Author’s Notes: P/T PWP, taking place anytime between one of B’Elanna’s bouts with false labor and “Endgame.” This is for my Number One Fan, Monica, and for all the P/Ters out there who need a reason to smile and get a little overheated. Written October, 2001.
by Diane Bellomo
B’Elanna woke with a start. What startled her was her orgasm, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her genitals were pulsing softly in the aftermaths of a wet dream she did not remember.
Oh my, she thought, been a while for that. She turned her head to the right, to the warm mound of humanity breathing evenly beside her. Tom had been incredibly patient with her throughout her entire pregnancy, respecting her desire not to be intimately touched. Given their level of sexual activity before she became pregnant, it seemed outrageous that now, aside from occasional cuddling sessions and several blowjobs she had given him, they had no sex at all. But there it was. She absently wondered why he put up with her.
She pulled her arm from beneath the covers, awkwardly putting her hand on his shoulder, and the touch instantly sent her pelvis into overdrive. Her nipples hardened painfully, and sweat broke out along her hairline. God Almighty, she was in full-blown Klingon arousal over touching his shoulder!
The Doctor had said something about this, but he had also warned that he couldn’t be sure it would happen to her, since there was no precedent for her particular pregnancy – at least none in his database. So, basically, they were winging it. She remembered with a private grin the Doctor recommending to Tom that he should be as accommodating as possible if it should happen to her.
Well, it was certainly happening, and she hoped Tom would be in an accommodating mood, because if she didn’t get some relief, she’d probably just die. Carefully, she adjusted herself to a sitting position, not easy for a hugely-pregnant woman who was trying not to disturb her partner, but she managed.
The next part would be harder. Pun intended, ha ha.
She curled her legs beneath her and heaved her gravid body around so that she was on her hands and knees. Her breasts were heavy, tight, uncomfortable, but she ignored the discomfort. The nightgown hung loosely around her and was easy to strip off from this position. She wore nothing else.
Easing her center of gravity to the right a little, she picked up her left hand and placed it on Tom’s shoulder. This time she shook him gently.
He shifted but did not quite waken. “Mmm?”
They had been through this “waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night” thing several times already. All false labor. This was not labor. Nor was it false. To avoid him thinking it was, she shook him again and spoke louder, using the term of endearment she reserved only for very special occasions.
He responded to that one, opening his eyes, turning his head to look at her. In the dim light, she could see his eyes widen. His jaw dropped slightly, but she didn’t give him a chance to say anything. She took his chin in her hand and ran her thumb over his dry lips.
She wet her own lips with her tongue. The Doctor had recently warned them against having intercourse because of her false labor, but he was quick to say there was nothing wrong with other forms of sexual contact. She had not been interested at the time the Doctor issued his warning, but she sure was now. “Eat me.” The request evolved seamlessly into a soft growl.
* * *
Tom Paris could not believe his eyes, but there was certainly no mistaking his wife’s intent. She was naked beside him, up on her hands and knees. He could smell her earthy sweat, and even though her huge belly prevented him seeing the patch of black curls between her legs, he could smell her arousal. When she ran her thumb over his lips, his shorts tightened, and when she wet her own lips and extended her snarling little invitation, they tightened to the point of uncomfortable.
Heady, wonderful, stuff, that.
He spoke through her thumb, rasping out a couple of words past his growing fervor. “Oh, baby…” He sat up, began to shift downward, to get around her. They had read up on possible positions and had chosen the one they would use if it came to this, and Tom was mighty glad they had. It would have put quite the damper on the party if they’d had to consult the computer at this point.
He achieved the end of the bed, stood, and dropped his pajama shorts, giving his erection some much-needed space. B’Elanna was still behind him on the bed. First thing he did was lean over and reach between the brown globes of her ass to touch her. She choked and moved against his hand. God, she was so wet, so very wet, and up through his haze of lust came a curious recollection: Doc said human women had trouble producing natural lubrication during pregnancy and might need some help. Obviously, this was not the case with his half-Klingon wife.
He smiled. “B’Elanna, you’re soaked to the gills. Remember what the Doc said? That you might not get wet?” He chuckled softly, and carefully inserted his middle finger into her. “Such a fine blend you are, my sweet mocha java. Eat you? Yes, indeed, I’ll eat you.”
B’Elanna snarled in delight, loving the endearments he, too, reserved only for very special occasions. She could feel internal muscles clamping around his finger and wiggled her ass to enhance the feeling. “Then what are you waiting for, flyboy, cream and sugar?” She shifted, trying not to lose his finger, but knowing she would need to for the next part of their love-making.
She started to roll to a sitting position, feeling him pull his finger from her with obvious reluctance, as he pulled slowly, reinserted it once and stirred, and then finally retreated. Gaining her butt, she slid to the side of the bed, with her rear end almost hanging over the edge, and planted her feet flat on the floor, knees wide. She lay back, arms above her, gripping the bedcovers. She could see her nipples had softened. Time was passing.
Quickly, Tom retrieved two throw pillows from the couch in the living area, and placed them under her feet to raise her legs. He took a bed pillow and carefully placed it beneath her, effectively lifting her pelvic area. It was awkward, and it looked to him like she was about to slide right off the bed.
“B’Elanna, you comfortable?”
“Yeah, lover,” she said with obvious impatience, “but let’s go, okay? Feels like I’m losing my edge and I don’t wanna.”
Since that was exactly how he was feeling, he wasted no more motion, immediately dropping to his knees between her legs, noticing how his mouth was perfectly in line with her gorgeous sexual center, and her belly was not in the way at all. He could not resist touching her again, bringing his whole hand into play, rubbing her distended clit, tracing moisture back along her slit and further back to the puckered hole.
Her edge had obviously not been too far lost. “Ah…ah…uh…” She rolled awkwardly and breathlessly demanded in doubles, “Eat me, eat me, now, now, please, please.”
He adored it when she begged like this, and if he wasn’t so hungry for her, he might have played the begging game, talking dirty and making her repeat her pleas in Standard, Spanish, and Klingon until they both came from just the words alone. But not tonight.
He pressed his lips to her, while one finger found the puckered entrance again and gently passed through it.
Immediately he felt her shuddering prelude to orgasm and rushed to lick all his favorite spots before she came in his mouth. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy that, too, but she asked him to eat her, and he wanted a full meal. He briefly considered pulling back, but dismissed it, internally scolding himself for his continued desire to tease her. Instead, knowing he risked a snack instead of a meal, he said right into her flesh, “I love you.”
She exploded, screaming non-words of ecstasy and a few really filthy Klingon ones, lifting her hips from the pillow in an amazing display of strength, nearly sliding off the bed, as Tom had feared she might.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, lifting his mouth from her, licking his lips, and grabbing her thighs to steady her. He held her, feeling the tremors all the way down her legs. She had pulled the bedcovers completely into a bunch around her hands, and the pillow beneath her ass was now on the floor. He held her until she quieted, placing warm wet kisses along the insides of her thighs, her massive stomach, and anywhere else he could reach.
She brought her hands away from the knotted-up bedcovers, intent on scooting back and sitting up, but she couldn’t quite accomplish it. “Uh…oh…” she struggled with her unwieldy body, “god, Tom, that was great.”
“Here, wait a minute, Mom, let me help you.” He released her legs and crawled up on the bed behind her, never taking his hands off her. They spent a moment or two fixing the covers and repositioning themselves side by side on the bed again. With a sheet draped over them both, Tom turned to his wife, intent on making further comment on the act they had just performed.
But he never got the chance. She encircled his still-hard penis and pulled gently, smirking when she felt it jerk in her hand. “Whaddaya mean, ‘Mom,’ Dad?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah.
–Rufus Wainwright, taken out of context from the
song, “Hallelujah,” from the Shrek soundtrack.