Author’s Note (7/04): This is a harmless bit of fluff (or should I say bubbles?) between Tom and B'Elanna, written during the last season of Voyager and revised for the OPI Nailpolish Fic Challenge I just discovered (even though the challenge has been around for a while). Pure PWP, so if you’re looking for story line, go elsewhere. Could have taken place just about anytime before B’Elanna became too pregnant for these kinds of shenanigans. If you want pregnant shenanigans, write me for “Crimson Kisses.” Rated NC-17.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns it all. Always has, always will. I accept this.
“C’mon, B’Elanna, pleeeeeze,” his voice was a whiny whisper in her ear just above and behind her.
“Jesus, Tom,” her words were muffled as she spoke into the pillow, “you never give up, do you?”
It was roughly 2130 hours and they were in her quarters. On her bed. Having just completed a bracing act of love, they were also quite unclothed and fairly exhausted. B’Elanna was on her stomach and Tom was splayed almost directly on top of her. It was from this position he had issued his plea, one that was becoming far too familiar and irritating to B’Elanna.
Of course, this was exactly what Tom was hoping for. It wasn’t as though he was asking for the moon, or even for holodeck time in the Alps, which he knew she hated. All things considered, it was a rather tame request, really.
He had been reading about interesting little practices couples engaged in several hundred years ago and could not get this particular “ritual” out of his head. He knew she would eventually relent, not only because she was getting fed up, but also because he had an inkling she was just as much intrigued by it as he was.
B’Elanna shifted in an attempt to turn over, and Tom raised up to allow her to do so. When she was on her back, he lowered himself on top of her again, fluttered his eyelids for a moment and then focused his big baby blues right on her, assembling his features to reflect pure supplication. It was an expression he had perfected a long time ago, but did not use on her unless he was sure she was already on his side.
She sighed to her toes.
“All right! All right! But you know it’ll take about two weeks until they’re ready.”
“Right. I know. I can wait. I’ve waited this long. Besides, you’ll love it, I promise.”
“Yeah, whatever you say, Flyboy. Now shut up and kiss me.” She covered his mouth with hers and snaked her hand down between them.
* * *
Even though Tom said he could wait, doing so had nearly killed him. Two weeks hadn’t passed that slowly since he was a child right before Christmas. The designated evening finally arrived, and he found himself just as giddy with anticipation as he was when he was young. Of course, the reason for his giddiness was a tad more mature this time, but the feeling was still exactly the same.
Mmm…he might have to do a little more research on the subject…
But not now.
B’Elanna was due off shift in half an hour. He had been off duty since his half-shift in Sickbay ended at 1900 and had spent most of that time preparing the holodeck and practicing.
He hit his commbadge twice and spoke her name softly. “B’Elanna.” It was a personal page. She answered almost immediately, a clear indication she was anticipating this event. It pleased him no end.
“2305 in Holodeck Two, okay?”
There was the slightest hesitation this time. “Okay, loverboy. You better know what you’re doing.”
“What, you don’t trust me all of a sudden?” He feigned a hurtful tone.
“Oh, give me a break, infant. I’ll be there. Of course I’ll be there.” She signed off without saying goodbye—another indication she was looking forward to this encounter.
* * *
The holodeck doors wheezed open and B’Elanna stepped into a dimly-lit, humid room. The doors closed behind her and she had to blink to gain some night vision.
“Tom?” She heard water sloshing and stepped further into the room. As her eyes adjusted, she was able to make out the shadow of—what is that, a bathtub? A shadow within the shadow clarified to Tom Paris, as she heard the snick of a lighter and a thick, round candle flared to life, illuminating him.
“Hey there, B’Elanna. Whaddaya think?” He brought his wet arm up and dripped a sweeping arc at his little tableau.
He was sitting naked in what was, yes, a bathtub. She studied it a moment, dredging up facts she had learned from Tom: Porcelain. Clawfoot. A separate spigot for hot and cold water. Gigantic. It looked like it could easily hold two. Possibly four or more.
On the wall behind the tub hung four hooks, two of which were occupied by fluffy white terrycloth robes, one with what appeared to be Tom’s off-duty clothing, and one that was empty.
A cotton rug lay on the floor beside the tub, and folded on a cushioned chest against the wall beneath the hooks lay two blue cotton bath towels.
Besides her lover himself, the tub was also thick with bubbles and she finally realized what scent she had caught when she first came in. Peaches. The bubbles were scented with peach.
She loved peaches.
She stepped up to the tub, knelt down and smiled widely at him.
“I think I’m impressed, Thomas. Minimalist, but effective.” She inhaled the fragrant bubbles, reached down, scooped up a handful and gently blew on them, scattering the fragile formations into the air over Tom’s shoulder. “Definitely effective.”
“You have two seconds to join me.”
* * *
It didn’t take B’Elanna quite that long, but that was because she cheated and left her uniform in a heap on the floor, rather than use the empty hook.
Gripping the sides of the tub, her eyes closed, B’Elanna moaned in pleasure as she lowered herself slowly to her knees facing Tom. “Oh yeah, I am very impressed.” The water was nice and hot but the surface bubbles were cool and provided a stimulating contrast on her skin. She felt her nipples harden and the corresponding ache between her legs indicating her body’s satisfaction with its present situation.
Watching her enter the tub, Tom’s nostrils flared. They were practice d lovers, and he did not miss her body’s signals. Above the heavily-scented bubbles, he could smell her arousal and was unable to resist.
He reached for the dark patch he could see through the bubbles, his hand neatly cupping her pubis. This part of her had not yet reached the water but was already considerably damp. B’Elanna removed one hand from the edge of the tub and covered Tom’s, pushing one of his fingers into her wet folds.
She growled in mock agitation, slitting her eyes open so she could see him. “Either do me or don’t me, Ensign, but do not tease me.”
He pretended to consider his choice, lazily stirring his finger. Her hips rolled with his caress and so did the water. “I think…I’ll…do…you.” On the word “do” he slipped that finger and another smoothly up into her, causing her to surge forward, losing her balance and her one-handed grip on the tub.
Tom was ready and caught her in his free arm. The bubbles and the water, however, were not quite as prepared. Both cascaded out of the tub, slopping onto the tile floor. Much of the cotton rug was immediately busy soaking it up.
Tom now had his lover in one of his top ten favorite positions: Cradled in one arm, while impaled on the fingers of the other. Granted, the tub was new, but was hardly a bad thing. In fact, the water provided B’Elanna buoyancy and gave him a little more freedom of movement.
The main reason why this position was in his top ten was because it gave him control of both the front and rear of B’Elanna, and allowed him to stroke the ridges that defined her spine.
And, oh, what a wonderful thing her spine was, too. It was ridged ever-so lightly, though not so you could actually see the ridges unless you were looking ever-so closely. Her spine was much like her forehead, in that her humanity demanded its fair share of her physiology and would not permit full Klingon anything (except maybe her stomachs and her temper). Tom had discovered, quite by accident, that if one stroked and massaged her spine long enough, it could produce a delightful response in B’Elanna. With his fingers placed just so, he was almost assured of this response.
B’Elanna, for her part, was not lying idle, though it could be argued she was lying idle, considering her nature. She was tweaking Tom’s far nipple and licking the one closest to her, enjoying the response she was stirring in him.
She was also trying (and failing spectacularly) to ignore the sensations that were sparking and tingling like electricity along her back, tracing a direct path to her front. Tom’s fingers were finding all the right spots.
At the same moment she went to stretch up to kiss him, the fingers on both his hands reached the pinnacle of her sensations, and she forgot what she was going to do.
“Oh…OH!” The sound deepened into a full-throated Klingon groan. Her head dropped and her mouth closed over the flesh on his chest.
Tom felt her inner muscles clench delicately around his fingers and hissed, “Yes, Bella, c’mon…c’mon.” He pressed his fingers into her lower back and applied pressure with his thumb to her clit, reaching, as he sometimes did, as if to make the fingers inside her touch the fingers on her spine. She jerked in his arms, and the clenching became considerably less delicate. Grunting, she climaxed in a sudden tense burst of energy, biting but not tearing his skin.
He loved it when she came like this. Not that he didn’t also enjoy the fierce Klingon couplings they often engaged in (and had the scars to prove it), it was just that this subdued intensity amazed him. It was definitely a Klingon response, but it was also a human one. She was such a fine blend that he sometimes felt lacking because he was born a full human.
He realized it had not taken her very long to reach orgasm and mentioned it.
“Mmm…you’re right, lover.” She stirred the water and flicked at the diminshing bubbles. “Must be this stuff. We should keep this program. Ah! No!”
He was removing his fingers from their place between her legs, but froze at her command.
She wrapped her hand around his penis and used it to lever herself into position above him, dragging his fingers out of her and a gasp out of him. She hung above him with her hand still on him. She was starting to lower herself when a funny look crossed her face and she stopped. "Hey?"
B’Elanna was much better than he was at teasing, and he really didn’t think he could hold out very long if she decided to be up to something right now. “’Hey?’ what?” he choked as fast as he could (all things considered).
“How come you’re not sliding around?”
“I’m sitting on a non-skid pillow.”
She leered at him. “Smart boy.” She finished her maneuver and they began another.
* * *
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Okay, you sit on the pillow.” They traded positions. Tom reached behind him and popped the plug on the drain. He let all the water and the few remaining bubbles empty out, plugged the drain again, and turned on the spigots. He allowed about an inch of warm water fill the tub before turning off the spigots.
On his knees in front of B’Elanna, who was sitting with her knees up to her chest, he ran his hands up her calves. “They’re perfect. Okay, hand me that razor and that bottle of conditioner. Right there on the table beside you.”
“Yeah, it’s the best thing for this job. None of that fancy gel or specially-formulated potions. Just plain old hair conditioner.” He took the bottle, squeezed a large dollop onto his palm and began to apply it to her legs. He moved back and brought one leg with him, resting her foot on his upper thigh. “There, that’s better.”
“Computer, raise lights, half illumination.” The computer obliged and Tom Paris went to work, shaving his lover’s legs.
He brought the razor to her slim ankle and let it glide up her leg, taking the hair neatly off. He stopped at her knee, returned to her ankle and removed another razor-width strip of hair.
B’Elanna was no dummy. She knew what a razor blade was and the damage it could do. Even though this blade was disguised in a pink plastic case, she knew it could tear her leg to shreds in the wrong hands.
But the blade was not in the wrong hands.
She was not surprised that Tom was so good with it, applying just the right amount of pressure to deftly remove the hair she had allowed grow for two weeks without also removing her skin. Pilot’s hands. Pilot’s agility, put to an altogether different use. He worked the razor against her leg with the same expertise as he worked the helm.
When he finished the front of her leg, he raised it and began the procedure
along her firm calf, again stopping when he reached the back of her knee. He
repeated this on the other leg.
B’Elanna was fascinated, not only with his proficiency, but also with his focus. He was shaving her as if this was the only thing he was born to do. She resisted the strong urge to touch him, afraid if she did so, she would break his concentration. He was so deep into it, the tip of his tongue was actually sticking out.
She smiled, but she must have made some kind of noise, because he looked up suddenly and grinned sheepishly, knowing he had been caught. His ears went as pink as the razor. Unfortunately, he did not lift his hand from her leg and with his broken concentration came a change in pressure. She felt a tiny sharp pain on her knee and jumped in spite of her best effort not to.
“Ow!” A little rivulet of blood ran down her freshly-shaved leg.
“Oh, B’Elanna! I’m sorry!” Tom quickly leaned down and put his lips over the small wound, tonguing the blood away. He kept his mouth there and began to turn his first aid endeavor into an endeavor of another kind.
He lifted his mouth from her knee and replaced it with his hand. He urged her legs open enough to enable him to lean in and kiss the inside of her thigh, which, by some genetic fluke, did not contain one follicle of hair. B’Elanna leaned back and allowed her knees to fall wide against the sides of the tub.
Tom kissed deeper on her inner thigh and then deeper still. She hummed in satisfaction as he placed a kiss on the thatch of dark curls, then dropped her jaw and groaned when his tongue parted her and expertly flicked her clitoris. She instinctively shifted her pelvis to give him better access, only to hear him sputter between her legs when water splashed up his nose. He rose and held his palm out, coughing and snorting.
“No, no, not to worry. I’m okay.” He coughed again.
“Oh, god, Tom, I’m sorry,” but she ruined her fine apology by laughing out loud, and there was nothing left for him to do but join her. After a minute, B’Elanna turned serious, nimbly catching the plug’s chain between her toes and yanking it out of the drain. The water disappeared with an obnoxious gurgle, B’Elanna leaned back again, and Tom resumed his position.
Which was in the top five of his favorites.
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