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Last updated on February 10, 1999
Poster's notes: Think of it as an anniversary present. Yep. Hard to believe, but Captain Jinx made his public debut on Nov. 19, 1997, with the original B'Elanna's Secret. Wow, a whole year! A lot's happened in that time. For one thing, the Cap'n never intended for this to be a series, and now there's one for every day of the week. More. Hum-baby.
For those interested in this sort of thing, here's the current sequence of stories in the B'Elanna's Secret universe:
One last thing: feedback keeps the Captain going. Seriously, there never would have been any sequels without feedback. The original B'Elanna's Secret was intended as a one-shot deal. Now I don't know about you, but I wanna keep the Captain writing for a loooooong time.
Enjoy! I know I did. :-)
Author's notes: Well, that took a while, didn't it?
First of all, sorry about the long delay getting this together. Actually, the bulk of it was finished months ago, but I was never very happy with the ending and there were chunks that needed to fit together better and I got a Playstation a couple months ago and, oh, hell, it was summer, wasn't it? Who can think about Trek in the summer, anyway? Especially Trek smut. It's all so hot and sweaty and all you really want to think about in the summer is a nice, cold Sierra Nevada or maybe some water ice. But certainly not people moving against each other getting themselves all hot and bothered, and... you know...
But, summer eventually ends, which means it's time to head back to the good ship Voyager to see what everyone has been doing since last we came this way. If you'll excuse the expression.
A couple thank yous: First, to DangerMom and Jamelia who rarely ended a conversation with Katie without asking, "So, how's the Captain." Fine, fine, ladies, just fine, thanks. Second, to Captain Chris and Jan for the fun time at the cabin and, uh, for the opera gloves. A-hem. And, naturally, to Katie Redshoes who has always expressed just the right amount of interest in wanting to see these darned things finished. Persistent, but not nagging.
Meantime, before anyone asks, "yes, there are a couple more stories in the works." One is about P & T going sailing (inspired by the Victoria's Secret swimwear catalog, in case you wondered) and the other is called, "A Dirty Story." I'll let you wonder about that for a while.
So, enjoy the story. Send love mail, hate mail, love/hate mail to my trusty acolyte at redshoes@ix.netcom.com. Whatever.
And, before I end, as ever, everything in the stories (except the opera gloves) belongs to Paramount Pictures, Inc. Star Trek is there. Nobody here disputes that. This is just something we do to pass the time in our tiny lives. Thanks loads.
-- Cap'n Jinx.
The next morning.
Senior staff meeting.
Everyone more or less there.
The Captain had left a prerecorded message on the senior staff's comm links saying that the meeting would be pushed back to eleven hundred hours, two-and-a-half hours later than usual. It looked to Tom as if everyone needed the extra time to get themselves together. Tom was feeling pretty good despite being a little sleep-deprived -- not a problem since he wouldn't be flying today -- though there was a faint, tingling numbness in his fingers, toes, and at the tip of his tongue. Not unpleasant, just persistent.
Looking around the table, he wondered how many of the others were feeling also running on the less-than-recommended-by-protocol eight hours. The Captain didn't seem to be feeling any ill-effects from the previous night's gambols. If anything, she seemed looser and more relaxed than Tom could remember seeing her in several months. She couldn't seem to stay in her chair, seemingly looking for excuses to get up and move around the room -- adjusting a display monitor, getting more coffee, reaching over and brushing a piece of lint off Neelix's lapel. Tom tried to discreetly check out Chakotay, to see if he was watching the Captain, but he seemed as stone-like as ever -- weather-beaten and imperturbable.
Harry, on the other hand, looked like he was about to vibrate through the seat of his chair, down through the decks and out the hull. He had something on his mind and Tom had a pretty good idea what it might be. It was a good thing that Seven wasn't considered a member of the Senior Staff and, therefore, wasn't attending the meeting, or, Tom suspected, Harry might not be able to control himself.
Neelix looked pretty much the same way Neelix always looked -- perky and well-meaning -- and the Doctor... well, he was the Doctor. He reported that several crew members had been down to Sickbay that morning, most of them for some form of hangover relief. Not everyone had gone to the Cantina and, apparently, not everyone had the same reaction to the Spirit Wine.
B'Elanna was attentive and quiet throughout the meeting except when asked a direct question. Just before the Captain called the proceedings to order, Tom could have sworn he heard B'Elanna very faintly humming something cheerful and tuneless (she was practically tone deaf) to herself. Partway through a particularly long recitation of repair schedules by Tuvok, Tom happened to glance over at B'Elanna's padd and saw that she had doodled a couple of cheerful little flowers, then written a little animation sub-routine that set a couple of smiling bees buzzing merrily in and out of them. Tom tried not to read too much into the image.
The Captain closed the meeting with a brief request that everyone speak to their staff about the uses and abuses of shore leave while they were staying on Mallworld. While she was pleased to be able to say that she hadn't heard reports about any misconduct, she was inclined to believe that discipline would relax the longer they were in what amounted to drydock. Negotiations with the Custodians were proceeding, and if they were going to go forward with B'Elanna's plans for a refit, it was going to be a challenge to keep everyone out of trouble for the duration, especially the crew members whose primary jobs involved navigation. "Do I make myself clear?" she concluded, staring pointedly at Tom.
Everyone nodded.
B'Elanna stayed behind to consult with Chakotay about some refit specs. Tom counted the number of steps he made it down the hall before Harry pounced on him.
Strangely enough, it took seven.
"Tom! Got a minute?"
"Uh, hey, Harry. Yeah, I have a minute. The Doc's expecting me in Sick Bay after lunch, but we can talk and eat."
"Great. Um, let's eat in my quarters."
"Your quarters? What's wrong with the mess hall?" Tom knew perfectly well what was wrong with the mess hall, but for some perverse reason he felt like watching his friend squirm. After-effects of the Spirit Wine, no doubt.
"Well..." Harry's voice trailed off as the Captain and Neelix walked past them on the way to the turbo lift. "It's something kinda private," he said as softly as he thought he could without drawing attention.
Tom lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But I'm out of rep credits," he said, wondering how far this would go.
"Hey, my treat!" Harry said.
Tom thought about pizza. And ice cream. Boy, this must be pretty good...
Tom settled himself at the small table in Harry's living quarters that served the Ensign as his "entertainment area." It had been a couple weeks since Tom had been to his friend's quarters, and he noted that his friend's living habits had grown a little looser since the last time he was there. Not messy -- after all, this was Harry Kim -- but he saw a couple of dirty glasses in the sink and a pile of wet towels on the bathroom floor. Tom Paris wasn't a betting man (well, not really), but he was willing to bet B'Elanna's red panties that Harry's bed sheets were pretty rumpled.
"So," Tom asked, tossing a pizza crust onto his plate, "nu?"
"What?" Harry said.
"I said... Never mind. Just something my mother used to say. It means, basically, 'What's up?' And, on another level, 'Is this going to give me heartburn?'"
Harry cracked a smile, uncertain whether his leg was being yanked. "Well, I guess I just wanted to find out if, uh, you had a good time last night?"
Tom sat a little straighter in his chair, his mind briefly flickering back first to the dark corner of the Cantina, then to the bathroom of the hotel suite. He nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I had a pretty good time."
Harry began to nod vigorously, as if Tom had just said about the most profound thing he had ever heard in his life. "Yes. Yes. I had a pretty good time, too."
"Well. Good. Glad to hear it."
Harry began to shake his head just as vigorously as he had been nodding it a moment before. "No, wait. You don't understand. I mean, 'I had a pretty good time.'"
Tom felt his own head began to shake back and forth and then shift into an up and down motion. "I. Think. I. Understand. Harry. You had a pretty good time."
Harry's smile of relief almost split his face. "Right!"
Tom smiled, too. "That's great. Glad to hear it. Always knew you had it in you. Now, here's the part I would really like to know: Did you have any help having a pretty good time?"
Harry Kim blushed crimson from the top of his head right down, Tom Paris suspected, to the tips of his toes. Then Harry grinned sheepishly and nodded.
"Why, Harry," Tom said. "You dog. Does your helper have a name? Or maybe a number?"
Harry Kim began to laugh then, a full, deep, rich roar -- something that started south of his diaphragm and just kept building. It was the laughter of joy, the laughter of confusion, of relief and sheer awe-struck wonder. Harry Kim laughed and laughed, carrying his friend along with him until the two of them were laughing so hard that they were sliding out of their chairs. Tom felt tears in his eyes and he was pretty sure he saw them in Harry's, too.
When they were finished, wiping the corners of eyes, setting chairs straight, Tom Paris patted his friend on the back and offered him the only comment he could think of at the moment: "It's good to be alive in the Delta Quadrant, isn't it?"
Harry picked a plate up off the table and nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it is."
"So what happened?"
"Well," Harry began. "It was... it was... it was incredible."
"Uh-huh."
"Really. Amazing. I mean, like nothing I've ever experienced."
"Good."
"I had about three hours sleep, but I feel like I could take on the whole Hirogen fleet..."
"Harry..."
The Ops officer grinned. "Yes?"
"You haven't had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, have you?"
"What, you mean, like... like ... having relations?"
"No, I mean, like telling somebody about it the next day."
Harry paused and had to consider for a moment. "Well, I guess when you come right down to it, no. I mean, Libby was always my best friend, even before we got together, so when we finally, well, did it, there wasn't anyone else..." And then, Harry realized what he was saying. "Oh, crap, Tom, what have I done?" He hung his head and looked at the palms of his hands for a moment.
"Harry..."
"What have I done?"
"...It's called moving on, Harry. We've all done it. Everyone but you... until now."
Harry shrugged, then studied his hands for another moment. "It's been... hard. I've tried not to make too much of it, but..."
"Harry, it's okay. And frankly, my friend, we've all been waiting for something like this to happen. I can't say that Seven is exactly the person I expected it to happen with, but, what the hell..."
Harry looked up, and Tom watched as a grin slowly spread across his face. "Yeah, I guess you're right. What the hell?" And then the Harry Kim Tom knew best, the one who could find the silver lining in any warp core breach, reasserted himself. "But I want you to understand something, Tom, this wasn't just a one-nighter kind of thing. I think there might really be something there, something we could build on..."
Tom shrugged, feeling it was his duty to his friend to play devil's advocate. "I don't know Harry. She may be a human being on the outside -- well, mostly, anyway -- but there's something cold inside her, something Borg that nobody is ever going to be able to change or excise."
Harry nodded his head, acknowledging Tom's observation. "I understand that, Tom. She isn't exactly the girl next door, but then, well, I guess we don't really have a next door anywhere up here, do we?"
Tom realized he was smiling then laughed and said, "Well, if you're lucky we'll be out here long enough to whip her into shape to meet your mother."
Harry's eyebrows drew together: "Ow. There's a thought." Then he brightened. "But Dad would love her taste in clothes."
"I didn't know that about your father."
"Dad always had kind of a bawdy side."
"Ah, good. Well, then there's hope." Tom stood up and wiped his hands on his napkin. "So," he said, "anything else you want to tell me?"
"You mean, like... details?"
"I mean like how much of her is and isn't Borg technology?"
Harry considered for a moment and finally said, "Well, Tom, here's the truth: anything that you thought was Borg augmentation..."
"Yes?"
"...It isn't."
"Oh." Tom thought about it for a moment. "Well, good," he finally said. "You know, don't you, that in some ways that makes her sound all the more...uh..."
"Attractive," Harry offered. "Alluring?"
"No," Tom said. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'Intimidating.'"
"What do you want to do tonight?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do tonight?"
"I don't know." Pause. "What do you want to do tonight?"
Tom Paris tried to struggle up from his half-seated/half-lying position on the couch to see if B'Elanna Torres was kidding him, smiling... even a little. But, no. He couldn't see her -- she was lying on the living room floor, probably looking at the same thing Tom was staring at.
Outside.
It wasn't space anymore.
It was grey walls and tiny white lights and zig-zagging black lines that resolved themselves into stairs and catwalks if Tom squinted and looked carefully.
Dry dock.
It had required seven days of agonizing negotiations with the Custodians, negotiations that, thankfully, Tom hadn't had to participate in. Then, when the deal had been sealed, there had been five hours of tortuously slow flying as Voyager was, meter by meter, inch by inch, passed through the outer locks and permitted to move through Mallworld's outer rings into the better-protected and better-provisioned center. More importantly, for the refit that B'Elanna had planned, the center had the anti-gravity control that would be required to remove the nacelles, lever out the deflector dish, and strip off large sections of hull.
All in all, it had been a very stressful day. The mixture of tension and tedium was the primary cause. In addition to the long pauses between movement, Voyager had to show proof that certain systems were being taken offline as they moved deeper into the station: the warp engines, the photon torpedo launchers, the phaser banks -- basically, anything the Custodians thought might be a problem. By the time Voyager had entered the last passage, it seemed to Tom that the only systems with any juice were the running lights, the helm controls, and the heating burner down in Neelix's galley that was keeping the coffee warm.
The Captain had been as jumpy as a cat throughout the procedure. She knew that she was entrusting the fate of her ship and her crew to the trustworthiness of the Custodians, though she also knew that if they proved duplicitous, she had a couple of back-up plans, not the least of which were two photon warheads rigged to a manual launcher.
But it hadn't come to that.
Maybe it was the four hard years in space running into every manner of hidden agenda that made the Command team so suspicious. Maybe the Custodians were exactly what they appeared to be -- greedy, currency-loving slobs who were willing to perform just about any service for a price. It just so happened that Voyager was carrying the coin of the realm -- information about the Borg -- so, here they were, two kilometers below the surface of Mallworld's outer skin, settled into the berth that had been prepared especially for them.
"I can't feel the engines."
Tom heard the sorrowful edge in his lover's voice. He lay quiet for a moment and realized, yes, that there was something different. The constant hum and thrum were missing. It wasn't like you could feel it through the deck plates the way Tom's father used to tell him you could in the early days of Starfleet. Starship engineering had improved a lot since those days -- it wasn't quite so much a flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants business. Not that a working ship like Voyager was a yacht: no matter how well made the inertial dampening system was, when Voyager leapt into Warp 9, you could feel the surge of power in the balls of your feet, the tendons of your legs. Hell, it was part of the reason Tom was a pilot, that feeling.
And as close as Tom sometimes felt to that power, he realized at that moment that B'Elanna was the one who felt closest to it. Voyager might be the Captain's ship -- every rivet on the hull, every inch of corridor, every table, chair and crewman, but they were B'Elanna's engines. They were, in essence, the difference between life and death, the warmth and security of their community and the cold of space, someday getting home and never seeing it again.
And now they were silent.
Tom knew that B'Elanna knew that they were only sleeping, but how many parents had looked down at a sleeping child and thought, "And this is what death would look like..."
And the Captain, to her credit, knew it, too.
Which is why, after Tom had completed the last tricky bit of centimeter-by-centimeter flying, shut down his panel for (he hadn't thought about it until just that second) the first time ever, stood up and stretched (popping noises in his neck and shoulders), that the Captain took him aside and said, very softly, "Take B'Elanna out somewhere nice tonight."
Tom had looked down at the Captain, slightly confused. "Excuse me, Captain."
"Take her out somewhere. Do something fun. I'm giving her the next 24 hours off. You, too, now that I think of it." Chakotay moved up quietly behind Captain Janeway. The look of concern on his face meant that he obviously had known this discussion would be taking place.
"Uh, well, not that I'm complaining, Captain," Tom said, trying to look at the Captain and keep watching Chakotay at the same time, "but doesn't B'Elanna have a lot of..."
"Yes, Tom," she said. "A lot of work to do. We all have a lot of work to do. But nobody as much as our Chief Engineer. I don't know if you two have talked about it, but you may not be seeing much of each other for the next few weeks."
"Well," Tom said, "we have talked about it. A little. We both knew what was going to happen..."
"But if you're anything like most couples who've never been through this sort of thing," Chakotay added, "you have no idea what to expect. This is going to be hard on you. Both of you."
Tom bristled slightly at Chakotay's paternalistic tone. He and the First Officer were certainly on better terms these days than they had been on the first few months of their shared service, but Tom had never let himself be drawn into the circle of officers who treated Chakotay as the Great Father Spirit. Tom didn't appreciate getting unsolicited advice, especially advice about his relationship with B'Elanna.
But then the Captain laid one hand lightly on the center of Tom's chest, fingers barely making contact with his jacket. Still, it was enough. "He's right, Tom. B'Elanna is about to face the most challenging task of her career. Even she might not understand how much. I'm glad that you're here to ground her, to give her..." But she didn't seem able to finish the sentence. She turned and glanced at Chakotay for just a second and Tom was surprised to see something pass between them -- more than just a shared concern for a pair of junior officers. Something else was being communicated, Tom knew. Acknowledgment. Recognition.
He turned his eyes away, slightly embarrassed by the moment of (he thought) unintentional intimacy, gave his best cocky smile and nodded. "Aye-aye, Captain. Message received."
The Captain turned back to him and smiled. Tom knew that smile -- the "I'm-glad-we-had-this-chat" smile. She was the best Captain he had ever known, ever heard of, but Tom knew she had problems with these kinds of talks. It was a good thing she had Chakotay, Tom thought, to make sure these kinds of messages were accurately transmitted. He looked Tom straight in the eye and held it until he was certain the message had been received. Tom gave a brief, sharp nod, a man-to-man nod. Chakotay nodded back.
Tom turned and walked towards the turbolift, his mission clear. He stopped just as the door whooshed open, and faced the Captain again. "Any suggestions?" he asked.
The Captain looked momentarily nonplused. She hadn't considered this possibility. Then, suddenly, she brightened. "Actually, yes," she replied.
Back in his quarters, recalling the advice, Tom Paris sat up and walked to where B'Elanna was laying on the floor. He stretched out one hand and waited until B'Elanna reached up, her hand cold and limp in his grasp. He asked her a question. She said, "What?"
He repeated his question: "Have you ever gone ballroom dancing?"
She said, "Are you out of your mind?"
Tom checked the instructions that came with the tie and tried again. Over, under, through and pull tight... And...
Well, that's pretty awful.
"You would think with all the options on the replicators, there would be a pre-tied bow tie available."
"What was that?" Harry called from his bedroom.
"I said, 'You would think with all the...' " Tom pulled the tie from around his neck and laid it flat on the counter top, looked at the directions again, and tried to make sense of the diagram.
Harry poked his head in the door. He was wearing essentially the same outfit as Tom -- a black dinner jacket, a starched white shirt and a perfectly tied bow tie. Well, not exactly perfectly tied. One side was a little bit larger than the other. Tom pointed at it and said, "How did you do that?"
"What? The tie? Easy. Here, I'll show you." Harry picked up the tie and looped it around Tom's neck. "You pull this side out here, then around, down, through, and pull here. See?" Tom watched his friend's hands, trying to make sense of the motions in comparison to the instructions he had been studying moments before, but it was like watching a stage magician conjure a rabbit out of a hat. You knew the rabbit hadn't been in the hat a moment before, but there it was in front of you... with a bow tie around its neck.
"How did you ever learn to do that?" Tom said.
"Hey, you play in as many orchestras as I did and you learn to tie a bow tie."
"Huh. Okay. Your one end is uneven."
"It's supposed to be. You don't want everything to be too perfect. It helps to accentuate that which is otherwise perfect."
Tom studied his reflection in the mirror. The tails of his coat were slightly longer and he was wearing a grey and silver vest underneath. The effect was, well, interesting. Not exactly the same as Starfleet formal, but close enough to feel familiar.
Tom turned both cheeks to the mirror to check his shave. "You're a well-educated man, Ensign Kim."
Harry bobbed once and bounced on his heels. "That is true, Lt. Paris." he said, grinning. "And thanks for including me on this little expedition. I was looking for an excuse to ask Seven out for something a little more... well, formal, and, well, this is about as formal as it gets, isn't it?"
"Again, I repeat, it wasn't my idea. It was the Captain's. Or Chakotay's. I'm not sure which, to be honest, but I don't know if there's really very much difference between the two at this time." Tom paused to observe the effect of the statement on his friend. It seemed to pass unnoticed. Probably because Harry was too preoccupied with the thought of exactly what he was going to be doing for the rest of the evening... or trying to do, at any rate. "Besides," he grinned, "where else was I going to go? B'Elanna kicked me out. She said if she was going to have to actually go through with this, she didn't want me around watching her get ready."
Harry grinned at the thought. "I doubt if she would have been much good helping you tie a bow tie."
"True."
"Well, it's just about time. Do you want to get going?"
"Is there any chance we could talk the Captain into letting us beam directly from here?"
Harry looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure if I want to be seen in the halls looking like this. I feel... I feel like I'm headed for the prom and all the neighbors might turn out to watch."
"Yeah!" Harry's grin almost blinded Tom. "Exactly! Isn't it great?"
Tom Paris clapped a pillow over his face and groaned. "Oh, god, Harry, please don't tell me that you're one of those people who actually enjoyed going to the prom!"
"Well, of course I did," Harry said, looking genuinely puzzled. "What wasn't to enjoy?"
Tom rolled off the couch onto the floor, probably messing the crease in his trousers. "Ahhhh! Oh, never mind. Get me drunk sometime and I'll tell you... All right, let's go."
The trip from Harry's quarters on deck 6 to Tom and B'Elanna's quarters on deck 7 was a simple walk of 100 feet to the turbo lift, one three second trip down, then another walk of about 200 feet, but Tom felt like that he and Harry managed to see about one third of the crew in that space of time. There was a little snickering, one or two appreciative glances, and one wolf whistle that probably shattered the light fixtures just as the turbolift doors swished shut. Harry just kept grinning and grinning.
Standing at the doors to his own quarters trying very hard not to be seen, Tom felt the blood rushing to his ears and cheeks when Megan Delaney and her sister Jenny walked past muttering, "Hubba-hubba" under their breath. Harry broke out into a laugh and Tom elbowed him in the side. Harry yelped and poked Tom back which made Tom shout, "Hey!" just as the door opened.
B'Elanna was standing there, arms crossed over her chest, a stern expression on her face. The first thing Tom noticed was that she was wearing gloves, elbow-length, black gloves. Also, she was wearing her hair up, something he had only seen her do once or twice and usually only when she was working on something that meant she didn't have time to brush it out of the way. He liked the way it accentuated her cheek bones and the strong lines of her forehead ridge, and had told her that, but her reaction had always been a derisive snort. "Yeah, sure. When the Captain gets hers cut off, I'll put mine up," she'd said dismissing the topic.
Then, naturally, the Captain had gone and cut her hair off, though Tom suspected that this had very little to do with B'Elanna changing her mind. The way it worked, Tom had learned, was that his mentioning an idea essentially gave B'Elanna license to deride the idea, which would inevitably lead her to analyzing the idea from all angles (she was an engineer -- she couldn't help it), which would eventually lead her to some internal compromise that would permit her to accommodate the idea. It was a rough road sometimes, but Tom had learned that if one of his ideas had merit, B'Elanna would, given time, usually find her way to it.
"You're late," she said, and turned on her heel. This gave Tom the opportunity to check out the back of the dress and he suddenly felt all the blood leave his ears and cheeks and head in a more southerly direction. The dress was cobalt blue and cut very low in the back, accentuating B'Elanna's olive complexion. Thin straps criss-crossed the back keeping the dress held close. The skirt was cut very long, loose from the waist down so that she could walk with her usual confident stride. He caught a flash of leg, meaning the skirt was cut high. B'Elanna bent to retrieve a small purse from the counter and Tom repressed a small groan as he watched the fabric stretch tight around her hips. She turned and he had to resist the urge to let the air whoosh out of his lungs.
It was a halter dress, cobalt blue, very thin straps holding up the front with a gauzy, shimmering material stretched between them. The bodice, Tom thought, left just the right amount of "B'Elanna" on view, but not so much that his considerable imagination didn't have something to work on. "Tom," B'Elanna said, looking at where his stare had settled, "close your mouth. Harry, you look very nice. Love the tie."
She marched right at them, heels clicking on the deck, and they dutifully parted as she neared. As one, like cadets on the parade ground on graduation day, Tom and Harry spun on their heels and followed in her wake. The corridors seemed less full to Tom then they had been a few minutes earlier, but it might have been because his eyes were riveted on B'Elanna's legs swishing in and out of the slit in her dress. She was wearing heels -- real heels -- the first time he could ever remember seeing that if you didn't count cowboy boots. How can she walk on them? he wondered. Doesn't that require practice?
"So, where's your girlfriend meeting us, Harry?"
"She's not my girlfriend, B'Elanna."
"Well, if what you were telling me a little while ago doesn't make her your girlfriend, I don't know what does."
"What she was telling you?" Tom asked. "I thought you wanted to get my take on the situation."
"Well, I did," Harry responded. "It never hurts to get two opinions. Anyway, she's waiting for us in her quarters."
"The loading bay, Harry? You're making your girlfriend wait for you in the loading bay? And I thought you were the one in this outfit with some class."
"But I, I, I she..." Harry sputtered.
Fortunately, he was saved by the opening of the turbolift doors and the emergence of Tuvok. He regarded the trio briefly, stepped off the lift and let them file past. Before the doors could close, he put his hand up, triggering the automatic eye, and said, "I believe the appropriate thing to say at this juncture would be, 'Remember to call if you need a ride.'" He dropped his arm and the doors snapped shut. Tom leaned his head against the wall. Harry was still snickering when they walked up to the door of Seven's quarters.
Surprisingly, Captain Janeway was waiting there for them. She smiled indulgently at the three junior officers and thanked them again for including Seven in the evening's festivities. "I know this won't be easy, but we've discussed most of the customs associated with formal occasions and I think she understands them." She paused significantly. "There's just one thing," she said, voice low.
"What's wrong, Captain?"
"I tried... Well, I tried to explain the idea of a formal dress and, well, it didn't quite take."
Tom watched Harry's eyes fall. He had been looking forward to this.
"And?" B'Elanna said, leading the Captain on.
"Well, Seven said that she couldn't see the sense of it. She said that she was perfectly comfortable with her usual uniform..."
"Well, that makes her the only one," B'Elanna interjected.
Janeway paused, gave B'Elanna her best "Settle down," look, and continued. "I showed her some examples in the holodeck -- thanks for powering that up, B'Elanna -- but she thought they all looked, well, silly. She kept asking if the women didn't get cold." B'Elanna glanced down at the front of her dress.
"So?" Harry asked anxiously. "Does she want to go in her uniform? That's okay with me if it's all right with Tom and B'Elanna..."
"No, no, no," the Captain rushed to head Harry off. "It's not that. She saw something that she liked, but, well, it might not be what you had in mind."
On cue, the door to Seven's quarters opened and she stepped out. She was, as ever, imposing, but not for the same reasons as usual. She was wearing a very long black coat, tails down to the backs of her knees, grey slacks, a gray and black vest, and a black and gray striped tie. In one hand she held a silver headed cane and a pair of white gloves and in the other, to the everlasting wonder of anyone who ever saw it, a black top hat.
It took Tom a moment to take the image in, but, no, there it was. He didn't know what to say, especially since the Captain appeared to want so desperately for somebody to say something. Her savior was (as had so often been the case, though under different circumstances) B'Elanna who said, "Damn. I wish I'd thought of that. I'm freezing in this thing."
Seven quirked an eyebrow, tapped the hat on her knee and popped it onto her head at a rakish angle. "Good evening, Lt. Paris, Lt. Torres." Her eyes shifted over to Harry who grinned disarmingly. Tom almost thought he saw the corners of Seven's mouth move up. "Harry," she said. "Thank you for permitting me to accompany you on your..." She searched for the word. "Your outing."
"Oh, hey, no problem, Seven," Tom said. "All I can think about is how much more interesting my high school prom would have been if you had come."
Seven looked at him quizzically. It was, Tom realized, the expression he saw most on her face whenever he spoke to her about anything not related to engines, navigation, or fuel consumption. "I know the meanings of all the words in that last sentence, but I do not understand what they mean when they are arranged in that fashion."
"He's saying," Harry interjected before Tom assayed another attempt, "that he thinks you are an engaging companion and knowing you when he was a young man would have been an enriching experience."
Seven took a moment to absorb this statement, obviously comparing its structure and vocabulary to Tom's original comment. "If that is what he meant," she said, "why did he not say it?"
"Seven," B'Elanna said, "I ask that all the time. I've decided that there's no answer."
And as the quartet walked towards the transporter room, Captain Janeway heard Seven remark to Harry, almost as if a casual afterthought, "And if I had met him when he was a young man, I would have assimilated him into the Collective..." She shook her head and thought about how nice a warm bath and a cup of tea would be. Or maybe a glass or red wine would be better.
Though most of Voyager's major systems were offline and they were living off power and air umbilicaled in from the station, the central core was still fully functional. All of B'Elanna's plans for the refit were there, of course, as well as all the documentation for the systems she planned to redesign. After dumping all the non-essential files into hard storage, B'Elanna had taken advantage of the megagigs of free memory and uploaded as much of the station's shareware as they could accommodate. Even with the extra room, they could only upload about one twentieth of the data (not to mention the material the Custodians would want money for), but, as she said, "What the hell -- it's free -- and just because the locals consider it shareware doesn't mean we won't find anything useful." And, as Tuvok pointed out, the crew needed something to do, so sifting through a veritable mountain of alien data seemed like a worthwhile activity. As they worked their way through files, they would dump the garbage and upload more material.
As anticipated, most of the files really were exactly that -- garbage -- the interstellar equivalent of old phone books and grocery lists, but there were a few things in the first batch of files that the Voyager crew was enjoying immensely and/or finding immensely useful. In the first category, there was a complete set of an (presumably) animated serial called Hello, Tai-chiu, which featured the adventures of a clan of small furry bipedal creatures, with two large and one small, highly expressive eyes, wide grinning mouths, and two tufts of fur that sometimes acted as ears, sometimes as appendages. It was, Neelix (the discoverer) decided, probably a children's program, but one so inventive and sly that crew members quickly became enamored with the creatures and the ship's BBS system was soon abuzz with posts on the characters and back story, how the episodes fit together, and theories about the culture that originally produced it. If nothing else, Janeway decided, it kept everyone interested.
The other thing that the search team had flagged as "Ultra-high priority" was a complete (or as near so as anyone could tell) guide to Mallworld, including, thank the Maker, an index to all the stores, services, and restaurants. It was not, as the crew quickly discovered, completely reliable, but it was better than nothing. In any case, Tom had located a list of dance halls and made reservations at the one he felt most closely resembled an Earth-like "formal" setting.
The club's name, according to the universal translator's idiom generator, was The House of Sway, which, Tom decided upon paying the cover charge and entering, was a pretty accurate description. Everything in the club -- the patrons, the fixtures, the band, the waiters -- seemed to be moving in slow, sinuous wavelike rhythms. Part of it was an optical effect created by some clever lighting and what Tom later decided was a holographic overlay, but the effect was hypnotic. It was nearly impossible not to move in time to the music. As the four of them were standing in the foyer waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dim light, Tom realized that they were, all four of them, swaying in syncopated waves.
The dance floor was large enough that at first Tom thought the club was empty, but when his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he realized that there were several small pockets of dancers in the four corners and a slightly larger group occupying the space in front of the band. The music was slow and dreamy, more melodic than the raucous rhythms they had danced to at the Cantina.
Harry scouted ahead, located a table, then retrieved his friends. Before they had even sat down, Tom flagged down a waiter, stabbed a finger at a picture of something blue on the menu, and then followed Harry, Seven, and B'Elanna to the dance floor. Tom noticed then that the groups of dancers were arranged by species or, at least, physiological types.
Most of the club mob were more-or-less humanoid, though there was a small group of bipedal reptiloids that had more than a passing resemblance to the Federation's little-seen Gorn, and floating about six meters above their heads was a trio of dolphin-like creatures -- flukes and fins rather than hands and feet -- that must have been using antigravs or perhaps telekinesis... It was a weird sight, watching the creatures twirl and sway, apparently moved around the room by air currents or simple whimsy. But Tom decided the whole scene was no weirder than a Starfleet Academy freshman mixer when you came right down to it.
Tom watched as Harry took Seven's right hand in his left and tried to show her where to put her left so they could perform, Tom assumed, some kind of slow foxtrot . There seemed to be some controversy about who was going to lead, but Tom figured they would sort that out.
Tom turned to see B'Elanna watching him, her hands on her hips, one foot tapping absently in time to the music, head tilted to the side, a tiny amused smile on her lips. The shawl had slipped down into the crooks of her arms, so Tom could see the skin of her shoulders softly glowing under thelights. He stepped forward and, without touching her anywhere else, kissed her lightly on the neck just at the point where it swept upwards from her collarbone. Her perfume was something low and musky, a fragrance he remembered picking out for her on one of his too frequent solo expeditions into Mallworld. He placed one hand lightly on her hip and she took a small shimmying step into his arms.
Tom's hand lay lightly on the rising curve of her buttocks and he felt the music move into his fingertips, up through his arms and into his shoulders. B'Elanna lay one hand on his upper arm and the other lightly on his side, barely touching.
The tempo of the music changed then from low, rolling rhythm into something sharper and Latin -- somewhere between a rumba and a tango.Whatever it was, it settled down into the pit of Tom's stomach, then moved a few inches lower, and he felt his feet begin to move. More dancers moved to the floor and Tom and B'Elanna were carried away by the swelling tide.
For the hundredth or thousandth time since he was a teenager, Tom silently thanked his mother for making him go to those damned dance lessons every Sunday afternoon. It had taken a little while -- maybe around the time he left home for the Academy -- that he realized women like men who know how to dance. For women, Tom had always thought, it came naturally. Men have to work at it, but it was always worth the effort.
B'Elanna loved to dance, especially the kind of skin-to-skin precision dancing required to do a really good tango. Tom had sweated through more than one uniform shirt remembering the first time they had danced like that -- how B'Elanna had slowly loosened her own clothes and Tom's while they danced until it seemed that they had run off their bodies like quicksilver. Then, dancing naked, they had taunted, twisted, and turned around each other while the smokey beat made the blood in his ears pound.
Well, damn, Tom thought as they began to move together in earnest, have to send this shirt to the laundry now.
B'Elanna's eyes were dark, her lids low as she moved to the beat. Most of the other dancers were touching -- either hand-to-hand or hands-to-each-others-hips, but Tom and B'Elanna continued to move in and out of each other's orbit without making contact. There was a simple reason for that as far as Tom was concerned: if he touched her, he would either burn his fingertips or he wouldn't be able to take his hands off her.
The music continued in the same mode for what seemed a very long time and Tom didn't really feel it passing until he looked down at B'Elanna's feet and realized she didn't have shoes on anymore.
He stopped dancing and pointed down. "B'Elanna," he said. "Where are your shoes?"
Her eyes were a little unfocused, but his words seemed to register. "What?" she said. "What about my shoes?"
"They're gone. When did you take them off?"
She looked down; lifted one foot, then the other. Her stockings had holes in them. She looked up at him, then said, "I don't remember." She gazed around at the dancers, then said, "And where's our table? What happened to Harry and Seven?"
"I'm not sure," Tom said. "But I think we both just went away for a little bit. Something about the music or the lights. Maybe subsonics?" He looked around at the other dancers, but he didn't know enough about their various physiologies to know whether or not they were affected by the music or the lighting or whatever it was that had taken them both away...
"Do you feel all right?" B'Elanna asked.
"Fine," Tom said. "Really -- fine." And he did, too. He tapped his comm badge (he was wearing it on his belt) and asked for the time. More than an hour had passed, but he didn't have any sense of time passing. position for so long, but not unusually so.
"How about you?" Tom asked. B'Elanna looked down at her feet and Tom realized that, she too, despite the feeling of displacement, was otherwise feeling perfectly well. B'Elanna shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I loved those shoes, though."
"Really? Then why have I never seen them before?"
B'Elanna stared at him, surprised. "Of course you have," she said. "You've just never seen me walk around in them."
Realization dawned and Tom made an "Aw, nuts" face. "I loved those shoes," he said.
"Yes, I remember that," B'Elanna said. "Let's go see if we can find them."
They drifted around the edge of the dance floor, Tom's hand on B'Elanna's hip, B'Elanna's hand around his waist. They were in a completely unfamiliar part of the room, obviously in one of the sections they couldn't see when they entered. They could still hear the music, feel its seductive pulse, but the effect was now muted.
Now, they were confronted by another mystery: Lined up against the wall was a set of boxes, each about three meters high, two wide and two deep. Couples and small groups of all different species were standing near the boxes, some standing in what appeared to Tom to be relaxed poses, while others appeared anxious or apprehensive. Most of the boxes were dark, and Tom was just beginning to think that they were the rest rooms when a light flicked behind one box casting sharply etched shadows against the semi-translucent screen. Two figures inside the box were locked together in an embrace. Tom couldn't tell what species they were, but when he saw a trio of humanoid aliens at the far end of the row clap appreciatively, he guessed. The two shadows writhed together, obviously building to some kind of crescendo. For a moment, Tom heard a low unintelligible gasping noise and a higher, throatier voice calling out together, then the cube went dark.
A few minutes later, the front of the cube cracked open. Tom expected to see a couple slip out, but the cube was empty. Apparently, the exit was in the back. The trio of aliens walked up to the cube and entered. Then, a different cube lit up and Tom and B'Elanna watched the shadows of s a different couple from a different species moving together. The participants appeared to be faintly insectoid and though Tom didn't find their movements particularly arousing, he was strangely moved by the sound of their high, humming voices calling out in concert.
When their cube went dark, B'Elanna took a half-step closer to Tom and pulled his arms around her waist so that she had her back to him. He felt her press her buttocks into his crotch and slowly move from side-to-side. A different cube lit up. Tom felt his cock grow hard as he watched the shadows move.
He knew these shadows.
The shape of Seven's shoulders and breasts were unmistakable. She had shed the jacket and the shirt was pulled down around her waist. She had her back to Harry, her hands pressed against the wall, head bent. Harry was standing behind her, his pants down around his ankles and he was grasping her hips, thrusting into her from behind. She was bent so deeply at the waist that Harry's cock must have been buried deep, though exactly where, Tom would not venture to guess. Harry was saying, over and over again, "Seven, Seven, oh, god, Seven," while Seven grunted low, every breath ragged and deep.
It was... transfixing and embarrassing at the same time. Tom felt like he should look away, but he couldn't take his eyes off the silhouettes. Minutes later, when the cube went dark and the door swung open, Tom had to resist the urge to applaud.
But he couldn't. B'Elanna had taken both of his hands and wrapped them around her waist. She had also reached around behind her back and was fondling his cock through the cloth of his pants. It was an exquisite torture, not the least because he knew that there was next to nothing between the front of his pants and the gloriously soft skin of her buttocks.
Tom desperately wanted to run his hand up the front of her dress and caress her breast, but he didn't dare. Once again, he knew that if he dared touch her, he wouldn't be able to stop himself.
"So," she said, grasping the head of his penis between two fingers and pinching it lightly. "Did you enjoy that?"
"Oh, ah, well, yeah," Tom said, and reached up to lightly touch her hips. B'Elanna shifted her weight and pushed back against the engorged head of his cock. The slight pressure made him spasm and he felt B'Elanna shudder in response.
He wrapped his fingers around her waist, playing a game he sometimes indulged in -- the "Which pair of underwear is she wearing?" game.
But there was something amiss.
Or, maybe, something missing.
Tom ran his hand over the back of B'Elanna's dress and down under the curve of her ass.
It was all perfectly smooth. There was nothing underneath the fabric -- no straps, no faint rise and dip of material -- nothing at all.
She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled wickedly. "I was wondering when you were going to notice that feature of my outfit."
Tom swallowed hard.
"There's something else about this dress that made me decide to wear it. A feature I think you might like." B'Elanna had reached around behind her and was lightly scratching the material around his crotch with her short, perfectly manicured nails.
"Oh?" was all Tom could manage to get out.
"Yes," B'Elanna said softly, and the red tip of her tongue flicked out and licked her top lip. He reached his arm around the front of her waist. The lights on their side of the room suddenly dimmed and Tom couldn't resist the urge to inch his hand up the front of B'Elanna's dress and lightly squeeze the tip of her right nipple between his ring and small fingers. It was, Tom knew, a bit of foreplay that B'Elanna was almost helpless to resist... not that she usually tried to resist it. She arched her back slightly and he felt her nails pierce the thin cloth around his cock.
She took half a step forward and Tom was helpless to resist seeing as that she had her nails dug into him. It was an awkward, ungainly shuffle, but the room was dimly lit and, as far as anyone in the room knew, this was how humans always walked together. When Tom saw where they were going, he tried to put the brakes on, but B'Elanna was acting as captain, engineer and pilot all at once. "I want to show you something about my dress," she said softly, urgently. Tom realized he had no options.
The door to the small cube slid aside as they approached. Whoever had been in it previously must have vacated through a different door because Tom was certain this had been one of the lighted ones they had been watching only minutes earlier. When the door closed, a light, slightly chilled breeze freshened the air and kept the small space from feeling clammy or stuffy. A small row of lights around the floor gave just enough illumination that, when B'Elanna turned to him, Tom could see the shadows dancing on the curves of her hips and the planes of her face. He could see that her nipples were hard and jutting against the silky cloth, that she was breathing hard, that there was a thin bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face.
Tom leaned forward and licked the salty droplet off her cheek even as he reached out and, once again, pinched the nipple of her right breast. This time, he pinched a little harder and Tom heard a low growl come up out of his lover's throat. He turned his head to the side and let his tongue trace a thin line from her cheek to her ear and then lightly bit her ear lobe. B'Elanna moaned and grasped the left cheek of Tom's ass and then he felt her take the edge of his jaw between her teeth and begin to bear down. But before she draw blood, Tom said, awkwardly, "So, what was it about the dress you wanted to show me?"
B'Elanna pulled her head back and looked him in the eyes. He knew the look -- slightly hypnotized, drugged on the hormones surging into her system. Then, she smiled slightly, put her gloved fingertips on his chest and pushed him back until he was two steps away -- as far as the walls of the cube would allow. B'Elanna touched her palm just at the joint of her thumb and palm and Tom heard a low hum. The tip of her index finger glowed softly and she waved it in the air before his face, then stepped forward and lightly touched the tip of his nose. Tom flinched, but there was no sensation except a warm buzz. Then, B'Elanna stepped back against her side of the cube and pressed her finger to the front of her dress just under her left breast.
A small, perfect tear appeared. She ran her hand down the front of the dress until the tear joined the tailored slit and Tom watched the material gape and fall open. The tips of B'Elanna's perfect breasts winked at Tom and he saw the tiny patch of deeper shadow in the shadows between her long legs. He stepped forward, but B'Elanna waved him back, smiling. She ran the tip of her finger back down the tear and it sealed instantly.
Tom smiled, delighted despite the throbbing in his ears. "Very impressive," he said. "And who thought of that particular application for monofilaments?"
"Wasn't me," B'Elanna said. "My mind doesn't usually linger over such... impracticalities. But I thought tonight deserved something special."
"My love," Tom said, "Every night with you is something special."
She smiled sweetly and Tom knew he had said the right thing. Maybe a little corny, but B'Elanna really was a complete sucker for the most amazingly corny stuff sometimes. "And just for that," she said, "you get something special."
She touched her finger to the cloth just above her right hip and ran it around the front until Tom could see her navel. He wanted to lick it. Her hand continued around until it passed over her right hip and as far around as she could reach. Then, she reached around behind her back, felt for the tear and slowly drew her hand around to her left hip again. The material whispered down over her legs and Tom watched as she stepped out of the circle of cloth. She was wearing only her gloves, a tiny top and her thigh-high stockings.
In the dim light, Tom could see that, as she sometimes did, B'Elanna had shaved her pubic hair down to the tiniest wisp, really no more than an exclamation point above her pouting, glistening lips. Her juices had been flowing freely and her inner thighs were damp with her dew.
B'Elanna leaned her hips against the wall and, for the first time, Tom noticed that there was a small shelf there that she could rest her ass on. She spread her thighs and whispered hoarsely, "Lick me, Tom. I want you to lick me." Tom looked her in the eyes and he could see that the slightly hypnotized look was back again. Tom's mouth went dry and he felt the small thrill of fear that sometimes went through him at moments like this. Not only the fear of whether the lights might come on, that they might be seen or heard or found out in some other way, but the fear of knowing that they could, the two of them, sometimes lose themselves in lovemaking. They could lose themselves and become two other people and Tom knew he liked that, though he wasn't exactly certain why.
Tom went down onto his knees and slid his tongue into his lover. Tom licked. He lapped. He plumbed depths... He swirled the tip of his tongue over the inner and outer lips, then shifted her weight and inserted the tip up into her anus. B'Elanna groaned and moaned. She slid herself back and forth over his face and lifted one leg so that it was over his shoulder. She cooed and sighed. He felt her shiver and there was one very low moan that sounded like the beginning of an intense orgasm, but it trailed on for too long and Tom knew it was just B'Elanna giving voice to this particular pleasure.
Her come drizzled down over his face, over his cheeks and into the collar of his shirt. Ton could feel a small pool forming in the cleft at the base of his neck, and he began to wonder how long this was going to go on when B'Elanna pushed his face away. He stood and looked at his lover. Whatever had been holding the hair up had given up. She was breathing deeply, shoulders moving in time, breasts jiggling slightly under what little of her dress remained. Her eyes were closed, but she must have felt him looking at her. She said, "Come here."
He did as he was told. She reached down and undid the button in his pants and he felt them slide down his legs. She reached into his boxers and grasped the base of his member, squeezed it, and he felt a drop of pre-come pop out of his slit. She rubbed it around the tip, perfectly aware of what she was doing to him, how she was making him feel.
Then, B'Elanna lowered herself to her knees and lightly kissed the tip of his cock. The purple head swelled as she licked the underside, then tickled the thick vein, then lovingly caressed his sac. Tom felt a slight heat from the gloves and it was a delightful contrast with the cool air, her wet mouth.
B'Elanna tilted her head back and languorously stroked him from base to tip, once, twice, three times, then put the glans in her mouth and sucked it. She rolled her tongue over the tip and under, then inhaled deeply and took the length of him down her throat. It was hot and wet and B'Elanna knew exactly how much force to exert (she was an engineer, after all) to keep the stresses in balance. Tom was glad he had his back against the wall because he would certainly have tumbled to the floor without it.
He almost came twice, but, both times, B'Elanna eased off before it happened. After the second time, she stood up, turned her back to him and leaned her forearms against the rail. She lifted her perfect ass to him and said, "Fuck me."
And he did, too. He did it the way he knew she liked best when she was in this mood. He set the tip of his throbbing cock against her pouting lips and slowly ran it up and down the slit, teasing her mercilessly. She thrust back against him trying to slide it in, but Tom always pulled back before more than an inch dipped in.
Then, just at the moment he knew there was a danger that she was going to turn and tear his throat out, he grasped her hips, and slammed himself into her. She was slick with sweat, hot as the radiator on his Camaro, tight as the cylinders around the pistons. She wanted to be fucked hard. Tom cupped her ass, set his legs and obliged her. B'Elanna clenched and released, clenched and released, moaning loudly, saying over and over, first low, then louder and louder, commanding, pleading, imploring. "Fuck me, Tom. Fuck me, Tom. Fuck me, Tom."
He fucked her. He fucked her hard and he fucked her long. The lights flared in the booth when she came and he almost jetted into her tight channel, but he knew this mood and he knew what else she wanted. When the tremors subsided, she reached around behind her and pulled his cock out of her vagina, stroked him, then set the tip against her anus.
They were experienced at this act now and Tom knew how she liked it done. He entered her slowly, giving her time to adjust to his size, then she would begin to grind herself back against him, gaining speed, gaining strength, until Tom knew he was supposed to add his motion to hers. When that moment came, Tom knew that she would reach around underneath herself and begin to masturbate. B'Elanna had never done it with the glove on before and must have forgotten about the low buzzing of the glowing tip -- but not for long. As soon as her forefinger came in contact with her clitoris, B'Elanna convulsed in an orgasm so intense that Tom felt her anus clench around the base of his cock. He almost came himself, but he forced himself to wait for the final act.
Even before her last shockwave had subsided, B'Elanna began to masturbate again, to bring herself to one more peak, and even as Tom felt that moment coming, he felt her hand creep up under his balls, and felt her insert the tip of her buzzing finger into his ass. This was something she had only tried once or twice (because it required a certain amount of flexibility for them both), but it never failed to send a spark of lightning up his spine, and the added vibration of the glove only made the lightning that much brighter. Tom felt himself pulse and flow, pulse and flow, even as he was dimly aware that the cube's lights had come up again.
He didn't care.
At last, B'Elanna slumped to the floor and Tom dropped down with her. The lights were low again and he watched her breasts rise and fall even as he felt his cock slip out of her. Tom began to wonder how they were going to be able to clean up enough to make it back to the ship when a small basin filled with warm, soapy, perfumed water rose up through the floor near his feet.
"Damn," Tom said. "I love this place."
B'Elanna barked out a laugh, then reached behind her to cup his now-empty balls. He threw his arm around her waist and felt her chest rise and fall, rise and fall under him as she laughed.
"It's a wonderful universe," B'Elanna said.
"Is it?" he replied.
"Oh, gods, yes. Of course it is," she said. "You're in it, aren't you?"
Tom shrugged. "Well, yes, as long as you are."
She smiled, kissed him, snuggled into his chest, then hugged him tight.
"How long do you think they'll let us stay in here?" she asked.
"I don't know," Tom said. "How long did you want to stay?"
A slight buzzing sensation flicked across the tip of his cock, and he felt rather than heard her whisper into his neck, "At least one more time..."
Tom smiled to himself, knowing that he would do whatever it took to comply with his Captain's orders to the best of his abilities...
"Maybe two more..."
...And would continue to for as long as it took.
He had done what his heart had commanded him to do.
Return to Dances
with Redshoes
This page accessed times since Jan 31, 1999.
Last updated on February 10, 1999