Torrid

by Katie Redshoes
redshoes@ix.netcom.com
9/11/97

I have this dream, and this always happens:

I'm holding her in my arms, and I lower my mouth to meet hers. A tentative touch at first, and then lips and teeth and tongues begin to plunder in a kiss so fierce I think I will die for the joy of it. I would swallow her whole if she would let me. Her scent envelops me like a fog, heady and lush and spicy with heat. "B'Elanna," I moan, and it comes out as a benediction, and I lose myself in her embrace.

And that's where I always wake up, tangled in the sheets and trembling, wondering when it was that she began to haunt my dreams. No. Haunting is the wrong word. She's not a ghost, and despite her occasional gruffness, she's never had a malevolent spirit.

When did I begin to love B'Elanna Torres, when did attraction first turn to desire?

I do not know. What I do know is that for the first time in my life, I feel at a loss for what to do around a woman. Now, I'm not a saint. I've known many women in my life. Some have meant more to me than others. But I'd never before seriously thought about where I wanted to take my life, in the company of another. I suppose that's why my relationships have always foundered.

Hell, that's probably the explanation to most of my life's problems up till now -- my inability to make a commitment. To anything. Outside of my love of flying, the only constant has been change. Moving on. New horizons. From my father's house to Starfleet Academy to the Maquis to Auckland...to Voyager.

I've always let people down -- consequently, I've always let women down. Is it any wonder that my relationships have been so short-lived, and so casual? Sex to me has always been either an affirmation of my own self-worth, or an escape from the hell of my screwed-up life. It's never been very hard for me to find my way into some woman's bed. In fact, with looks like mine, it's been a pretty easy thing to do. OK, so I've traded on those looks a time or two. More, when I was in prison -- but that's another story, one which I may not ever tell.

The point is, I've never known a woman like B'Elanna Torres. Maybe it's her strength of character, maybe it's her spirit. Maybe it's her Klingon blood. Or her intelligence. Or her beauty. Or her eyes. Or all of it put together. I'm really not sure. All I know is that I want her, but not only for her body. I want her friendship, I want her confidence, I want her trust. I want to protect her. I want to love her. I could watch her for hours -- watch her sinewy grace, her fluid movement, her eyes when they light up with the answer to a problem, that sexy voice that shoots straight through me like an electric shock.

She's got a mind like a steel trap, and my brain turns to mush around her. When we're not on duty, half the time, I start to babble, nothing but wisecracks and foolish banter. I try to cover, but I feel like an idiot. She doesn't suffer fools gladly. More than once in the past, she's told me I was a pig. Or worse. And I know that I have been.

Maybe that's why, in my dreams, I'm always trying to warn her off. Something. Why do I not feel good enough for her? Easy question. A lie nearly wrecked my life -- and to Klingons, honor is all. To a Klingon, I lost my honor when I lied at Caldik Prime. How can I expect her to forgive me for that, when I have trouble forgiving myself?

I suppose that's why I never expected her to take me seriously -- why I've always fallen back on wisecracks, trying to goad her into disliking me. Why, until recently, our relationship -- if it could be dignified by that formal a name -- was mainly based on competition. Stupid things. Guy-girl showing off. Adolescent vanity.

We've been through some stuff together, though, and it's not like it used to be. I guess that's when things started to change. Having seen her through being physically and mentally split in two in that Vidiian prison -- that's probably when she first started to thaw toward me, and where I first started to understand her a little better and realize how complex and fascinating a woman she is. Over time, it's been a few steps forward, a few steps back. We'd reached the level of a comfortable but not terribly close friendship.

It's not like what she has with Harry. They're kind of like brother and sister, Harry and B'Elanna -- heads together, whispering, snickering over secrets, sharing. I asked him once if that was really what it was. See, Harry's my best friend. For the longest time, he carried a torch for his girlfriend back in the Alpha Quadrant, but he's finally managed to let go, decided to get on with his life here. You wouldn't think so from that innocent appearance, that straight-arrow countenance, but he's developed a roving eye. If I thought I was horning in on his turf, I'd have given up a long time ago even thinking I might ever have a chance with B'Elanna.

I tried not to give too much away when I asked, but Harry, he's a shrewd one. That baby face of his covers up a lot, and not much gets past him.

"You like her, don't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Harry..." I started to deny it, but those unreadable eyes of his were narrowed like searchbeams, aimed at me, boring into me. I dropped my gaze, unable to lie to him. Our whole friendship has been based on truth, there was no way I could stop that now. "Yeah, Harry."

"When are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know." I decided to take a chance, admit my failing. "I don't know how."

"You?" Harry was disbelieving.

I nodded.

Harry shook his head. "Never thought I'd hear that from you, Tom. You poor son-of-a-bitch."

I acknowledged this with a shrug. "Hadda happen sometime, Har."

I've known her for three years. This has been going on for longer than I can remember. I've been dreaming about her for weeks. But until Sakari IV, I thought I didn't have a prayer with her. I thought she'd made that perfectly clear. Yeah, despite all my persistence -- and until now, if my looks didn't get me what I wanted with women, my persistence would -- she's turned down every offer I've ever made. Even the most outrageous. Even the most innocuous.

Until Sakari.

Pon farr, Tuvok called it. A Vulcan thing, shrouded in mystery. He wouldn't tell me much. Funny. Tuvok will talk your ear off on just about any other subject if he thinks you're interested, but on this one -- he turned into a monosyllabic drone. Oh, well.

Looking back, I realized she'd been talking a blue streak, and maybe was more brusque than usual, but I chalked it up to impatience and an eagerness to complete a successful mission. She doesn't get to command many, and it would be a major coup to pull this one off. Finding enough gallicite to refit the warp coils would make all our lives easier. But really, I have to admit I didn't have any idea anything was wrong until she bit me.

We were rappelling down a mine shaft when Neelix's piton worked loose and he fell, taking B'Elanna down with him. Truth to tell, when they fell past me, I thought the worst, that they might be killed in the fall. But B'Elanna's rope held, and it was enough to cushion the landing. I was vastly relieved to learn that the worst of it was that Neelix had broken his leg.

By the time I reached them, B'Elanna was already up and raging at poor Neelix for jeopardizing the mission.

My efforts to calm her only made her angrier. And when I set my hands on her shoulders to try to stop her from storming off, she exploded. "Get your hands off of me!" she shrieked.

And before I knew what was happening, she lunged for my face, and she bit me, hard. The pain shocked me into stillness. "B'Elanna, what is wrong with you?" I yelled.

I swear she was shocked, too, her hand over her mouth. But it was only for a moment, then she recovered. "Nothing," she barked. "I'm in charge of this mission. I'll finish it." And she was gone before I could stop her.

I was stunned. How could B'Elanna, so strong-willed and spirited, be laid low by something like this? I like physical intimacy as much as any man, but the idea that she could die from lack of it..."mate or die" always seemed to me more of a ploy by men to get what they want from women. This was...this went against everything I'd ever imagined could be true about sex. Damn Vorik anyway. Why couldn't he have just kept his Vulcan hands to himself...or declared his honorable intentions to somebody else?

It actually wasn't that hard to locate her -- we just followed the trail she had blazed, in search of the gallicite. But I was never so relieved to see anyone in my life. "B'Elanna!" I called. I could hear the worry laced in my voice, and wondered if Chakotay or Tuvok noticed.

A smile lit her face as she turned. "Tom! Come here, you've got to see this." She grabbed my hands and pulled me forward to see the generator system she'd found. She was so fixated on her discovery, she didn't even notice the others until Tuvok spoke up, told her we needed to get her back to the ship right away. Naturally, she resisted. She was still determined to complete the mission. That Klingon doggedness of hers wasn't going away.

"You are experiencing a condition known as pon farr," Tuvok said firmly, as if that explained everything.

It finally registered, dimly. "Pon what?"

"Your emotional balance has been disrupted," Tuvok said with that infuriating Vulcan calm. "You may not be in control of your more aggressive instincts."

She looked at me, and I could see embarrassment and incredulity on her face. "I lost my temper," she said, finally. "For a minute. That's all."

The wound in my jaw throbbed. I stood close by, ready...ready for something. I wasn't sure what she would do. Nobody said anything, and finally, she said, uncertainly, "Why are you all staring at me like that?"

"Please come back with us to the ship," said Tuvok.

She backed slowly away, comprehension dawning that we were serious. We weren't going to let her complete the mission. "Just...leave me alone." Her voice broke on the last word. Her tone was plaintive; it had a quaver to it I'd never heard before. It made me want to take her in my arms and protect her. It shocked me to realize I felt that way.

I didn't know what would happen if the Sakari came back, given B'Elanna's frame of mind -- they'd already been suspicious of her hostility, even before her attack -- and I couldn't think of anything else to do but get out of there, figuring discretion was the better part of valor. We didn't have a lot of choice, anyway -- the tricorder was picking up nothing but us.

After accusing me of reading the tricorder wrong, B'Elanna ripped her jacket off, and stood there in her gray undershirt, and refused to move on. Her face was flushed and her chest was heaving from the exertion of attacking the Sakari. I could see the blood on her shoulder where the skin was torn in the fall. "We can't leave Chakotay and Tuvok," she said, stubbornly.

My patience snapped. "If you have any ideas how to find them, I'm listening!" In my anger, I felt like hitting her, but it was only a momentary impulse. Looking at her, sitting there, looking suddenly vulnerable and on the verge of collapse, my anger melted. I took a deep breath and willed myself to relax. This wasn't her fault. "We have to get back to the ship," I said, "and get some help. For them... and for you."

She rubbed her shoulder and tilted her head. "Why does everybody keep saying there's something wrong with me?" The uncertain quaver was back.

I put on my best reassuring voice, and started to explain, even as I hustled her into the next tunnel.

"Tuvok must be wrong about this pon farr business," she said when I was finished. She was forging ahead of me in the tunnel now, her restless energy rising again, despite her obvious fatigue. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It does explain how you've been acting," I pointed out.

She was still in denial. "I don't see what's so strange," she insisted.

I laughed, cynically. "How about starting a fight with a group of armed aliens, shouting at Neelix, giving me this?" I gestured at the wound on my jaw. I paused a moment, thinking of something, then started again. "If I remember my Klingon customs, biting someone on the face means... "

She cut me off before I could say it. "I...know... what it means." She wouldn't look at me. I'd been unable to get her to look me in the eye for the past twenty minutes. She stopped, and shoved back against a wall, slumped slightly. "All right!" she conceded, finally looking at me. "So maybe I do feel something -- some kind of... instinct. What am I supposed to do about it?" The merest hint of the plaintive quaver returned for a moment.

I smoothed her hair, squeezed her shoulders. It was meant to be brotherly, reassuring, but the jolt of desire I felt belied my intentions. "When we get back to the ship," I said, "the doctor should be able to help." A sudden thought struck me. It amused me -- maybe she would find it funny. If I could get her to laugh, it would help. "Or there's always Vorik," I teased gently.

My attempt at humor didn't work. She shoved past me with a sudden fury, intent on reaching the next passageway. "I am not helping that Vulcan petaQ," she spat out the Klingon curse. "The idea of bonding with him -- it's ludicrous!" She sounded insulted, coldly angry, but her voice had turned husky, sexy. Something about the atmosphere seemed to have turned up the temperature. I felt flushed. What was happening to me?

As we rounded the next turn, we found a rockfall blocking our way.

"What's this?" B'Elanna's voice sounded tight, frustrated,

"Tremor must have shaken the rocks loose."

"Well, they're in the way." She unholstered the alien weapon.

I jumped in front of her before she could do anything, grabbed her hands. "Hold it!" I cautioned. "We don't know how stable this tunnel is! An energy blast might bring the rest of it down on our heads."

She tried to pull away from me, but I wouldn't let her, and we had a brief tug-of-war over the weapon. "Let go!" she shouted.

"No," I insisted, yanking at the alien rifle. "I think I should keep this."

She growled and fought back, and we wrestled over the weapon until I thought she'd wrench my shoulder from its socket.

"Never," she advised me in a low, threatening tone, "pick a fight with a Klingon."

"I'm not going to fight with you," I said, still holding the rifle barrel.

"If you're not afraid I'm going to break your arm, you should be," she growled.

In fact, I was afraid she'd do exactly that, but with a burst of adrenaline, I pulled it away from her and threw it out of her reach, grabbing her tight by the wrists when she tried to slap me across the face.

"B'Elanna, stop it!" I said as commandingly as I could. "This isn't about the gun! This is about sex!" I realized I was shouting, and continued in a gentler tone. "But that isn't going to happen right now."

She was so close I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. She was feverish. If I touched her cheek, I thought it might sizzle. "I think it is," she said, almost purring. Her mood shifts were disconcerting, to say the least. Angry one minute, the next seductive as all hell.

She grabbed my face, roughly caressing the wound she'd put there. It hurt. "See, I've picked up your scent, Tom. I've tasted your blood." Suddenly, I felt the heat shooting through me, too, and my jaw didn't hurt anymore. The pon farr explained why her hormonal balance was disrupted, but not mine. Was this something contagious? No, Tuvok had said it wasn't. I knew then it was my own desire for her -- nothing more than pure human lust -- and I knew that I had to fight it. I don't do noble very well -- I haven't had much practice at it -- but I had to try.

"No!" I said firmly. "No. I'm your friend and I have to watch out for you when your judgement's impaired." I thought for a second she would spit in my face, and she again tried to pull free. "If you let these instincts take over now, you'll hate yourself...and me too for taking advantage of you. I won't do that."

She threw off her pack and pressed her back up to the wall, looking cornered, maybe a little desperate. "Maybe..." she said, "maybe we should continue separately." She sounded doubtful but her face had gone tight and set.

"No!"

She raised her head and looked at me. "You don't know..." she rasped, "how strong...how hard it is...to...fight...this...urge." Her chest heaved. She was fighting, I could see it in the set of her jaw, the clench of her fists.

"Are you telling me I'm impossible to resist?" I couldn't help the jibe, and smiled at her to soften it.

A flash of her control returned. "I wouldn't go that far," she ground out through her teeth.

I smiled. That sounded more like the B'Elanna I knew well. Maybe we would get through this intact. "Good." I threw her pack at her. "Let's go." I turned to try another corridor, not looking to see if she'd follow, knowing that she would.

"Not much choice," B'Elanna grumbled behind me.

Suddenly the rocks shifted and began to tumble. I grabbed her arm and we threw ourselves forward just in time before the wall fell. When the tremors subsided, we came up coughing from the dust. The passage we'd been heading for was now blocked off. I shook my head, put on a brave face. "It's all right," I said. "We'll find a way out."

"We should use that weapon," B'Elanna snapped. "It's worth the risk now."

"I might agree with you if I still had it," I said ruefully, gesturing at the rockfall with my handlight. "It's buried somewhere under all that."

"What!?!" she gasped.

"Sorry." There wasn't much I could say. It had been either get her out of the way or save the weapon. Simple choice. B'Elanna was...irreplaceable. I knew that now with a certainty. Whether she'd believe me was another matter entirely.

She threw herself against the wall and beat her fists against it in rage and frustration.

"Try to stay calm," I said, stupidly, not knowing anything else to say. This was no situation life or Starfleet had ever prepared me for. You try and sound reassuring in a spot like that, see what comes out of your mouth. If it's anymore intelligent, I'd like to know about it. "I know it's hard..."

"You don't know anything," she snarled. She kicked the wall and turned around. "I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin!" She hunched her shoulders, gnawed her lip, twisted her hands against the rocks. "I need to do something! I can't take this." Without warning, she leaped at me, grabbed at me, knocked me to my back. As my head hit the floor, she landed solidly on top of me and...kissed me. Thoroughly.

Desire shot straight through me, and for a second, I found myself clutching at her back and starting to kiss back, then thought, holy hell, what am I doing? I shoved her off and quickly scrambled to my feet. Moved out of her reach. What was I supposed to do now?

My handlight was in her eyes, and she fisted them, shielding them from the light. She laughed, and it was a brittle, mocking sound. "You've never been hard to get, Tom." Her voice was bitter as she got to her feet.

I walked a few feet away from her, braced my back against a wall, ready to dodge if she threw a punch at me. "Well, I'm making an exception. I can't let you do this."

She laughed again, hollowly. There was a feral gleam in her eyes as she stalked me like a panther. "Oh," she breathed, "oh, but you wish you could." She circled around in front of me. Her hair was wild around her face, and there were bits of dirt and flakes of rock scattered in the strands. The light made them a crown, and she looked magnificent, a queenly Klingon warrior. I swallowed hard. "All those invitations to dinner. And on the holodeck...the way you would stare at me when you thought I wasn't looking. And get jealous when I'm with someone else." She swiped at her mouth with the back of her fist, and thrust her face into mine. "You...can't...tell me you're not interested in me."

I bit the inside of my cheek to still the quivering that had started in my gut. The dart of pain gave me something to focus on. I couldn't not admit it. She had me dead to rights. I couldn't lie. Not to her. "You're right. I can't."

"Then...don't," she pounded her fists on the wall on either side of my head, "push me away." She leaned her forehead against mine.

I took a deep breath. If I couldn't make her understand, I was lost. "Oh, believe me, I'd like to." I looked into her eyes, tried to find her in there. B'Elanna -- my B'Elanna -- not this wild Klingon wraith. This wild wraith who was making my hair stand on end and pushing all my hot buttons. If she kept pushing them, I really would lose control. I wanted to lose control. I wanted to stay in control. I wasn't sure I was in control of anything. I was as much at war with myself as she was. "But I know this isn't really you." I took another deep breath. "You've made it clear that you're not interested. And I have to accept that's how you feel. Even now."

Something gave way in her then, and she almost conceded, and I felt a surge of relief. But then she shook her head, not accepting my answer. "No," she whispered. "No, it isn't." I caught my breath. A sudden wild hope leaped in my chest. "I was...I was just afraid to admit it. You see, I've wanted this for so long."

Much as I knew she wasn't herself, that the pon farr had affected her thinking, the words filled me with an irrational hope and a wave of incoherent desire. Maybe it wasn't just the pon farr. Maybe she really meant what she said. Then her lips softly brushed mine. The merest touch, but it felt like an electric shock. She kissed me again, tenderly.

"Just let it happen." The words were breathless and low and sent a shiver up my spine. I started to shake my head, and she followed the movement and kissed me again. I couldn't help myself; I gave in and put my arms around her. Something dissolved inside me. It was like a dam giving way. I felt a rush of heat, the flush from my face spreading down my body, all the way down to my toes. I touched my lips to hers, tentatively, pulled back. Her mouth followed mine, we kissed again, pulled apart. It was a beginner's dance - touch, sway, brush, again. My hands came up to her shoulders, held them gently, as I kissed her again, burying my face in the side of her long, lovely neck, and followed her to the opposite wall.

I knew I couldn't keep doing this. My resolve was rapidly disappearing. I finally pulled back, and put my fingers to her lips, caressed the line of them. God, she was so beautiful. I hated myself for what I was about to do, but I knew I would hate myself more if I didn't. I brushed my hands over her forehead ridges, swept them down to follow the line of her cheekbones, trying to memorize the moment, and said, as gently as I knew how, "I hope someday you'll say that to me and mean it."

A low growl erupted from her chest, then she shrieked with rage, punched me in the chest and threw me away from her. "You'd let me go insane rather than help me!" she screamed, and slid down the wall.

My heart sank. "You know that's not true..."

"You just...stay away from me!" She collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

I closed my eyes. This was not how I wanted it to be. At that moment, it took all the strength I had in me not to seize her in my arms and make love to her until we couldn't see straight. But I knew I couldn't do it. Not and live with myself in the days to follow. Not unless I was willing to take the chance of losing her forever when she was herself again. For I knew it would come to that. And I knew I wanted a chance at a future. With her.

She fell into a fitful sleep, as I tried to clear a way through the rockfall. I had to get her out of there. I didn't like the way her breathing sounded, and her fever seemed to be rising. I remembered that Tuvok said this could kill her, and I redoubled my efforts. The idea of losing her...I couldn't face that. Not when I'd finally realized what she meant to me.

When she woke, she was disoriented. She couldn't remember where we were, or what had happened. I was just starting to let the panic bubble up, when I heard the scrabbling on the other side of the rockslide. Chakotay and Tuvok. The cavalry had arrived.

Only it turned out they weren't the cavalry, after all. The cavalry was still stuck on Voyager, with communications down, and presumably the transporter too. We got out of the cavern and back to the surface, but Voyager still wasn't answering our hails. Tuvok took one look at B'Elanna in the light of day, and told me I had to help her or she would die. I felt the blood drain from my face. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was nothing I could say, so I said nothing, just turned to face B'Elanna. She sat huddled on a rock, her head pillowed on her legs. When she raised her head, she looked shaky and pale. I started to apologize, saying I knew it was not what either of us wanted, but she stopped me with a hand over my mouth. "Tom," she said.

"What," I said, my voice muffled by her hand.

She put a finger beside her lips. "Be quiet." Then she took my hand and led me away.

Now, I know a little bit about Klingon mating customs. I admit it -- when I first realized I was interested in B'Elanna, I did a little reading. From what I saw, it always sounded to me like Klingon sex was pretty wild. Okay, so it made for arousing reading. But I didn't really think my bit of recreational reading would ever be anything more than that. Anyway, that's how I learned what it meant to bite someone on the face -- it staked a claim, served as a visible reminder to other Klingons to stay away. Broken bones have also been known to occur. I had to stop reading after that. I wasn't sure I wanted to know any more. Now I was about to find out. I was exhilarated...and terrified.

She began by smelling me. No, not like that -- I mean smelling me -- inhaling my scent like it was oxygen. She breathed on my fist, suckled my fingers, circled behind me, pulled my collar down, rubbed my shoulders, sniffed my neck, pulled back my cuffs, smelled my wrists and lapped at them like I was a salt lick. God, it was incredibly arousing.

"So," I began. I don't know why I felt like talking. B'Elanna's not the only woman I've ever been with who's told me I talk too much. I guess when I get nervous, I start to talk. The sound of my own voice helps drown out the other voice, the little one in my head that tells me how stupid I am, that I should quit while I'm ahead, cut and run before I screw up again. I hate that little voice. I'd rather hear myself babble like an idiot than listen to that voice. One of these days, I've got to learn how to make it shut up. "Is this the part where you throw heavy objects at me?" Another Klingon mating ritual, or so I'd read. Klingon men read love poetry while their women hurl furniture at them. Trouble was, I didn't know any Klingon love poetry, and I didn't think Elizabeth Barrett Browning would be appropriate. Why don't Klingon men get to throw things? I could do that.

"Maybe later," she purred.

"Oh," I said. What else was there to say? It shut me up, for a few minutes anyway. I wasn't sure what to do, and I told her so. No help from that quarter. She growled and kissed my neck, ran her tongue up under my jaw. Seemed like fun, so I reciprocated. Brushed my lips up the side of her neck, tried a little growling myself.

Must have been the wrong thing to do. Next thing I knew, she'd hooked her leg behind my knees and flipped me onto my back. Pinned me like a butterfly, my arms above my head. "What are you doing?" she snarled.

"Enjoying myself?" I sounded dubious, even to me.

"Then show it!" she growled, and bent my wrists back. I grimaced, as she lunged at me, then saw her break into a wild smile. I couldn't help it; despite the pain in my wrists, I grinned back at her.

I had a few tricks myself. When she pressed down to kiss me, I tensed my arms and abruptly rolled her over, leaned in and stole a kiss myself. She snarled and tried to buck me off, but I pinned her elbows with my arms, one at a time. She laughed, a sound of pure delight, and I leaned forward to claim my prize. Exhilaration sang through my veins. But before our lips met again, I was hauled away from her and hurled to the side. Vorik.

I don't think I'd ever been so angry in all my life. He was screaming that B'Elanna was his mate. My anger was only tempered when B'Elanna heaved herself at him, shouting with rage. Somehow I managed to hold her back, or maybe she just let me. I still felt a connection to her, with what we'd started. Vorik shouted for Tuvok, who came at a dead run, followed by Chakotay, both shocked at the sight of the normally placid ensign boiling with anger and...god, even I could see it...passion. Vorik claimed some Vulcan challenge for her. Koon-ut-kali-something. The red swam before my eyes, and my anger surged again. I shouted, "If you want a fight, you've got one!"

But Chakotay held me back, trying to calm us. I don't know why it should be so, but considering his background in the Maquis, it always surprises me what a pacifist Chakotay is. "There's not going to be any fight," he said.

But B'Elanna had other ideas -- she shoved me aside and took Vorik's challenge herself. "If anyone's going to smash your arrogant little face in, I will!" she snarled. And somehow, I guess, I'd known in my bones that this was how it was going to have to play out.

Still Chakotay objected, but somehow Tuvok convinced him it was the only solution we had. And then they were circling each other, Vorik and B'Elanna -- feinting and punching and pounding each other senseless. My heart was in my throat the entire time. It seemed like hours, but Chakotay assured me it was only a few minutes before Vorik was lying in the dust and B'Elanna lay collapsed in my arms.

Maybe I don't want to learn how to throw furniture.

I carried her all the way to sickbay, cradled in my arms, limp like a ragdoll. She'd fallen asleep shortly after the fight ended. No wonder -- between the pon farr, the fall down the mine shaft, and the fight, she was exhausted. I suppose I could have let Chakotay do a site-to-site transport directly to sickbay. But I didn't want to let her go. I felt such tenderness toward her, and worry -- even though Tuvok reassured me she would recover completely, now that the pon farr had been purged. She seemed so...so fragile after the fight, so shriveled inside of herself and spent. I was reluctant even to turn her over to the ministrations of the holodoctor, but of course, I did.

The doctor was in rare form. First off, he was annoyed, in the way that only he can be, that Vorik had tricked him into thinking his holodeck "therapy" had worked. The Doc had created a holographic Vulcan mate for Vorik, who after an initial rejection of the idea, had seemingly embraced it, and reported that he'd been able to resolve his pon farr. And I thought Vulcans couldn't lie.

The Doc was also annoyed that he hadn't gotten the chance to try out the holographic half-Klingon version he'd created for B'Elanna. Why he thought B'Elanna would want to have sex with a hologram is beyond me. Just because he's become "real" to us? I suppose it made a kind of logical, symmetrical sense, but damned if I'd buy it. And B'Elanna's a hard-core realist -- not a sappy romantic like me. She'd be too busy analyzing the program to fall for any of its supposed charms -- just as she'd made mincemeat out of some of the more vivid denizens of Sandrine's that I'd once programmed.

"Well, well, Lt. Torres," he said, in that prim way of his, addressing her unconscious form. "What havoc have you created for me today?"

"This isn't her doing, Doc," I snapped. "Talk to Vorik."

"I already have," he replied. "He wasn't any more helpful than you are being at the moment. And I believe I was addressing Ms. Torres? At any rate, are you in need of any medical assistance?" He quickly ran a tricorder over me, gave me a fishy-eyed stare. "Other than that lovely dental laceration on your jaw -- which Kes can take care of for you -- I think not. Perhaps a tetanus shot, strictly as a precaution, mind you. So, unless you have a compelling reason to stay here and bother me, Lt. Paris, I suggest you remove yourself to another part of this sickbay and let my assistant take care of you. And afterwards, you may return to duty."

I didn't want to go, but I realized I had no say in the matter. I felt a new bond to B'Elanna, but despite what we'd been through together, I had no official standing in her life, and thus had no "need-to-know" in matters of her care. "Can you at least tell me if she's all right, Doc?" I asked quietly.

Something in my tone must have reached him, for he relented enough to respond with more gentleness than I'm used to hearing from him. "She will be absolutely fine, Lieutenant. This is simply fatigue. I just need to run some cortical scans, confirm that her hormonal levels are returning to normal, check that wound on her shoulder, make sure she hasn't damaged anything important. She is in the best of hands, I assure you. Now, please --" he waved me away to where Kes waited patiently with the dermal regenerator and a hypospray.

I retreated. There's nothing quite like being dismissed by the holodoctor. He simply ceased to note your existence. Must be a side effect of being able to turn himself on and off at will. It was a talent I wished I could master.

"Look, this is ridiculous," I began. "We're going to be together on this ship for a long time..."

She cut in before I could continue. "You're right," she shot back. "We have to pretend that the whole mission didn't happen."

No, no, that was all wrong. That's not what we needed to do, and I told her so. "Something did happen, B'Elanna," I said. I searched her eyes, trying to see the passion that had burned there just days before. I was having trouble seeing past the wall there, the one she'd re-erected after we'd gotten back to the ship.

"Look, Tom," she said strongly. "I really appreciate what you did, what... you were willing to do for me, but as far as I'm concerned, I was under the influence of some weird Vulcan chemical imbalance, and whatever I did, whatever I said...it wasn't me."

It hurt to hear my own words thrown back up at me, but that was okay. I wasn't sorry for what I'd done...and for what I hadn't done. But I'd be damned if I would let her get away with it. I knew what she'd told me on the planet was the truth...her real feelings. I just had to help her see it. Like I'd had to see the truth in myself, about how I'd been hiding from my own feelings. We were going to be another 67 years getting home from the Delta Quadrant, but life was too short to spend it alone when you knew there was someone who might be willing to take a chance on you.

"Yeah, I know," I answered. "You're afraid that your big, scary Klingon side might have been showing." Her face twisted a bit to hear my sarcasm. I had to soften it. "Well, I saw it up close, and you know, it wasn't so terrible." I caught her gaze, held her eyes. "In fact, I wouldn't mind seeing it again someday."

She looked at me. Just looked at me. Then she looked away. The silence stretched, but still she said nothing. My resolve wilted. I thought: guess I was wrong. So I conceded. "Computer...resume." The lift started up again, and I went back to the calculations on my PADD. Two can play this game. If she really wants to pretend, okay, I'll pretend. I'm a patient man. But..well, I remember thinking then: I guess it just isn't ever going to happen.

But she fooled me again. The lift stopped, and she got out. She never looked back, but as she strode away, I heard her say distinctly: "Careful what you wish for, Lieutenant."

And she was gone.

I think about her teeth in my jaw, the blood running down my neck. I think about the pain of that bite, the strange exhilaration, the stirring in my groin. I think about her hands on my face, her lips against my nape, her tongue swirling around my fingers. I think about her thighs pressed against mine.

I remember the feel of her skin, the sound of her voice, the touch of her lips. The shape of her shoulders, the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts. The leaves in her hair. Sweat. Breath. Sighs.

I want her lips again, that kiss again, a kiss to satisfy the soul. The heat rocketing down my spine.

I've watched her. I've wondered. I've waited.

I wonder if she has dreams, too.

I see her on the bridge, and in the mess hall, and in Sandrine's, and we're not pretending anymore, but I still don't know if she realizes I'm serious. We spar, and there's an undercurrent that wasn't there before, and I'm trapped in its eddies -- but I'm not sure if I'm alone, or if she's caught up in the maelstrom too.

I've never thought of myself as a man ruled by his hormones, but they're driving me now, and it's hard to stop these feelings. Hell, I'm becoming obsessed with her. But this isn't just about sex anymore. I don't think it is. Love and sex and want and need -- they're all getting mixed up in my head now.

It's a wonder no one else can see it. Harry suspects. He wants to talk to me about what happened on Sakari, but I've shut him down every time. He must have figured it out. No more motormouth Tom Paris -- I think he knows. So far he's had the good grace to keep it to himself. But I see him watching us, and I think he knows.

The dreams are coming every night now, more vivid than ever. Last night, for instance. It started the way it always has. But the finish...

One well chosen word, and I know I can warn her away forever. 'Don't' will stop her where she stands. That will be all I have to say. Don't do it. Don't waste your time on me. That's what I will say. My lips are dry. I swallow and open my mouth to say it, knowing I don't want to do it.

And I stop before the first syllable can pass my lips. I can't. I can't do it. I want her with a passion that makes my teeth ache, but I can't say those words either. I know that the next thing she says or does will tell everything. I close my eyes, open them.

A moment only, and she moves. She comes toward me, purpose evident in every line of her stride. For a split second, I throw my hands before my face, remembering the pain of her bite, the blood running down my jaw. But as quickly as that, the panic turns into a sharp adrenaline rush that causes me to hold my breath. When she closes the gap between us, I let out that breath in a hiss. She starts to reach for me, but my hands come down, seize her face and hold it there as I look steadily into her eyes. She does not blink, and I nearly drown in the velvet brown depths of her regard. Her hands come up over mine, and she whispers my name. "Tom..."

I lower my mouth to hers. A tentative touch at first, and then lips and teeth and tongues begin to plunder in a kiss so fierce I think I will die for the joy of it. I would swallow her whole if she would let me. Her scent envelops me like a fog, heady and lush and spicy with heat. "B'Elanna," I moan, and it comes out as a benediction, and I lose myself in her embrace.

Hands smooth over shoulders, clothing rustles. We kiss and kiss, and I stroke her brow ridges and then she growls against my neck and bites at my jaw. The pain is sharp but momentary, and arousing as all hell. My blood rises like sap, and she sucks the wound clean. My fingers tangle in her hair as I suckle a tender earlobe. She growls again, and I suck harder, until she gasps. But I want those lips again, and I seize her mouth with mine. She tastes sweet and hot and rich, and at this moment I want nothing but her. She presses against me, and I push back, and my erection is like steel.

Somehow we manage to undress without letting go of each other's mouths. Our lips cling like we're drowning. Our uniforms fall to the floor, so much discarded red and yellow and black flotsam. Undergarments follow, and then we're naked against each other. I want to look at her, but I'm blinded by need and so is she. Her arms slip around my back, hands clutching my shoulder-blades, grasping and opening like tiny butterfly wings. My hands caress her breasts, her beautiful breasts, so soft and round and full. She sighs and moans as my thumbs tease her nipples to tight buds, all rose and dusk against her tawny skin. A sheen of sweat glistens in the valley between her breasts, and I lower my head and lick it away.

We slide to the floor, sinking into the heaps of our clothing. My hands flow up the ridges of her spine, down the sweep of her flanks, then cup and knead her buttocks. She is all smooth silk, and the curves fill my hands. She is squeezing my shoulders, caressing my chest, teasing my navel. Her thumbs press against my pelvic bones, and then she is stroking my shaft, and cupping my balls, rolling them slowly over her fingers, and I could die from this touch. Somehow it's the most intimate thing I've ever known. I've got to touch her, got to move...! My fingers insinuate between her thighs, and thrust upward, and, oh, she is so very wet. I roll her onto her back and cover her body with mine, feeling her muscles tense and arch beneath me as the ridge of my cock presses her belly. Somehow time is suspended. Maybe because we both know what we are going to do, maybe just to stretch the keen sting of anticipation. We kiss again, slowly, not fiercely like before -- the yearning is back, but it's no less urgent.

Then she shifts her hips and I'm inside her, and it's heaven. She is tight and warm and wet, and I feel the friction as I thrust down and down and up and back, and her pelvis is grinding hard against mine as she thrusts back. She wraps her legs around my waist, and pulls me in deeper. She rakes my back with her nails. I hear a soft keening, and it's her -- or is it me? No, it's both of us, and she urges me to go faster and harder and deeper and I do, as the keening rises to a wail. I slide one hand between us and find her center, circling her clitoris with two fingers. "Harder," she growls, "faster," and I do what she says, and the wail drops to a guttural panting. The air is heavy with the hot musk of sex, and I dip my fingers into the moisture seeping out from our junction and slick them back over the nub, alternating fingers and thumb, fingers and thumb. She stiffens and arches and screams as she comes, and it's too much -- I drive deep inside her, riding the crest of her orgasm, riding it hard, and then I'm flying and falling and a million stars burst in my head, and I come and I come and I come...

Tonight, I'm going to go see her. I have to. I can't take much more of this. I need to tell her how I really feel. I want her. I love her. Sixty-seven years till we get home, but life really is too short.

I'll push the door chime. When the door opens, she will see me, and she'll smile. In my fantasy, she opens her arms in welcome. I will walk through the door and into her arms, and it will be as though I've always been there. I will step into her embrace and enfold her in my own. We'll finish what Vorik stopped us from doing. I know I said that it wasn't what we wanted, but I was lying. I want her. I want her more than anything -- more than my commission, more than flying, more than being anywhere except with her. I will kiss her and hold her, love her, and make her mine. But that smile will be all the greeting I will ever need.

Oh, who am I kidding? He's not a mind-reader, after all! How would the Commander know what I was doing? All it was, was nerves, just nerves. But somehow, after that, I couldn't bring myself to push her call button. I'm such a coward.

I went to Sandrine's instead. I needed a drink. A shot of the Macallan, neat. Not synthehol -- the real stuff. Sandrine keeps it for me. That smoky, peaty fire down my throat, that's what I needed. You don't gulp it, you sip. It burns along your veins, purifies the system. Feels that way, anyway.

I was sitting at the bar, nursing that shot, trying to decide if I should stay there and get drunk or just go to bed and never come out again, when a shadow fell over me, and I became aware of someone standing at my elbow. I looked up and it was B'Elanna. She'd never looked so beautiful. She's always beautiful to me, but this night, because she was occupying my thoughts, she was especially so, dressed in casual clothes, a soft, loose top falling in folds over her slim hips, a long, gauzy skirt swirling down to her ankles. I was trying to remember the last time I saw her in a skirt. The whisky hadn't made me stupid, yet, but I couldn't help the grin I gave her. "Buy a lady a drink?" I said, trying not to sound sleazy.

She looked at the drink in my hand, then at me. "What else you got, hotshot?" she said.

I gauged her expression. She looked -- hopeful? wary? Hard to tell. I crooked an eyebrow at her, and her face went very still. What the hell, I thought, go for broke, Paris. I put the glass down, and stood up. "How about we go somewhere more private." Hell, might as well go all out with my most practiced public face -- confident nonchalance. If I was going to go down, I wanted to go down in flames. A bang, not a whimper.

For a long minute, nothing happened.

And then she took my hand. "I thought you'd never ask," she said, and scratched her nails into my palm. The sting of it made my eyes water and my body tingle. And she smiled.

END

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