B'Elanna's Secret 2: Leather and Lace

By Captain Jinx
(c/o redshoes@ix.netcom.com)

No, wait. That wasn't exactly right. It had started on the dance floor. Tom had been talking to someone. Was it Harry? Maybe Neelix? Maybe Ivanovich...

It was hard to remember. The light, fruity wine he had been drinking -- what did the natives call it? Spirit Wine. Right, the Spirit Wine had made him feel like his head was hovering about half an inch above his shoulders -- a not altogether unpleasant feeling -- and, yes, it had been the Doc because Tom had asked him, "What could be doing this? I checked the stuff myself and didn't find any evidence of a psychoactive substance..." and the Doctor had launched into a loooong speech about enzymes and alkaloids and serotonin and blah, blah, blah, and Tom had just let his mind wander onto the idea of which of the Doc's programmers had decided that the center of his tongue should always have that one slightly raised bump on the left side and was it his imagination or was the Doctor actually giving off a slight wintergreen-ish smell...

....When B'Elanna had come up behind him, grabbed his free hand in both of hers and twisted it around so that it was placed firmly on the curve of her ass just below her belt line. Tom pulled her a little closer so that her hip bumped into his and he turned to smile at her warmly as if to say, "Let me finish this in a sociable manner," but then he felt her shift her weight slightly so that her pelvic bone was pressed against his hip, and he saw her smile -- and he knew that smile.

And, apparently, so did the Doc. Recently, Tom noticed, the Doctor had developed a warmer, almost patronizing attitude towards Tom. Instead of being vaguely miffed that Tom's attention had wandered, his expression was much more paternal, almost sympathetic. It must be the holowife that's doing this to him, Tom thought. God, what was her name? I should know these things.

But there was B'Elanna once again grinding herself ever-so-subtly against him again. "Excuse me a moment, Doc." He turned to his lover, arching an eyebrow for emphasis: "Something I can do for you, ma'am?"

B'Elanna's smile widened and her eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. She moved her face closer to Tom's and said softly, "Care to dance, mister?"

Tom's eyes widened in mock surprise. It wasn't that he and B'Elanna had never danced before, but it had always been in slightly more intimate settings -- like the two of them alone in their quarters, usually after a long, hot shower. Usually wearing little more than a towel or a bathrobe. What was going on?

"I doubt if you'll get a better offer than that for the rest of the night, Lieutenant," the Doctor said, smiling... what was that? Almost paternalistically. Tom wondered if the Doc had decided to fill in the hole left in his holographic life by Kes leaving with himself. If that turned out to be the case, Tom wasn't sure how he felt about it. On one hand, the Doctor had certainly learned a great deal about human nature and how to deal with "organics" (as he now sometimes referred to them after encountering that insane "isomorphic projection" that had nearly killed B'Elanna), since he had first blipped into more-or-less constant usage. On the other hand, Tom had never had much luck with father figures. He would ponder that one a little more carefully... whenever he got over the effects of B'Elanna grabbing the left cheek of his ass that way.

"You know something, Doc?" Tom replied, a grin spreading across his face. "I think you might be right about that."

"Well, then, run along, you two," the Doctor said, waving his hands in a shoo-shoo gesture. "I think I see the Captain and Seven of Nine over by the buffet. I believe Seven would profit by a... um, clinical description of the kinds of behavior she's likely to observe here tonight. And, unless I'm mistaken the Captain will require a sedative."

Tom and B'Elanna watched the Doctor walk into the crowd, his portable emitter obviously unable to compensate for the jostling interference created by the densely-packed crowd because he kept flickering around the edges. In the distance, over the heads of his fellow crew members, Tom saw the blonde-haired Seven turning her head from side to side, obviously attempting to assimilate all the new information about human interactions that was being generated by the increasingly densely-packed, sweaty crowd. If he wasn't mistaken, Tom thought he even detected the traces of a small smile at the corners of her mouth.

But then his attention was once again focused on the much smaller, much darker, much more intriguing woman who was currently pressed against his side. The gentle caress he had felt earlier had turned into a full-fledged grope. She was smiling up at him -- actually, grinning lasciviously -- amused at what must have been a pretty startled expression.

"So, I've got your attention?"

"Uh, yeah. You could say that."

"Good." B'Elanna lightly stroked his rear end. "Nice outfit."

Tom looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching what B'Elanna was doing, but, no, as far as he could tell, no one was watching what they were doing. In fact, as far as Tom could tell, there were a lot of other people who were dancing together a little more closely that they normally might have. A little light necking going on around the edges of the party, too. What the hell was going on here?

Suddenly, Tom's attention shifted from the doings of his fellow crew members and was suddenly riveted on other doings. B'Elanna was standing close to him, looking up at him as if they were talking, but she had angled her body in a manner that hid what she was doing from the majority of the room. What she was doing, precisely, was stroking him lightly with her fingertips through the material of his pants.

Tom took a quick half-step backwards. "B'Elanna!" he said. "What are you doing?"

She closed on him again, saying, "Don't worry. Nobody's paying attention." She grinned wickedly. "What can I say? I really like the pants."

Both she and Tom had decided to spend a little extra effort in dressing for the first excursion off Voyager in several weeks. Knowing that the ship was going to be in space dock for, at the very least, several weeks had given most of the crew a sense of release you usually find on any ship that was putting into port for liberty. B'Elanna, naturally, wouldn't be any less busy than she usually was while the ship was being refitted, but it was obvious that she welcomed the prospect of actually improving the ship rather than simply trying to keep it held together with spit and bailing wire.

So, rather than dress together as was their custom, each had taken a turn and agreed to meet in the transporter room. Tom had decided on what B'Elanna called his "pseudo-Maquis" look: an open-necked white shirt, soft leather pants and short boots, both in black, and a long, voluminous grey coat the replicator files called a duster. He had worn the shirt and boots many times, but the pants and the duster were new additions to his wardrobe, something he had had to hoard rep credits for, mostly because of a stray comment B'Elanna had made about an outfit Chakotay had worn back in the old days. She had long ago confessed to a more-than-fleeting attraction to the XO and though Tom was secure in their relationship (besides, for all Tom knew Chakotay had other fish to fry), he wasn't above playing to his lover's fantasy life. Perhaps it was just the style of the pants, but Tom hadn't been able to coax the replicator to produce anything in exactly the dimensions he would have been most comfortable wearing. They were amazingly, almost obscenely tight across his hips and groin. He had had no choice but to wear an athletic supporter because anything else was immediately visible through the thin material. He hoped B'Elanna would appreciate the amount of time and aggravation that would be involved in such simple functions as going to the bathroom or sitting down.

In any case, the look he'd received when he'd walked into the transporter room was worth the credits. B'Elanna's eyebrows had shot up into her hairline and then her eyes had narrowed in a way that his mother probably would have described as "saucy."

B'Elanna, too, had departed from her customary casual wear. Rather than the overalls she had usually worn when they first met or the more loose, flowing tops and skirts she had come to favor in recent months, she had gone to the other end of the spectrum -- what Tom immediately categorized as the "Whoa, Nellie!" wavelengths. Like Tom, perhaps having perceived his mood, B'Elanna had decided on an outlaw look: a very short, tight, apparently very stretchy black skirt (the first time Tom could ever remember her wearing one), and an oversized leather jacket that was buckled at the waist, but appeared to be otherwise unzippered or unfastened. Tom could not determine exactly what she was wearing underneath the jacket, though there was a flash of something when she half-turned to face him. Something red? he wondered, and the image that danced through his mind suddenly made him very glad that he was wearing the voluminous duster.

Tom pulled himself up straight, cocked his head slightly to one side, and squinted his eyes. "Hmm," he said. "Not bad. Just a little something you threw together?"

The corner of B'Elanna's mouth quirked up and she nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just something I had in the closet gathering dust. I see you've taken the usual amount of care in dressing, too."

Tom pulled up on the flaps of his coat and did a quick flourish. "Hey," he said in mock seriousness, "if you don't like it...I can go put something else on." B'Elanna bent forward slightly (allowing the flaps of her jacket to part ever-so-slightly) and grabbed the corners of Tom's coat. She pulled on them sharply exposing the rest of Tom's outfit. Wrinkling her nose, studying the problem like she was studying a kludge fix committed by an inept engineer, she let her gaze drop to a point about three feet off the floor. The wrinkled nose disappeared and the left eyebrow arched upwards.

"This is very nice," she purred softly.

"Thanks," Tom said. "We aim to please."

She took a half-step backward and let the folds of his jacket swirl down around his legs. Tom stepped forward, bowed at the waist, and offered his arm so they could climb the steps to the transporter, which is when he noticed the final new addition to her wardrobe: a pair of calf-high black cowboy boots with silver and red inlays. Tom paused to admire them. "These are great," he said. "When did you get them?"

"I've had them since I came on Voyager," B'Elanna said, smiling down at the boots. "I bought them at a trading post just before we made our last excursion into the Badlands. It was an impulse -- just one of those things that I picked up because, well, I liked them. Back then, none of us ever had much disposable income, you know? Our own credits, as opposed to whatever the cell had for its uses, but every once in a while Chakotay would give everyone a few creds, but I never had much use for them. I had a wad of creds in my coat when I saw these and I think when the merchant -- this old Tellarian we use to trade with sometimes -- saw how much I liked the boots, I don't think he even counted the creds I handed him. Now that I think about it, these were probably the last things I bought in the Alpha Quadrant before, well, you know, Crazy Horse was destroyed. I never was sure who grabbed my duffel when it was time to transport to Voyager. " B'Elanna paused for a second. "Maybe Seska now that I think about it..." She shrugged. "Wouldn't that be strange if it had been her?"

Tom felt her mood flag. Moments like these, bright and quick, were, at best, fleeting for B'Elanna Torres. Certainly she was a happier, more stable person now than when they had met more than four years ago, Tom knew, but occasions of such unmingled happiness as talking about a pair of prized boots, well, these were rare treasures and Tom didn't want her good spirits to spiral into a tailspin of thinking about Seska.

"Well, whoever it was," Tom said, squeezing her hand, "I owe 'em one. Those are great boots. I've always wanted a pair like that."

B'Elanna looked up at him. "Really? Well, we'll see. Maybe your birthday if you're good."

The transporter officer nodded at them as they took their places on the pads. Tom took B'Elanna's hand as the familiar shimmer began. "I'm always good," he said as the transporter bay began to fade around them. Almost lost in the hum of the beam, he heard his lover say, "Sometimes, you're great," and he would have smiled knowing that her good mood had returned, but he was, ever-so-briefly, without molecules.

It was, in brief, the first shore leave for any of the crew since, well, since they had become a crew. Okay, there was the brief, unpleasant episode on the Mari home world and one or two visits to alien space stations where it had been made very clear that to Voyager's crew that they were going to be watched every single moment, but real rest and relaxation? Extended periods of leisure? Complete relief from responsibility? No, nothing like that for more than four years.

And it was all because of the probe.

Well, to be precise, it was because of the probe and the spectacular piloting skills of Lt. (j.g.) Thomas E. Paris.

The probe had turned out to be a sniffer, a watchdog, a picket, that had latched onto Voyager when it sensed Borg technology aboard. After Tom had piloted the ship into a nebular cloud to duck its sensors, the probe had triggered an automatic call to its masters -- the owners and operators of a gigantic space port and trading post called, if the Universal Translator was to be trusted, the SuperGigantaUltimart. No matter how many new requests for translations were submitted, that was the best the software could come up with. The name was so universally despised, that when some wag from Stellar Cartography (probably Jenny McGrue, nee Delaney) started calling it Mallworld in interdepartment communications, the name was immediately embraced and adopted. Even the Captain (who was generally scrupulous about the finer points of First Contact Protocol) seemed grateful to find another handle.

It said something about the proprietors of SuperGigantaUltimart -- who called themselves, not-so-colorfully, the "Custodians" -- that the name Mallworld not only didn't bother them, but they briefly considered changing the complex's name when they grasped the meaning of Mallworld.

It was difficult to say much else about Mallworld except it was really, really big, especially in comparison to any other station Voyager had encountered since arriving in the Delta Quadrant. Roughly the size of nine Borg cubes slammed together but nowhere near as tidy, Mallworld appeared to be the remains of several hundred thousand space-worthy (and sometimes no-so-much space-worthy) vessels and sealed environments that had slowly accreted over the period of nobody-knew-how-many millennia. The Custodians didn't claim to have created the place, but only made sure that the various environmental sectors were provided with the basic elements of life and paid their rents on time.

The Custodians themselves... Well, it was hard to know what to say about them since most Federation citizens had been brought up with the philosophy of "If you can't say something nice...."

It was, uncharacteristically, Harry Kim who, in a staff meeting following the utterly frustrating first round of negotiations for docking privileges, had hit upon the phrase "A lot like Ferengi, but with none of the class." Captain Janeway had stared at the Ensign for a moment, completely and utterly aghast, but then Chakotay had exploded into laughter, sending everyone around the table (except Seven, who didn't understand the reference and who didn't laugh, anyway) into fits of relieved, exhausted snorts and guffaws.

Assuming her thorniest mock-schoolmarm persona, Janeway informed the room that the meeting was over. Fortunately, she, Neelix, and Tuvok had been able to negotiate access to the entertainment facilities on the station's outermost levels. Shore leave assignments had been made and the first group of revelers (much to the envy of their fellows) had been released. The next day's negotiations had gone better, especially when Janeway revealed that Voyager had encountered the Borg and developed an effective defense against assimilation. Though the Borg had not, as yet, made their way into this part of the Quadrant, refugees from their attacks had and their threat was understood. When the Custodians finally grasped what Janeway was offering, Voyager was immediately admitted to the station's shipyards and more detailed negotiations about the nature of the work the upgrades and repairs B'Elanna wished to undertake were begun.

More importantly, it meant that even more people could go on shore leave.

Which had led to the current situation.

B'Elanna asking him to dance.

Stroking the front of his pants.

Her warm breath in his ear, whispering the things she was thinking about doing to him later.

Okay, so, there was something about Spirit Wine.

Somewhere off to his left, a flash of silver caught his eye and he watched as Harry began to instruct Seven in a simple shuffling dance step. Seven was looking down, obviously watching Harry's feet, trying to catch the rhythm of the music. Hesitating briefly, Seven looked up and seemed to search the crowd at the edge of the dance floor and found what she was looking for. The Captain and the Doctor were both watching her and Harry, both smiling in what could only be described as an approving manner. Seven frowned, her forehead scrunched together in what Tom had begun to think of as her "All right, I'll try it" expression, and redoubled her efforts to understand the unproductive human activity called dancing.

It didn't take her very long to figure it out.

The crowd was evenly divided into two camps: those who were obviously and openly fascinated by the sight of the former Borg's now svelte form swaying back and forth to the beat of the music and those who felt like she deserved some sort of privacy. Tom wasn't sure which group he was in and glanced towards his friend to see how he was reacting to this sight. Tom half-expected Harry to be slack-jawed with wonder and lust, but Harry, apparently, either had better control of himself than Tom might have credited him with or, more likely, the Spirit Wine had transported Mr. Kim to a happy place where Seven was not really needed.

Whatever the case, Tom decided, good for Harry.

His attention now refixed on his own situation, Tom Paris suddenly discovered that, without realizing it, he had become the dance partner for a very attractive half-Klingon woman. B'Elanna had moved as close to Tom as she could without actually touching him, and, head bowed, was swaying from side-to-side with a slow, incredibly sensuous movement that was all the more amazing because Tom didn't think it was being done for his benefit.

The music was primal, heavy with bass, and probably not recorded to be listened to with human ears. There were, Tom could tell, subtle throbbing rhythms just below his ability to perceive and perhaps a very low-level broad-range psionic generator build into the amplifiers. Whatever it was, he concluded, it wasn't anything dangerous or he was sure the Doctor would have been up on a table shouting for everyone to head for the doors. So, Tom concluded, relax and enjoy it.

And he did.

Everyone did.

Tom had always prided himself on being one of those men who could dance and enjoy himself and not either feel like or look like a complete fool. He learned this when he was in his early teens and found that this was an ability cherished by members of the female gender and loathed and despised by most members of his own. There was a little switch in his head that he could flip, and, pop! he was internally in sync with any kind of music. As it turned out, the same seemed to be true of B'Elanna (at least under some conditions) and the two of them quickly felt a little sphere of open space open up around themselves so that the other dancers (and the few spectators) could watch them.

B'Elanna possessed a smooth, fluid grace that she expressed with many small, controlled gestures and steps that synchronized beautifully with Tom's more expressive movements. At first, Tom didn't think his lover was even aware of the fact that there were people watching her, but then he saw from the way she watched the room from the corners of her eyes that she knew what was happening and was enjoying it tremendously.

And then the music changed and B'Elanna grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him off the dance floor and into a dark corner. The new selection was lower, slower, and smokier. Some couples left the floor, others took their places, while others changed with the new tempo. Looking back over his shoulder, Tom saw that Harry was showing Seven how to put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip. The Captain was still over by the tables, but she had turned away from the floor, probably so that her protegee didn't see her smile of pleasure.

And then B'Elanna was settling into a dark corner, pulling Tom's face to hers, kissing him, devouring his mouth. Her fingers were in his hair on the back of his head, gripping him with urgent strength. Tom kissed her back with what he thought was equal desire, but when he tried to pull away to catch his breath, B'Elanna bit his lower lip hard enough that he felt the skin beginning to tear.

"B'Wanna," Tom said, trying to make himself clearly understood though he was temporarily without the use of his lower lip. "Are 'oo feewing alwight?"

B'Elanna let go of his lip and pulled her head away. "What?" she said breathlessly.

Tom touched his lower lip and, gasping, said, "I said, 'Are you feeling all right?'"

She widened her eyes in mock exasperation and leaned forward just far enough that she could reach inside the folds of his voluminous coat and stroke his crotch. "I feel fine," she said. She smiled wickedly. "And so do you."

"I just wanted to make sure. Not that I'm not enjoying this, but aren't you a little worried about someone seeing... well, you know."

B'Elanna kissed him gently on the mouth, on the chin, at the base of his throat, then turned his head back towards the dance floor with the tips of her fingers. "Do they look like they're paying attention to us?"

Tom watched the dancers and the now small crowd of wallflowers. Everyone, it seemed, was on the floor. The only faces he didn't see, Tom realized, were the Captain and Chakotay. And I wonder what might have happened to them?

He turned back towards B'Elanna and said, "Okay. Point taken. But wouldn't you rather we went back to the ship?"

"And wouldn't you rather find out what I'm wearing under the jacket?"

Tom's mouth went dry. Oh, yeah. The jacket. Under the jacket.

B'Elanna closed her eyes and pulled him close again, and the lovers were lost in the shadows. B'Elanna grabbed Tom's ass and pulled his hips into hers. Tom began to plant small, light kisses on her throat, pushed the collar of the jacket aside, and continued on to the base of her throat and her shoulders. The jacket parted and the collar opened wider. B'Elanna had her neck thrown to one side and her eyes closed, so Tom felt safe in stopping momentarily to take a closer look at what she was wearing. He saw a thin, red strap against the skin of her shoulder, then pushed the jacket back a little more so that it was sliding off her shoulders.

At the exact moment that the jacket started to slide off and just before Tom saw what she was wearing, B'Elanna's fingertips found the front of his pants and began tugging down the fly. And a good thing, too. If she hadn't, Tom knew, she probably would have been blinded by the tiny pieces of shrapnel that had once been his zipper. Most likely, some of the pieces would have ricocheted off the wall and struck other crew members out on the dance floor. Tom tried to picture the meeting with Janeway following that incident, but the image floated away when his attention refocused on the hollow of B'Elanna's neck. He leaned down to run his tongue along the edge of her collarbone, and she put her hand against the back of his head and pushed him down farther.

He couldn't see much down there in the shadows, though he could smell the faint flowery scent of the soap B'Elanna used to wash her lingerie and, somewhere underneath that, the more pungent, musky aroma of her growing exhilaration. He kept expecting to encounter some cloth, the top of a shirt, something solid, but he kept kissing her lower and lower and all he could feel was the thin strap. Finally, just above the point where her breast curved into her nipple, the tip of his tongue encountered a tiny curl of lace. Tom pulled his head back, slipped his hands into the folds of the oversized jacket and parted them.

Tom inhaled sharply.

B'Elanna had, apparently, been hypnotizing him when he hadn't been paying attention and plumbing the depths of his adolescent fantasies because she had, without question, tapped into one of them.

It was called (he believed it was the right word) a teddy.

It was, as near as he could tell in the deep shadows, ruby red and the upper edges of the cups were fringed with lace. The front panel was a soft and velvety and the side panels were faintly translucent. The bottom of the garment disappeared into the top of her skirt and (if Tom remembered the architecture of such garments) was, that very moment, firmly caressing B'Elanna's delicious cleft.

He looked up into her eyes. She was grinning.

He looked down.

He looked up. The grin widened.

"You like?" B'Elanna said.

Tom said, "Gah?"

Her grin disappeared. "What?"

Tom regained control of his motor functions. "I said, 'Oh, yeah.'"

"Didn't sound like 'Oh, yeah.'"

"It was meant to be 'Oh, yeah.' It was the best I could do at that moment."

"You can do better than that," she said. "I've seen you do better than that."

Tom felt her hands traveling up the front of his pants to the button. He touched her inner thigh and moved his hand up her leg under the skirt. The skin of B'Elanna's inner thigh was, Tom knew, one of the three softest, most sensual substances in the known universe. She growled low in her throat as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply.

Hidden by the shadows and by the large duster, none of the dancers could see as B'Elanna Torres reached around behind Thomas Paris' back and tugged his pants down. When she found that he wasn't wearing the usual boxer briefs, but had resorted to the athletic supporter that left his ass bare she almost pushed him over onto his back and mounted him on the spot, but she managed to restrain herself.

She cupped his balls with one hand. For one brief moment, Tom flashed on Captain Janeway's lecture about restraining themselves in public and almost, almost called for a timeout, but then B'Elanna delicately rolled the tips of her fingers over the thin skin of his sac and lightly scratched the crack of his ass with one nail. All coherent thought fled as his fingers found the now-drenched thong tightly nestled between her labia. Tom pulled the thong aside and lightly pinched her clitoris with his forefinger and thumb. B'Elanna groaned deeply and thrust her tongue against his. He bent forward, nuzzled the fringe of lace aside with his nose and pulled her nipple between his teeth and bit it firmly but lightly. B'Elanna tilted her head back and almost howled, but somehow managed to restrain herself, if only so she could concentrate on Tom's skilled ministrations on her clitoris.

She shimmied closer, thrust her pelvis against his leg and hooked both her thumbs into the straps of his athletic supporter and tugged it down. Tom's cock sprang out, and she expertly grabbed it before it bounced a second time. The woman had good hands. She was an engineer after all. Pressing as close to him as she could, she lifted one of her legs and, using him to balance her weight, lifted it and wrapped it around his waist. Tom felt the cowboy boot's tiny spur dig into his back even as he tugged on the teddy's thong. The delicate cloth tore in his grip and he immediately thrust two fingers up into B'Elanna's wetness.

B'Elanna pulled herself up to her full height, pushed his cock down and grabbed Tom's head with her free hand. "If you don't fuck me right now," she whispered hoarsely into his ear, "I'm going to have to kill you..."

"That," Tom gasped, "would be a waste of a perfectly good teddy."

He grabbed B'Elanna at the waist and lifted her to a height where she could tip his cock forward and insert it into her, and then, when he felt the tip slide between her folds, he lowered her onto him. As he plunged up into her, he felt her weight shift and the spur bite deeper into his back. The pain, that tiny little bit of pain, was wonderful and fascinating.

She grabbed his ass in both of her hands and tipped backwards so that they slammed into the wall, shifting their weight so that his cock reached new depths. Then, finding their balance, Tom began to fuck B'Elanna in a slow, steady rhythm.

Somewhere out on the dance floor, Seven of Nine began to feel uncomfortably warm and unzipped the front of her uniform to a point slightly below the level of her communicator.

Every man (and not a few women) in the room gasped audibly, and the music (somehow tied into the emotional rhythms of the crowd) began to beat more loudly, so no one heard B'Elanna Torres as she began to call to all the Klingon gods she knew. Tom Paris just kept moving as steadily as he could, one part of his mind cast back to his most outrageous 15 year-old fantasies... and realizing that reality was more, so much more satisfying, than anything he could have ever imagined.

It was a good life in the Delta Quadrant.

END Part 1

Somehow or another, they made it out of the Cantina without anyone spotting them. Not that nobody actually laid eyes on them, but none of them were really paying close attention. By this time, the Spirit Wine or the subsonics or whatever it was had taken firm hold of the crowd and wasn't letting go. Perhaps it was because Tom and B'Elanna had gone so far over the edge that they were able to recognize what had happened to them and could pull themselves back together into some semblance of clear thought.

Well, semi-clear thought, anyway. Tom's mind was still fogged by thoughts of what they had just experienced. Outside the Cantina in the wide, now-empty and dimly-lit Arcade, Tom and B'Elanna kept stumbling into dark corners to kiss, lick and fondle as much as they felt they could without risking discovery. After the fourth or fifth encounter, even as he could feel her starting to unzip his pants, B'Elanna pulled herself together, took a deep breath, then began to laugh. "I don't think it would be a good idea for us to beam back to the ship."

Tom reached into the folds of her jacket and began to caress the nipple of her right breast with his thumb and forefinger. "Why not?" he asked, even as he leaned toward her to nuzzle her neck.

"Because I don't think I'd be able to keep my hands off you between the transporter room and our quarters."

Tom tugged the shoulder of the jacket away from her neck and collar bone and set his tongue to the fine dark hairs there. B'Elanna shuddered and began to grope his cock through his pants. When they had finished in the Cantina and he had tried to pull up his pants, the athletic supporter had become hopelessly snarled and his mind had been so fogged, the only solution that had made any sense was to just tear out the seams and pull it off. Consequently, there wasn't much between B'Elanna's probing fingers and his straining penis.

"Okay, okay, okay," he whispered. "Let's find a hotel. Neelix arranged for credit at a couple, so we should be able to pay the tab. I'm sure the Captain would prefer that we don't get caught in the Jeffries Tube again."

So, they pulled themselves together again, called the ship and asked the Officer of the Day for directions to one of the hotels. The O.D. gave them directions, obviously straining to keep from laughing, and they signed off.

The hotel was pretty much what Tom was coming to expect from Mallworld. Large, ostentatiously decorated, well-stocked with the amenities (for a price) and much too well-lit. After checking in at the desk and getting the requisite smart-ass leer from the clerk when they said they didn't have any luggage (or at least Tom thought it was a leer -- the compound eyes made it hard to tell), they were escorted toward the lift. Halfway down the long hallway, both of them trying very hard to keep their hands to themselves, B'Elanna noticed a small shop that apparently catered to guests like themselves who hadn't thought to bring along all the necessities. She told him Tom to wait for her in the room, and ducked in the door.

Twenty minutes later, just as Tom had finished exploring the lavishly decorated room and was beginning to wonder if she had lost her way, B'Elanna knocked on the door. Tom had taken off his coat, his shirt and his boots, but still had his pants on just in case, well, just in case B'Elanna's mood had changed.

He shouldn't have worried.

As soon as he opened the door, she slid in and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately on the mouth. A small paper-wrapped bundle that she was carrying on one arm banged him in the side, but he wasn't paying attention. The smell of her leather jacket, the taste of her lips, the feel of her silken hair in his hands, the tiny, silvery notes of her spurs -- Tom was once again overcome by a powerful wave of passion. She obviously was feeling it, too -- arching her pelvis into him, grinding her pubic bone against his hip. For a moment, Tom thought she was going to slip one leg behind his and trip him over backwards (it wouldn't be the first time), but just as he was bracing himself for the fall, she pulled away.

"I picked up a couple things. Let me take care of them first."

"B'Elanna! Just drop the damned toothpaste and let me . . . "

"Hey, if it was just toothpaste, it wouldn't have a problem, but that store was really well-stocked." She grinned wickedly and touched the front of her teeth with her tongue.

Tom considered the many possible meanings of the statement "really well-stocked" and released his grip on her. "Okay," he said. "You go put your things away."

"I'll call you if I need help."

"That sounds like a good idea."

B'Elanna found the bathroom door and slipped inside with one last tiny uplifted eyebrow. Tom turned to once again do a tour of the room, this time finding the small wet bar. He considered looking around for some more of the Spirit Wine, but decided that it might be pushing too much of a good thing, and instead opted for some kind of light-colored liquor. It had a slightly oily texture and burnt like hell on the way down, but then smoldered soothingly in his belly. It reminded Tom of Romulan Ale (the one time he had tasted it), and thought about pouring a second shot until he thought about what had happened to him that one time he had tried Romulan Ale. "Maybe not," Tom said out loud, then began to wonder (as men have since the beginning of time) what B'Elanna could be doing that could be taking so damned long.

Just that second, the door opened a crack and Tom heard B'Elanna calling him in a low voice: "Tom? Could you come here a second? I need help with something."

Tom sighed and wondered if she was teasing him or if she really had encountered something in the bathroom that had baffled her. Unlikely, he decided. She is an engineer, after all. He had pushed the bathroom door open briefly when he'd come into the room just to make sure it was a bathroom, but upon spying the requisite fixtures in the dim light he hadn't explored any further.

He pushed open the door and realized that B'Elanna had discovered something about the bathroom he hadn't -- that it was illuminated by several small lamps dotted here and there about the room, and that two of the walls, those not used for shower and counter, were covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

B'Elanna was standing in front of one of these mirrors, turning from three-quarter view to three-quarter view, adjusting the garments she had purchased by scant millimeters here and there.

She was wearing a garment that Tom -- through his recent researches -- had learned is called a merrywidow. I wonder just how merry was that widow? It was a deep ruby red, strapless, semi-transparent on the sides, and fitted snugly around B'Elanna's trim waist. Garters dangling from the bottom of the garment led down to sheer red stockings. The only pair of shoes she had were cowboy boots, so B'Elanna had dispensed with footwear, but since her legs were so long and firm, the effect of the stockings was not lost. She was also wearing a tiny red thong, though Tom could barely see that since the strap was firmly nestled between the cheeks of her curvaceous ass.

B'Elanna lifted herself up onto her toes, arched her back seductively, and shifted her eyes so she could see the effect it was having on her lover. Tom could see the tips of B'Elanna's engorged nipples peeking up over the cups of the demi-bra. He tried to swallow, his throat suddenly tight. "That . . . " he paused, his voice a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and said, "That's a pretty well-equipped little store."

B'Elanna smiled approvingly. She turned again to one side to admire the effect on Tom. "It's one of those things I've been secretly admiring in the data files for the past couple months, but just didn't feel . . . I don't know . . . naughty enough to indulge in."

"And so what happened tonight?" Tom asked as he slowly approached her, looking at both the reality and the reflection of his love.

"What do you think?" she asked. "I'm feeling very naughty."

Even as he came within reaching distance, B'Elanna extended her hand behind her and placed her fingertips on the button of his pants. She deftly twisted the fabric and he felt the button pop off and ricochet across against the mirror. Good thing she didn't do that in the Cantina, he thought, even as she slid her hand down through the teeth of the fly and reached inside. Tom's cock sprang from between the flaps and she pulled him closer. Neither wanting to nor able to resist, Tom moved to within inches of her back, then felt the tip of his penis brush against the top of the curve of her ass. B'Elanna's eyes were now closed, her breath coming quickly, fogging the mirror. Tom felt the pants slide down his legs and he watched himself in the mirror, almost as if in a dream, step out of them and kick them across the floor with a flip of his foot.

Tom's hands moved up B'Elanna's side, barely touching her, feeling the warmth of her skin through the sheer cloth. When he felt the swell of her breasts under his fingers, he traced one hand up and over so he could rub the nipple, while with the other he cupped her, shifting her weight back pulling him. His cock lay in the crevice between the cheeks of her buttocks and he heard her gasp when he pressed her hips toward the mirror with his. She tilted her head back, offered her lips to him, and he kissed her lightly, nuzzled her ear, the nape of her neck, her bare shoulder. Even as he kissed her, he glanced up and saw their reflection in the mirror and the image inspired him to even greater excitement.

Tom let one hand slide down her belly, then dipped into the front of her thong. He briefly paused to let his fingers dance through the lush curls there, but didn't stay long because he could feel her heat rising. He found her clitoris and gently pulled at it with his thumb and middle finger. B'Elanna gasped and shoved back against him. Tom felt the urge to push his cock down between her cheeks and search for the warmth and wetness he knew was waiting somewhere for him, but they had encountered this problem before. B'Elanna was several inches shorter than he was. The only way they could make love while standing was if he partly supporting her or if . . .

He looked to his left. No good, the commode.

He looked to his right. A low counter fronted by another mirror.

Perfect.

Tom placed his hands on her hips and gently turned B'Elanna so that she could feel the direction he wanted her to go. She sensed his plan and quickly acquiesced. She turned toward the counter, placed both her hands on the edge and took a half step backwards so that her glorious ass was slightly lifted. She looked up at him in the mirror, grinned deliciously, and said, "Are you feeling naughty, too, Flyboy?"

"Just as naughty as you want to be," Tom whispered. He bent at the waist and lowered his mouth to the base of her spine. Kissing first one ass cheek, then the other, Tom could smell her musk, could sense the rising excitement. He was glad she had purchased a new thong because he really had hated to tear the teddy's strap. He much preferred to pull the strap from between her legs, then plunge his tongue into her depths -- which is precisely what he did at that moment.

B'Elanna squirmed back and forth, moaned, but didn't lose her grip on the counter. Tom knelt, licked down the sides of one silk-encased leg, worked his way back up the other, then began to slowly explore the edges of her labia. He slowly moved up from B'Elanna's vagina, carrying some of her moisture with his tongue and lightly probed her anus. This was met with even more intense moans, which Tom took as a signal to intensify his efforts. He introduced first one finger, then two between the lips of her vagina, while continuing his attentions to her puckered hole. Five minutes passed in this manner, B'Elanna's low calls intensifying by the second. Her knees threatened to buckle when Tom gently inserted his pinky finger into her anus, but she steadied herself and pushed back against the unfamiliar pressure.

Slowly fucking her ass with first one finger, then another larger finger, Tom stood, knowing that he couldn't bear to listen to her low moans any longer. When she sensed him moving behind her, B'Elanna shifted her weight further from the counter, and lifted her ass higher into the air, offering it to him.

Tom found her with no difficulty and quickly slipped into her with a single thrust. He grasped her hips and began a slow, steady rhythm, his cock sliding back and forth like a piston between her legs, his balls slapping against her cheeks. B'Elanna braced herself and pushed back against every thrust, meeting him, forcing him deeper. Even as he felt B'Elanna's vagina clench around him for the first time and her breath come in heaving gasps, Tom began to think there might be something else about Spirit Wine. His cock felt like a rod of iron. Usually, he couldn't take the sensation of B'Elanna coming while he was inside her, but this time, though he was certainly aware of the sensation of her orgasm, he didn't feel himself begin to pulse. If anything, he felt inspired to try for a second wave.

Setting himself firmly against B'Elanna's weight, grasping her hips in his large hands, Tom cut loose. He stopped making love and started fucking . . . which, fortunately, B'Elanna enjoyed tremendously whenever it occurred. Gasping his name over and over, B'Elanna felt a second wave build at the pit of her belly and burst through her middle. Wetness dripped from between her legs and Tom's pulsating cock was drawing it back and forth between her legs, up into the crack of her ass. She felt that it was a night where, magically, anything could happen, and she decided she might as well go with the sensation.

She positioned her weight so that he had to stop thrusting, then slowly pulled herself forward so that his erection popped out of her. Taking it firmly in her hand (and, Kahless' Sword, it felt hot and huge), she moved the tip to her now well-lubricated anus and slowly settled her weight back against it. She looked up and saw Tom's face in the mirror. He looked like he'd been offered the keys to the kingdom.

When he saw her eyes on him, Tom swallowed. "B'Elanna . . . " he said in a low voice. "Are you sure you want to . . . "

B'Elanna tightened her grip on his swollen member and pushed back firmly against him. "Shut up, Paris," she growled. "Haven't I told you before? Sometimes you just talk too damn much. Hold still."

His eyes went wide and then narrowed. "_Yes, ma'am_," he said, in that eager, no-nonsense tone he used when Captain Janeway had just given him an order he was just bursting to obey.

The tip was (she giggled briefly at the thought) the hardest part, but once it had slipped inside her, the rest was comparatively easy. Tom was standing still, letting her set the pace, so she slowly began to move back and forth against him, feeling the heat and the power of him. It was, she decided, an interesting sensation. Not the same as having his cock in her vagina, but not bad. Not bad at all. She picked up the pace, heard him gasp, "_Oh, my god_!" and decided that, nope, this wasn't such a bad thing at all.

Tilting her head up, B'Elanna saw Tom's reflection in the mirror and watched as the sensations that she felt building in her ass played across his face. His eyes were tightly closed and his mouth was slightly open, like he wanted to yawn but had forgotten how. It's a good thing I love him so much, she thought. Because he looks so ridiculous when he's about to . . .

And then she felt the heat and the rush and, once again, it was different, but not at all a bad thing . . .

Afterglow.

A few quiet moments to pause and reflect, to ponder the wonders of the universe, to listen to your own heart beating in your chest, your lover's slow, steady breathing, to feel the sheets tangled around your knees and the sweat dry on the back of your neck.

A moment to feel . . .

. . . Hungry.

"B'Elanna?"

"Hmm?"

Tom knew that tone. Three-quarters asleep. Her head was cushioned on his upper arm (partly blocking the circulation, but this was something to which he had grown accustomed in the past few months), hair brushed down over her forehead and into her eyes. The lights were low, but Tom could see small beads of perspiration drying on her upper lip.

"How you doing?"

"Hmm." This time dipping down into a lower tone, a slight twitch at the corner of the mouth. The move from the bathroom into the large, no, make that enormous bed, had been gradual and sporadic, marked by frequent stops to christen some other new piece of furniture -- an overstuffed chair, the edge of the dresser, something that might have been a serving table (it had wheels, which, for Tom's purposes, had been all that mattered). It had taken a while, but it had been worth the trip.

Three hours later and whatever it had been in the Spirit Wine was starting to wear off. Well, for Tom, anyway. Even as she was three-quarters (maybe two-thirds now) asleep, B'Elanna was reaching across his hip to lightly stroke his now somewhat sore cock. Tom inhaled softly through gritted teeth. B'Elanna opened one eye (the one that didn't have hair covering it) and peered up to see his slightly pained expression. "Oh," she said, turning her head to kiss his neck. "Poor baby. Sorry. I was just thinking about the serving cart."

Tom snorted as she released his penis, patting it gently as it flopped back down onto his thigh. He was no longer rigid, but it felt like all the activity had temporarily elongated it in even its resting state by about two inches. Tom pondered that notion for a moment, then shook his head. Nah. Then again, he thought, make a mental note to check out all the guys who were drinking that stuff the next time I'm in the gym locker room.

"Yeah, that was kinda fun," Tom said, B'Elanna's last comment registering on him.

"'Kinda fun?'" B'Elanna reached up and grabbed a small wisp of chest hair and twisted it slightly. "Mr. Paris, you have got to start paying more attention to how you phrase things or you're not going to have much of this left."

"Ahh! Okay, okay. I only meant, uh, in comparison to some of the other things we've done tonight."

"You mean, like in the bathroom?"

"Well, yeah, I was thinking of that. How are you doing by the way? Any problems?"

"Just a little sore, but nothing to worry about. How about you?"

"Well, ditto . . . But not for the same reason. Well, okay, maybe for sorta related reasons."

B'Elanna laughed. "Was that the first time for you to do that?"

Tom considered for a moment. "You mean, intentionally? Yeah. There was this time once when I was a cadet, when I was stationed in Marseilles, where I was dating this . . . Are you sure you want to hear this?"

B'Elanna frowned, somewhat exaggeratedly. "Maybe not."

"Well, okay. Then, yes, that was the first time. Was that the first time for you to . . . uh . . . "

"You mean let you 'Go where no man has gone before?' In fact, yes."

"You ever thought about it before?"

"Well, sure," she said. "Haven't you? I mean, I know you've checked out the published material on Klingon mating rituals, so you know that it isn't such a taboo topic for them . . . us . . . you know, for Klingons. Slightly different physiology."

"I'll take your word for that."

"In any case, yeah, I've thought about it, but this is the first time I guess I've trusted someone enough to want to try it."

"And . . . "

B'Elanna shifted her weight slightly so that her buttocks came into contact with Tom's hip. "It has possibilities," she purred.

Tom chuckled, then reached his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. His hand fell on her left breast and he lightly stroked the exposed nipple. The merrywidow had taken a bit of a beating in the proceedings (clothes tended to take the worst of it where B'Elanna was concerned). "You hungry?"

"Ravenous."

"Think they have room service?"

"They seem to have everything else, " she said, tugging on the garter attached to the hem of the merrywidow.

"Any idea where the communicator for the front desk is?"

"Try that thing on the nightstand."

Tom reached for the elongated black sphere that sat in the center of the nightstand. As soon as his fingers touched it, the device rose into the air, hovered briefly, rotated on its axis until a tiny red electronic eye had picked out Tom's face, then moved at a leisurely pace to stop six inches in front of his nose.

The device cheeped once.

Tom said, "Uh, room service?"

The device cheeped once more, hummed, then said, in a slightly nasal tone, "Planet of origin?"

"Earth." Tom looked at B'Elanna, who shrugged. She liked Earth food well enough.

The device hummed for a few more seconds. "Residents of starship Voyager?"

"Yes."

"Very good. To date, members of your community have used . . . " and it spit out a sum that it then converted into several currencies, including, finally, Federation Standard Credits (FSCs).

B'Elanna said, "Sounds like we're not the only ones staying in the hotel."

"Not unless that outfit cost a lot more than I think it should."

"Are you saying it wasn't worth it?" B'Elanna asked.

"I didn't say that. I just meant . . . Look, let me order you some breakfast and then I'll try to squirm free of this one."

"Okay, deal."

Tom asked for a standard breakfast for two, something compatible with human physiology and nutritional needs after prolonged physical activity, finishing it off with "I need oatmeal, dammit."

The device chirped, said, "Twenty minutes," then swiveled on its axis to, as near as Tom could figure, check out their state of dishabille. "And put on something decent." It then settled down onto the nightstand, Tom all the time wondering what it would cost to backhand it across the room. Probably a lot.

"Well, that was interesting."

"Hmm," B'Elanna said. "And impressive. We could certainly build something like that, but I don't know if we'd put it in a hotel room. These people must have credits to burn."

"Or they're a service-based economy . . . "

"Well, yeah, that's pretty obvious." She pulled herself up on one elbow and looked around the room. "You don't think this room could have cost all that, do you?"

"Nah. I'm sure we weren't the only ones who were taken by surprise by that wine. Probably a lot of, uh, couples, uh, came here." Tom laughed. "If you catch my drift."

"Like Megan and Charles?"

"Sure. I saw them at the Cantina."

"Maybe the Captain and Chakotay?" B'Elanna grinned.

"We can only hope."

"Maybe Harry and Seven?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "For his sake, at least, I hope so. Let him get it out of his system."

"Hmm," B'Elanna said, looking off into the distance. "My guess would be that Seven wouldn't really get a lot out of it, at least the first time."

"Yes, she might be a little mechanical."

"D'oh! For that, you get a dope slap." And she slapped him upside the head.

Tom rolled away from her, laughing. "Hey! Somebody had to say it!"

"Yes, but it didn't have to be you!"

"You thought of it, too?"

"Tom, dear, everyone on the damned ship has thought of it. You're the only one who's humor-impaired enough to actually say it."

"Seriously, though, do the women talk about her?"

B'Elanna pondered the question. "Well, as you know, I'm not exactly the type to hang out in the 'Girls Dorm' (a section of Deck Seven containing mostly single female crewmembers), but, yeah, I've heard some of the gossip."

"Like what?"

"'Like what?' What do you mean? Like, 'It's all foam rubber' or 'She doesn't like to sit down because that thing is so tight that anytime she does she gives herself a wedgie.' Or, my personal favorite, 'Tom Paris was helping the Doctor the day he was removing some of the Borg implants and Tom talked the Doc into making some modifications.' Nobody remembers that Kes was still aboard when that happened, but what the hell."

Tom, who had pushed himself up into a seated position, regarded his lover quizzically. "You're yanking my plasma input, aren't you?"

"Tom Paris, as much as you claim to know about women -- and I sometimes wonder about that, to be honest -- you have no idea what kinds of things a group of bored, unattached Ensigns can come up with in their down time. Why do you think I keep my crews so busy with projects all the time?"

"Because the ship is held together with bubblegum and Neelix's gumbo?"

"Well, that, too."

"Huh." Tom pondered B'Elanna's words as she bounced out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He had always known that his lover was a fine engineer, but he had not known she had also become such a fine manager. Something to think about. He wondered just how much mental effort the Captain put into managing them . . . well, him. His guess was that B'Elanna was considered a low-maintenance subordinate.

"Put your pants on," B'Elanna called from the bathroom. "Breakfast will be here any minute."

"Where are they?"

Something flew out of the bathroom and landed at the foot of the bed. His pants.

"What about you? You going to get dressed again?"

"Hey, I'm the Chief Engineer," B'Elanna said. "I'm always prepared." She stepped out of the bathroom wearing a robe -- a very short robe, but a robe. It was the same deep red as the merrywidow and tied at the waist with a sash. The hem of the robe just barely covered her crotch and the bottom of her ass. She was still wearing the garters and stockings and had put on the cowboy boots, presumably, to keep her feet warm.

Tom slipped on his pants, trying to be careful of the fly's teeth while never taking an eye off his lover who was now leaning provocatively against the frame of the bathroom door.

The door chimed.

B'Elanna opened the door and a small table laden with covered dishes rolled in. The serving table that they had been employing for other purposes earlier in the evening suddenly shuddered to life and rolled toward the door. As the two tables passed, they briefly paused and, Tom was certain, exchanged data concerning the clientele. The red electronic eye on the incoming table rolled around, regarding Tom and B'Elanna . . . warily, he was sure. The outgoing table resumed its journey toward the door, weaving slightly.

The new table shuddered to a stop and settled resignedly into place. Covers flipped off the dishes. Something that looked like eggs. A bowl of steaming mush -- oatmeal, Tom decided. Something crinkled and fried. Small, flat cakes. "Ooh," B'Elanna sighed. "Pancakes." She gingerly picked up one of the steaming cakes and took a bite. "Very nice," she said, passing it back and forth from hand to hand.

Tom and B'Elanna dug in. Neither ever said much during breakfast and this meal was no exception, partly because it was so good, partly because they both desperately needed the refueling. Twenty minutes later, the covers began to close over the remains. There was some coffee left, a few of the crinkled things, the plate of egg-things that neither of them really liked, and a couple of pancakes.

"How you doing, now?" Tom asked, moving the last few crumbs of toast around on his plate with a finger tip.

"Hmm," B'Elanna said for the third or fourth time that morning. A satisfied sound. She dipped the corner of a pancake into a puddle of syrup on her plate and leaned forward slightly. "Very relaxed, thank you." The top of her robe parted slightly and Tom caught the very provocative sight of the top of her nipple peeking out from the cup of the merrywidow.

"Want to take a shower?"

"In a little bit," she said. She picked up the pitcher of syrup and poured a dot onto her fingertip, then touched it to the tip of her tongue. She regarded the pitcher with interest, then shifted her gaze to her lover. "Stand up," she said.

"What?"

"Stand up," she said.

Tom complied.

She beckoned with her finger for Tom to walk around the table. Suddenly, he felt his desire for a shower slip away, felt it replaced by another form of desire. Apparently, he realized, the effects of the Spirit Wine hadn't been completely washed out of his system.

Or hers, he decided, reaching B'Elanna's side of the table. She reached out for the waistband of his pants with one hand, the other still holding the pitcher.

"How do you feel about syrup?" she asked, slowly unzipping the fly.

END Part 2

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