Author’s Note (11/01): The title and the fantasy is taken from the Masterpiece Theater presentation, “Reckless,” written by Paul Abbott, and this story was written at the time “Reckless” first aired, whenever that was. This is a harmless bit of pure smut between Our Favorite Couple and is not intended to carry any greater significance or deeper meaning. Additional Note: Even though B’Elanna’s hair is no longer black on the show, it will always be black in my stories. Hang onto your diapies, babies, this one’s rated NC-17.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns it all. Always has, always will. I accept this.
by Diane Bellomo
“Okay,” Tom whispered into thin air, “you’re half asleep in bed and I’m coming back late. I’ve had a hard day, you’ve had a hard day—and you look like heaven. Peaceful, dreaming. So I’m not gonna dive on you.
“I take my clothes off, come to the bottom of the bed and lift up the duvet. I see your feet. I kiss your feet. I lick your feet. I kiss your knees. I can’t see your face, but I know that you know. And it’s perfect. We both smell perfect. And when I get to your lips, you really know I’m there. Oh…mmm… And you’re smiling. You’re kissing me and you’re licking me…”
“Mr. Paris!” The Doctor’s voice resounded annoyingly from Sickbay’s main room. “How long does it take to retrieve a hypospray?”
“Shit. I’ve gotta go. I love you.” He broke communications, picked up the hypospray, and walked reluctantly from the supply closet back into Sickbay proper.
* * *
Alone in Tom’s quarters, B’Elanna pounded the bed and kicked her feet in supreme Klingon sexual frustration, loudly voicing her displeasure with a sound somewhere between a snarl and a whine. It was an interesting discord, to say the least, and one which Ensigns Gimburg and Hee next door might be very thankful they were not home to hear. They heard enough as it was.
She searched for something to throw, but Tom had long ago either removed or nailed down anything remotely breakable within arm’s reach of the bed. Instead, she hefted a pillow into the air, and it sailed towards the living area, landing without hitting a thing and barely making a sound.
Snarling again, she yanked her nightgown over her head and whipped it across the bed. Naked, she flopped down, brought the comforter up to her neck, raised her knees and spread them. One arm snaked between her legs, the other reached up to touch a breast. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to do for now. She sighed and gave herself over to the sensations.
* * *
Tom stumbled out of Sickbay, eyes burning, head pounding, feet aching. It had only been a partial shift, tacked onto his full beta shift at the helm, but it felt like two and half, and he was tired to the bone. The Doctor had lectured him solidly for the first two hours, and immediately followed that with two hours of holographic surgery instruction.
How was it that he could effortlessly steer Voyager for hours on end and not feel the least bit worn out, but after four measly hours with Doctor Frankenstein, he was ready for the scrap heap?
Because you’re a pilot, not a paramedic, idiot. Naomi Wildman could have told him that.
Nevertheless, he was free now, with an entire shift off-duty, not counting the rest of this one. He went straight for his quarters and a nice, hot water shower and bed.
Entering his darkened quarters, certain receptors in his brain sharpened up immediately. His nostrils flared. He could smell her. He suddenly remembered the state in which he had left her—about a thousand hours ago—halfway through his little communicator-sex talk.
The rest of his body perked up in response to his thought, a specific portion perking mightily. Toeing off his boots, he padded quietly to the bed, sidestepping a pillow on the floor in the middle of the room, and looked down at her.
She was on her back, and the blanket was down her belly, revealing slightly asymmetrical breasts topped with dusky soft nipples. One arm was thrown across her eyes, the other had mostly disappeared beneath the covers. He knew where her fingers were. Her knees were up and spread apart. If it weren’t for the location of that one hand, she might have looked like a child.
He stripped of his clothing right there, leaving it piled at his feet. After twelve hours on duty, four of it in that den of disease and pestilence known as Sickbay, he knew he smelled bad. He had wanted a shower, but he also knew B’Elanna preferred him, as she liked to put it, “pungent.”
He raised an arm to check his pits. Phew. Yup, he smelled bad, and he just couldn’t stand himself.
“Sorry, Bella,” he murmured, and went for the sonic shower. Maybe he could talk her into a water shower later. She might enjoy sour smells, but she also enjoyed soaping up and ridding both their bodies of those very same sour smells.
* * *
Less than two minutes later, fresh as a daisy, Tom stood naked at the foot of the bed. He looked at her for a long moment. Her position hadn’t really changed. She was still on her back with her knees up, but she had moved the arm that had been across her eyes to above her head on the pillow. Even though her breasts were exposed, he did not look at them. He studied her face. She looked like an angel to him, but he had learned early on never, ever to call her that—not to her face or when speaking of her to anyone else while she was within hearing range.
The Doctor never did get a straight answer out of him about how he managed to lose a tooth. Twice. Same tooth.
Very carefully, he worked the bottom of the comforter away from where it was tucked in and raised it. She shifted slightly as the cooler air hit her skin, but did not waken. She slid her heels on the sheet, but her knees stayed up. He smiled. She was very childlike at times.
“Okay,” he whispered, this time to her sleeping form, “you’re asleep in bed and I’m coming back late. I’ve had a hard day, you’ve had a hard day—and you look like heaven. Peaceful, dreaming. So I’m not gonna dive on you.
“I take my clothes off, come to the bottom of the bed and lift up the duvet. I see your feet. I kiss your feet.”
Tenting the comforter over his back, he bent and chastely kissed the bridge of one warm brown foot. She moaned and slid her foot away. He followed it and kissed it again, this time a little more insistently. Then he raised up and whispered once more.
“I lick your feet.”
Bending again, and bringing one hand to her heel to hold her foot in place, he drew his tongue over her toes and straight up her leg to her knee. He had run out of spit somewhere along the way and had to stop for a second to get his saliva going again.
B’Elanna was murmuring, humming. Beneath the humid blanket, the muffled, husky sound was giving Tom goosebumps.
“I kiss your knees.”
He kissed said knees.
“I can’t see your face, but I know that you know. And it’s perfect. We both smell perfect.” He inhaled deeply and heard her empty her lungs in one long “Ahh.”
He moved between her raised knees, out from under the comforter, and up to her face, resting his elbows to either side of her head and smiling down at her. He played with her hair, sifting it through his fingers.
God, he loved her hair. She had not inherited the dull dryness so common to full Klingons, but instead was blessed with the silky, shining black strands of her Spanish ancestors. In some light, it actually shone blue.
“Tommie?” she whispered, brushing his cheek hesitantly, as if afraid to disturb him. He blinked and brought her face into focus again.
“Oh. Sorry, it’s just your hair…”
“It’s all right, lover. I know.”
He just looked at her, still playing with her hair. She astounded him on a regular basis. As much as her Klingon temper flared at the drop of a hat, so did her humanity manifest itself at the most unexpected moments.
She knew he loved her hair. Of course she knew. She knew everything.
Tidying his thoughts, he took up where he had left off. “And when I get to your lips, you really know I’m there.”
He grinned and she matched it as he dropped his head to meet her upturned lips, touching chest to chest. It tickled, but it felt great, too. She reached her hands up into his damp, curly blonde hair, massaging his scalp with her fingers.
“Mmm…” He broke the kiss. “And you’re smiling.”
Yes, she was smiling.
“You’re kissing me and you’re licking me…” He leaned his face close to her lips, extending the invitation.
She moaned and began to lick him, first with quick flicks of her tongue on his cheek, and then lengthening her stroke as she moved down his torso, rearranging her legs between his so she could continue to slide beneath him.
Tom raised up onto his hands and knees, easily straddling her, letting his head hang down, giving himself entirely to her.
She slid further beneath him until her legs were hanging off the bottom of the bed and her mouth was neatly aligned with the body part that had been hoping for just this sort of attention from her.
She wrapped her hand securely around him and took the head of his penis into her mouth, sucking it like a lollipop, scraping her teeth against it. She was humming pleasurably, as if she had found the nectar of the gods. She sucked and stroked and petted until it became impossible for her to maintain her position beneath him because he couldn’t stay still.
At one point when he was rocking forward and off balance, she pushed gently against his hip and he fell over sideways. The comforter slid silently off the bed and landed in a heap beside his clothing.
She turned as he fell and brought her triangle of wet curls to his lips. She was very good. Though her grip slipped as she turned, never once had she released him.
They licked one another in sedate feline fashion for a number of minutes, without a goal in mind. Or at least without a goal in Tom’s mind. B’Elanna could take oral sex for an incredibly long time without coming. In fact, last time they checked, it had taken her exactly one hour, three minutes, forty-seven seconds, and then only because his jaw had cramped and he had brought his hand to her to help her along.
He, of course, was not so gifted, especially not when they sixty-nined like this. He knew B’Elanna had a goal in mind, one she was presently striving for with renowned Klingon application.
“B…B’Ela…” he raised his head and stuttered, unable to get his tongue around her name.
She lifted her mouth from him, but kept her hand there, pumping lightly. Her face was wet and her lips dripping from the extra saliva she had deliberately produced to keep things nice and juicy. She was smiling broadly, clearly loving it.
“Hey there, Tommie. How ya doing?” How ya doing was B’Elanna’s favorite euphemism. A simple question that never failed to make his toes tingle.
“I think…I think…,” he choked. She adjusted her grip on him and began to pump with vigor, returning her mouth to the small slit, teasing it with the tip of her tongue. He rolled to his back and squeezed his eyes shut, his breath quickening.
“C’mon, flyboy, c’mon….” She urged and bent to take him fully into her mouth, scratching his balls with her fingernails, squeezing gently a couple of times.
“Ah, God, B’Elanna!” He gasped and bucked. She removed her mouth seconds before he began spurting forth, warm and sticky, all down himself, her hand, and his stomach.
Even with his eyes shut, he knew she had watched it all, fascinated with this particularly messy bodily function.
“Mmm…where’d you put the tissues?”
He panted. “Under the bed. Jeezus, Bella, give me a second, wouldya?”
She came back to him after rooting around upside down under the bed for the tissues. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I keep forgetting you’re trying to enjoy it more nowadays.” Her tone indicated she was not the least bit sorry.
“Yeah, thanks.” He grabbed a wad of tissues from the box, jerked away from her, pouting, and began mopping at himself.
“Hey, hey.” B’Elanna said softly, moving into his line of vision. He caught her eyes and was lost to her. If he thought he could stay mad or even a little bit frustrated with her for any length of time at all, he was just kidding himself. One look into those lovely dark pools and he forgot his own name.
She was indeed sorry for her flippant attitude and proved it by taking the tissues from him to clean him herself. He slid back down onto the bed and let her finish.
“Now what?” he asked when he was dry. She had fetched the comforter back onto the bed and had it draped over them both. His quarters were not as warm as hers, since he didn’t have half-Klingon physiology to contend with. As a result, she usually got cold when she was in his quarters for any length of time.
He allowed one stray thought about how they’d have to come to a meeting of the minds sooner or later regarding what, exactly, was “room temperature.” He forgot for a second he had asked her a question until she answered with one of her own.
“What time is it?”
He raised up and glanced at the old-fashioned clock, firmly attached to his bedside stand. “Oh four thirty.”
“How ya doing?” In spite of his very recent fountain effect, his dick stirred.
“Oh, pretty good, I’d say.”
“C’mon,” she said, shifting the comforter off and standing, grabbing his hand.
* * *
Both wrapped in bathrobes, they walked barefoot, hand-in-hand down the corridor outside his quarters. The lighting was dimmed for night and there was absolutely no one around. When they reached the end of the corridor by the turbolift, she stopped and backed him up against the lift doors. She opened both their robes and pressed her body against him.
“Fuck me, Tom,” she whispered, mashing her lips onto his, forcing his mouth open and pushing her tongue inside. She excelled at delivering bruising kisses, and he knew he would remember these for days.
This was an infinitely dangerous game they were playing, and they both knew they would pay dearly if caught. So far, they had never been caught, but there was always that first time.
The thought hardened him further. He felt himself twitch against her belly as she continued to crush herself to him.
“Oh, yeah, flyboy,” she growled, commenting about the movement on her stomach, “that’s very nice.” She rolled against him, stood on her tiptoes, and raised one leg against the lift doors. “I. Said. Fuck. Me.”
He could never understand how she could maintain this position. It had to be killing the leg she was standing on, but he could never remember to ask her about it afterward. Instead, he did what his instincts screamed and practice had developed into one really smooth maneuver.
He bent his knees slightly and took hold of the thigh that was up beside him. She raised higher on her toes how in God’s name?, and he slid into her. She teetered for a moment, impaled on him, until she found her center of balance again and slid firmly against him.
“Oh YES!” she hissed, a little too loudly for their present location.
“Hush, Bee!” he managed, but he was already far beyond worrying about it. Lips locked together, they rocked and thrust in counterpoint until he felt the familiar shimmy that indicated the imminent arrival of her orgasm.
He reached beneath the robe to grab her ass, pulling her midsection roughly to him, ripping his mouth from hers. Her head fell back and her lips parted. She was panting and her eyes were closed. He saw her run her tongue over her lips to moisten them, but they dried before his eyes as her breathing turned seriously ragged.
“C’mon, B’Elan…na, your t…t…turn. C…come for me. Uh…huh…come…forr…me.” His control was slipping, but he knew he had to hang on until she was done. There was still one more thing left to occur before her orgasm could tear her apart.
He finally felt severe contractions grip his cock.
He knew she didn’t need encouragement, but he also knew she liked to hear it. “Now, B…b…bell, oh…God…now!” He tried to relax so it wouldn’t hurt so much, but he knew it was hopeless.
She dropped her head forward and sank her teeth deeply into his shoulder, quaking violently against him, a muffled wail sending a burst of flame down his arm. She had shoved him hard against the turbolift door, and friction from the bathrobe was burning his ass.
He couldn’t see the wound she had inflicted, but he could feel it and had to struggle to keep from crying out. He could feel heat and pain and numbness and blood dripping down his chest and smearing across his back.
He often supposed that anyone viewing their love-making would wonder at just how much love was involved. He couldn’t even deny to himself that before he met B’Elanna, he had never imagined the raw sort of things they did in the name of love. But now he could not imagine it any other way.
And once again, as it always did, these thoughts and his pain served to propel his body to shuddering climax. He felt himself pulsing within her and groaned aloud with the effort and the agony.
They both slid to the floor to recover, a tangle of sweaty arms and legs. B’Elanna was first to come around this time.
She licked his earlobe, whispering, “Woo-boy, lover. That was just fantastic.” She must have noticed the bloody bite then because she commented. “Aw, look what I did to my poor boy.” She touched the angry mark, already beginning to swell, and he winced.
“Ah, it’s nothing.” He waved her hand away. It was hardly nothing, but it wasn’t exactly a bad thing, either. It just was, and no matter how much it hurt, he wouldn’t trade his wounds for anything. He was even content to let some of them heal on their own, as long as the scar was well hidden.
Considering Janeway liked to touch him while he was on duty at the helm—at pretty much the very spot where B’Elanna had bitten him—he knew this was one for the regenerator.
The turbolift doors had remained closed. No one had seen them. Tom was not so sure no one had heard them, but since no one had come out to see what was going on, he didn’t give it another thought.
He checked the floor. Good. No blood had dripped onto the carpeting. That had happened once, and he just about busted a gut getting back to the spot to clean it up before alpha shift started.
B’Elanna was licking the mark, which relieved some of the godawful throbbing.
“Let’s go,” he suggested, “I think our shower awaits.” She smiled and purred, nodding in agreement.
They assembled themselves and walked hand-in-hand back to his quarters.