
hand from her and replaced it with his penis, thrusting into her with
controlled force, determined that he would take her with him this time.
They settled into a steady, driving rhythm, and she drew his hand to her
mouth, sucking on his fingers one by one at a matching pace. His breathing quickened, and her eyes gleamed at the signs of his
impending climax. She snaked a hand behind him, seeking the vulnerable line of
his ass, probing delicately. His eyes widened as her fingers pushed in, and an
involuntary scream rose to his lips.
"No fair! This was supposed to be slo-unhm..."
His eyes closed as she found his weakness, and pushed him too close to the edge
for any thought of restraint. In retaliation, his fingers found her clit and
rubbed hard, sending another jolt through her that was echoed by his own. She
reared up to meet his thrusts, her teeth fastening in the flesh above his
collarbone, his mouth roaming along her throat and shoulder as the universe
imploded around them.
A long time later, she was staring into the darkness, wondering how long
it would be before she came to regret this -- and how long it would take to get
rescued.
She had thought she wouldn't have to deal with this, since she was only
half Klingon. She'd gone through a normal
adolescence, for a Human, and the absence of any sort of mating frenzy in any
of her previous relationships had led her to think that there was one part of
the Klingon heritage she had managed to escape. Now,
she could only wonder at her rotten luck, that it should catch up to her in
these circumstances. She felt him stirring and sighed. This was going to be ...
embarrassing.
He slowly sat back from her, eventually looking up to meet her eyes. At
the seeming lack of hostility, he relaxed a little, but not completely.
"So. Are you going to
kill me, or just cut them off?" he tried to sound like he was joking, but
he was worried enough that it rang through.
She met his clear sapphire eyes, and growled once, for show. He swallowed,
and she smiled coldly.
"It wasn't your fault." He started to perk up, and she snarled
at him. He watched her carefully. "Or mine. It was ... a Klingon thing." He looked confused, and she sighed
unhappily. "Look. It was a mistake. It won't happen again." He
started to protest and she bared her teeth. He shut up and listened. "I
won't say anything. Neither will you." She paused significantly. "Or
it'll be the last sex you ever enjoy."
He whitened, and she knew the point had gone home.
"No one will ever know from me, B'Elanna."
"Torres."
"Hunh?" He looked startled.
"Torres, Paris. And just for the record..." he looked at her
defiantly, but not too defiantly, since she still could tear him apart, "I
don't think you're a pig." He smiled at her, and she growled, "You
just act like one."
They sat side by side in the darkness, trying to ignore what had happened
between them, and failing miserably. Each was only comforted by the thought
that no one else would ever know what had happened there, for both their
reputations' sakes.
The next morning, Commander Chakotay's face was
the first they saw as the rescue party broke through the landslide to dig them
out. Neither one knew why he kept laughing at odd moments,
and he wouldn't tell them. But the debriefing in the Captain's ready
room was one none of the participants would ever forget.
end