Author’s Note: Third in the Chained Melody Universe. T/7/P, in that order. Rated NC-17. All these stories stand alone just fine, though you might gain additional insight if you read them all in the order they are shown here. There are persons to be blamed for my writing this. You know who you are (queco and Monica).
Disclaimer: Paramount owns it all. Always has, always will. I accept this.
by Diane Bellomo
Tom’s snoring produced a small grin, which Seven noticed, as she was lying directly across from the woman who was grinning, with said snoring body between them.
“B’Elanna, you are smiling at Ensign Paris’ sleeping form.”
“No, I’m smiling at his snoring. He tells me he doesn’t snore. I should record this for him. And you can call him Tom, you know.”
“And you can stop saying that, too! C’mon, let’s get up. I could use another glass of wine.” The two women rose slowly, careful not to disturb the sleeping man.
After the encounter the three of them just had, B’Elanna knew he’d be out for at least an hour.
* * *
Seven sat primly at B’Elanna’s side as she sipped the wine. The ice-blue length of silk that had bound their wrists was now draped across the back of the couch. There was no sign that Seven’s wrist had ever been hurt.
“B’Elanna, I would like to comment on what just occurred.”
B’Elanna took another sip and raised an eyebrow, unsurprised by this announcement. “Comment away, Seven.”
“I did not…achieve orgasm…from the act we performed. I…missed…the sensation and would like to experience it again.”
God, my darling drone, you’re like a machine. This incredibly absurd thought did not diminish the incredibly sharp ache B’Elanna suddenly felt in a part of her anatomy that should not have been able to produce such an ache just yet. Just who did she suppose was the machine here? She gulped the rest of her wine, plopped the glass down, and stood, a little too suddenly for the wine. She swayed into Seven’s knees, lost her balance completely, and fell right into her lap.
“Gah…” the sound deteriorated from there into a wet gurgle in her throat, as Seven leaned forward and met her meaty lips with an equally-meaty set of her own.
Though B’Elanna wanted nothing more than to continue this activity, there was another activity she wanted to augment this one with. She broke the kiss and held Seven back against the couch.
“I’m feeling a little…dirty, Seven,” and snickered at her double entendre, knowing Seven wouldn’t get it unless she explained it to her. B’Elanna went right on, without giving her a chance to raise her implant-brow in a trademark indication that she noticed the snicker and wanted an explanation. “I’d like to shower. Care to join me?” She shifted out of Seven’s lap and walked toward the bathroom without waiting to see if Seven was following her.
Seven contemplated B’Elanna as she walked away, doing a quick internal review of her reason for being here. She had never intended for her research of human mating behavior to go beyond the observation stage, despite the Doctor’s benevolent, but misguided, intentions. The Doctor, she reminded herself, I must review his intentions. But after the captain’s disciplinary action of the day before, she found she enjoyed participation much more, particularly with Lieutenant Torres. The addition of Ensign Paris did not diminish her enjoyment, as long as Lieutenant Torres remained present.
She had studied the mating behaviors of many species before changing her focus to personal observation of humans, and she had had further lessons from the Doctor. She knew the behaviors were as varied as the species themselves and, in fact, in some species, trios were the sole means of both pleasure and procreation.
But she also recognized a more complex feeling with regard to herself and Lieutenant Torres. That she had “feelings” at all was still a new concept for her, but since One’s death, she realized it would no longer be possible for her to claim feelings were irrelevant. She knew by the way her body responded even to the sound of the woman’s voice through a commlink that she had what the datapadds clearly described as a “crush” on Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres.
In sudden crystal clarity, she knew that a “crush” was what the Doctor had on her. Her stomach tightened with the realization. Even though she knew better, she thought perhaps the implant in her stomach had begun eroding from the emotional stress.
“Seven?” B’Elanna called from the door to the bath.
Seven raised her head and focused on the beautiful dark face across the room. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for ex-Borg drone Seven-of-Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One, her voracious quest for knowledge and perfection was being defeated soundly by the uncomplicated beating of her human heart. She stood and went to B’Elanna.
* * *
In the bathroom, B’Elanna turned to Seven and began to unbutton the workshirt she wore. Taking the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms, her fingertips brushed the spidery implant on her upper right arm.
“Seven, stupid question.”
“You did not ask a question, B’Elanna, much less a stupid one.”
B’Elanna was getting to enjoy the literal manner in which Seven spoke. In fact, she suspected the woman was doing it on purpose, and that kicked her level of enjoyment up a notch. They were more alike than they were different, and she might even be willing to admit that. Maybe. Just to Tom. She returned to the conversation, such as it was.
“No, I’m about to ask a stupid question.” Seven went to speak again, but B’Elanna cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. “Just let me ask it, all right?”
“Yes, B’El… All right.” She blinked and allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up just the faintest bit.
Yeah, she was doing it on purpose, B’Elanna firmly decided. “Your implants, they’re, uh, waterproof, aren’t they?”
“Yes, B’Elanna.” And this time she smiled outright, reaching for the hem of B’Elanna’s burgundy nightie.
* * *
In the shower, both women allowed themselves to become thoroughly soaked before B’Elanna called out for the water to reduce pressure and alter dispersal. Immediately, they were in a light, warm rainfall.
B’Elanna leaned forward and without touching Seven anywhere else, placed her lips in the center of the pale breast almost directly in front of her. She swirled her tongue and felt the nipple burst to erection against her tongue. She moaned and heard a very good imitation of it issue from Seven.
It was only after B’Elanna brought herself into Seven’s arms and kissed her did Seven reciprocate by bringing her own arms around B’Elanna and pushing her slim thigh into B’Elanna’s triangle of dark wet curls. They swayed together under the water, lips locked, hands roaming.
B’Elanna busied herself by tracing the thin wires just beneath the skin on Seven’s back, following the wires down to the place at the base of her spine, where they met from either side and curled together into a tight circle about an inch-and-a-half in diameter. She traced this, as well, around and around, applying a hint more pressure, and was rewarded with a full-body shiver, even in the wet warmth of the shower.
This was one of the points where Seven came into contact with the regeneration pod. While regeneration was becoming less necessary for the ex-Borg, she would never be entirely free of it as long as the implants remained within her. Given that no more implants could be removed without killing her, regeneration would certainly always be a part of her life.
But B’Elanna and Seven had discovered a bonus to the contact points, to the subcutaneous wires, and, in fact, to all the implants that appeared on Seven, and perhaps to a few of the internal ones, though it was hard to be sure about them.
If touched in the proper manner, many of them were highly-sensitive erogenous zones. Through a great deal of mostly-pleasurable trial and error that afternoon, B’Elanna had learned the proper manner of touch for each wire and implant and had memorized the wires’ intricate patterns beneath Seven’s skin. It was clear the Borg had more of a sense of art than they might ever realize or appreciate.
B’Elanna sank to her knees, her fingers still lightly caressing the wire circle, as Seven continued to shudder above her. She opened her eyes to the triangle of blonde hair. Even darkened by the water, it was still so pale as to be transparent, and B’Elanna could clearly see the outer labia of an adult human female below it.
This woman was so exquisite and yet so child-like. B’Elanna did not want to become awash in real feeling for her—though she feared that was already happening—because she knew it was a dangerous place to go. She loved Tom very much, and she was even fairly sure he would not mind the addition of Seven to the relationship, particularly after the events of earlier this evening. But she did not care for the out-of-control way she felt when she and Seven made love, especially because Seven did not seem to be involved for any reason other than her Borg desire to assimilate the knowledge.
It was not something they had discussed, though B’Elanna fully recognized there would soon be need to do so. At least, the humanity in her did. The Klingon in her? Well, that was recognizing something far different than the need for discussion.
With considerable effort, she banished all these thoughts from her head. Now was certainly not the time to be overthinking her duality or her reasons for being here, though her head was swimming with it, lending more credence to her feelings of being out of control. She could have blamed the wine, but she knew it wasn’t the wine.
Tom did not make her feel this way.
This abrupt thought took her beyond caring about anything but the present moment, and she opened herself completely to it. She pressed her face into the warm wet flesh and licked. Her hand continued the tender caresses to the contact point, while her opposite hand rested on Seven’s hip to steady both herself and the woman above her. She continued to lick, aided by the water that enveloped them.
Seven’s response had begun to include breathy inhalations that barely registered on B’Elanna’s ears, but B’Elanna knew that Seven’s subdued responses belied the intensity of what she was feeling.
She paused briefly to glance up and noticed the woman had placed one hand on the tiled wall and one on the stall door to keep herself from toppling over. B’Elanna had not made love to a woman while she was standing, but she knew for a fact that she herself could not remain on her feet when Tom did this to her. Stopped by her thoughts, B’Elanna redoubled her efforts. She was about to bring one hand to Seven, when she felt muscles relax against her mouth and heard her utter a series of strangulated words in a tone that sounded almost apologetic.
At once, a spurt of hot, bitter fluid touched B’Elanna’s tongue and she reflexively spit and snapped her mouth shut, turning her head so the fluid ran down her cheek and around her jaw to trail a warm path down the front of her.
No one had ever done this to her—although she had heard about it plenty of times—and the feeling set her entire body on fire. Everything tingled and burned, from her scalp to her toes. She abandoned Seven completely, unable to function past heeding her body’s sudden urgent demand. She moaned and thrust her hand between her legs, into the warm wetness, desperate now to relieve the ache that had erupted without warning into full-blown Klingon arousal. She was so close to climax that it did not take much more than this touch to send her over.
She moaned again, stretched up and arched her back against Seven, plunged a finger up inside herself, her thumb rubbing in frenzy. The moan rapidly transformed itself into a snarling howl that would have made her mother proud, as her efforts reached sweeping release. She choked and clutched Seven, whose knees buckled and she fell, landing nearly on top of B’Elanna.
B’Elanna sat beneath the taller woman, her legs curled under her, gasping for breath in the hot stall. She was still quaking with aftershocks of the orgasm that had ambushed her.
“B’Elanna?” Seven moved off her, cupped her chin, and raised her face. Blue eyes pierced her with concern. That was all the further Seven got.
“Oh, god, oh god!” A masculine voice outside the shower stall and then the all-too-familiar sound of liquid splashing on a tile floor. Her hand still cupping B’Elanna’s chin, Seven turned her head to the sound. Her implant-brow furrowed.
B’Elanna, whose tremors were subsiding to the point where she felt as though she could manage a sentence or two, realized she didn’t quite want to. Instead, she laughed, and it brought Seven’s head swirling back around to face her again.
“B’Elanna?” She questioned again, clearly unsure of what B’Elanna found amusing. B’Elanna raised a finger to her lips in a classic “Shh” gesture, moved quietly to the stall door and cracked it open.
Tom was in a fetal heap on the bathroom floor, eyes pinched closed, his hands still around his penis, which was rapidly losing its rigidity.
B’Elanna knew this was exactly what he would look like. She rolled her eyes at Seven and whispered back at her, “And you don’t think this is funny? C’mon, look at him! He’s a complete mess and he couldn’t even see us!”
Seven allowed herself a tiny smirk.
* * *
“Aw, give me a break, would ya?” Tom complained as he stood holding the workshirts as B’Elanna and Seven finished toweling themselves dry. He had donned his burgundy silk boxers, though they were fairly ruined now, as he stood in the damp bathroom with the women. B’Elanna’s nightie was in no better shape; thus she had sent Tom to her closet for another of his off-duty workshirts. “I woke up, I heard the shower running, and then I heard it sort of stop running. That’s when I got up to see what was going on. I got in here just in time to hear you both moaning. Geez, I’m just a man, ya know!”
“Yeah, yeah. Shut up and give me a shirt.” B’Elanna snatched the one Seven had worn and Tom handed Seven the fresh one, who accepted it but did not put it on. They exited the bathroom single file.
Following the women back towards the bed, Tom wondered if it was wise for the three of them to continue. No, he concluded, it was not. However, they had reached the bed and Tom decided to save his wisdom for the morning. He was certain B’Elanna would have a thing or two to add, and he suspected Seven would, too. Meantime, he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, to his experienced eye, it appeared as though the two women were in it for more than just the sex, and he was not exactly opposed to that, either. He loved B’Elanna, and as long as she approved, he approved. Save it for the morning, Paris, he admonished himself silently, and returned to the moment at hand.
“So ladies,” he asked, bouncing lightly onto the bed, “need a nap?” He patted the mattress invitingly and smirked.
“No, Tom.” B’Elanna fixed him with a smoldering glare and then broke the contact to whisper a fairly-lengthy something to Seven. Then she lay back on the pillow, allowing the shirt to fall open, and looked at Tom.
“On your knees, lover, right about—there.” She pointed to a spot midway down the mattress. “And take off those pathetic shorts.”
Tom was quick to obey, grinning like an idiot. He had often entertained wild visions of B’Elanna in leathers, but now he realized she didn’t need the leathers. He gained his assigned position and immediately knew where Seven fit—right between them, in the exact place he had been only hours earlier. His penis leaped and he gripped himself firmly at its base to keep himself from shooting off right then and there. It worked, thank god, and he was able to breathe again. Neither woman noticed.
Seven needed no verbal command to find her place, only opened arms, which she moved smoothly into, stretching out on top of the smaller woman. They kissed and squirmed, fitting their bodies fluidly together, making throaty noises of pleasure and ignoring Tom completely.
Tom, watching raptly, couldn’t think and couldn’t help himself. He uttered a primal grunt and began pumping himself, rubbing his thumb over the tip to gain moisture to help reduce the friction. B’Elanna must have heard him, because without breaking the kiss with Seven, she cupped the woman’s slim hips and encouraged her to lift her ass. Tom saw B’Elanna reach between Seven’s legs, touching her with easy familiarity.
B’Elanna broke the kiss and looked over Seven’s shoulder at Tom. “This is for Seven, Tom, not you, understand?” He swallowed hard, nodded mutely and with great effort, stopped pumping. “She has not quite ‘achieved orgasm’ yet this evening, and she would very much like to.” She paused. “Tom?” She waited until she had his full attention, which took a few seconds, and then mouthed, “Be gentle.” She returned to Seven’s mouth.
Gentle? She wanted him to be gentle? Hell, he’d be as gentle as a newborn lamb on a warm spring morning, as gentle as a butterfly on a daisy, as gentle, as gentle… He was rock-hard now and sweating (of course he was sweating why didn’t women sweat it was it was something it was unfair yes unfair). Seven’s ass was swaying, high in the air in front of him and he could clearly see B’Elanna’s fingers fondling her, could hear the wet sound of the contact.
His nostrils flared, picking up the earthy scent of B’Elanna’s arousal and also a lighter, sweeter fragrance. Was this Seven?
With one hand still on his cock, he reached out tentatively with the other to touch B’Elanna’s fingers. They swirled together and then B’Elanna’s hand slipped away. Gently, oh so gently, he probed Seven, slipping around the wet folds, trying to take his time. She was wet and getting wetter and he knew his control was slipping. Carefully, he inserted a finger into her and was surprised as hell when she pushed back against it, voicing a muted “Ah,” the only sound she had made since breaking the kiss with B’Elanna. He vaguely heard B’Elanna speaking.
“Seven, remember this afternoon? Last night? You eat me now.” The mattress shook slightly as B’Elanna slid her heels up until her feet were flat on the bed and let her knees fall wide. Seven hesitated, turning her head in Tom’s direction. B’Elanna spoke to her again. “Don’t worry about Tom. He’s gonna take good care of you. Trust me, okay?
“Yes, B’Elanna.” Seven bent to her, touching her lips delicately to the thick dark curls.
B’Elanna moaned and raised her hips to meet the blonde head. Seven rumbled deeply this time, a distinctly Klingon sound.
Tom was in a haze of indecision for what could possibly have been the very first time in his life. He wanted to watch them so badly, but he wanted oh he wanted inside so badly, inside that lovely moist opening beckoning just inches away. In the end, his penis made the decision for him.
He closed the short distance between them, and eased forward just a little, until the tip penetrated her. His intention was to wait a moment, to allow her to adjust, but it was clear this would not be necessary. In a remarkable maneuver, Seven grasped B’Elanna’s hips to keep her with her and moved backwards on the bed, sinking him to the hilt inside her.
Tom lost coherent thought as his body instinctively took over. He pulled back and thrust smoothly into her, pulled back and thrust again, and yet again. He brought one hand forward, searching for the nub of nerves he knew was there. In the process, his fingers brushed across the wires criss-crossing her midsection, and instantly he felt her inner muscles grip him. He left off his search for her clitoris and stayed with the wires. The bed rocked.
B’Elanna had grabbed the lighted headboard when the bed began to move, and she could tell by the ebb and flow of Seven’s mouth that Tom’s rhythm was increasing. She brought a hand to herself to encourage her own climax as Seven’s concentration began to wane further with the acceleration of Tom behind her. She felt the back of Tom’s hand on Seven’s stomach and smiled to herself. Tom had discovered the bonus.
B’Elanna dared to steal a look at her bedmates just as she felt herself reaching her summit. The look on their faces. They were both so--so close. She began to sizzle, feeling a tingling sensation along the backs of her thighs. Oh my, oh my…god, they were…going to…come at the…at the…same…
And B’Elanna roared, lifting her hips completely off the bed at the same moment Seven exhaled profoundly and shuddered violently above her, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed closed, rocking against Tom.
Tom mouth was open but he was without voice, unable to do anything more than grip Seven’s fragile ass and pulse into her. He hoped like hell he was not leaving fingerprint bruises, because B’Elanna would certainly flay him if he was, and so he tried with as much effort as he could spare to ease up his grip.
* * *
For all that orgasm could seem to go on forever while one was in the throes of it, these three were all done in less than a minute. They collapsed in on one another and lay there heaving for another minute. After a moment’s rearrangement on the bed to gain a comfortable sleeping position, they drifted immediately into slumber, without a single word exchanged.
And this was how they remained until ship’s morning.