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2000-02-15 00:00:00 - Best-Laid Plans - (-Sir Matthew Good- <m_g_b_f_c@hotmail.com>)


On the starship *Voyager*, it was a dark and stormy night. The darkness was simply the normal, gradual change to nighttime illumination that took place on most decks in the hours after dayshift ended, and was not unexpected. The storm, on the other hand, was confined to a small area on Deck 2, specifically, the mess hall. Even in the carefully controlled, artificial environment of a starship, certain conditions could change abruptly, although the warning signs were evident and came as no real surprise to anyone. The duty schedules of Lieutenants Torres and Paris had finally sychronized, and at last they had a week where they could spend most of their free time together. The first such night found them in the mess hall after shift change, their heads bent together in what had become a familiar sight to their crewmates, who naturally assumed the pair was discussing their plans for the evening. Then came the clatter of a dinner tray being slammed against a table...and the warning flags went up. The air in the mess hall suddenly seemed charged with an almost electrical tension. Those closest to the storm center heard thunder with a distinctly Klingon tone, and saw clouds darkening a usually sunny face. "I am sick and tired of spending time on the Holodeck! Why can't we stay in tonight?" Behind the serving counter, Neelix glanced up with a nervous grin. "What did we do for excitement before those two?" he noted quietly to Ensign Parsons. No one heard Tom Paris' rejoinder, but it obviously didn't please the chief engineer. "You can go skiing until you get frostbite for all I care!" B'Elanna snarled, pushing her chair back with near hurricane force as she leapt to her feet. The chair landed in the path of Lieutenant Baxter, who was just turning to find a seat. He tripped and went crashing to the floor, as his tray went sailing into the nearest replicator panel. "Frostbite?!" Tom exclaimed, rising from his seat and leaning on the table. "It's better than getting sand abrasions all over my--" his teeth clicked together as he stopped short, the flashing of his lover's eyes warning him not to continue. Neelix rushed over to aid the fallen Security officer. Several people ran to the dented replicator. "I'll start repairs," a junior engineer volunteered promptly, avoiding eye contact with his Chief; while his companions hurried to clean up the mess on the floor. Everyone else in the dining room suddenly found their meals utterly fascinating. "I *do not* want to go out tonight," B'Elanna declared loudly. "Fine. We'll...stay...in," Tom ground out through clenched teeth. "Fine!" she retorted. Jenny Delaney's nerve broke and she fled, to pass the warning to the residents on the decks below--time to batten down the hatches. The two stared at each other a moment longer, oblivious to the other crew watching them surreptitiously, holding their collective breath, and silently praying the two lovers, or combatants, would leave without further incident. Finally, B'Elanna took a step towards the exit. Tom strode forward at the exact same second, almost colliding with her. Another charged look passed between them, and then Tom eased back. "After you," he said, his voice deathly quiet. B'Elanna tossed her head and preceded him into the corridor. Once the door had closed behind the volatile pair, a shaky bout of laughter filled the room, as the remaining occupants expressed their relief at not becoming another victim this evening. Ensign Parsons looked up at Neelix as they helped Baxter back to his feet. "You were saying about excitement?" An eerie calm surrounded the lieutenants as they made their way to the turbolift in silence. Tom reached for the call button, but B'Elanna's hand snaked out quickly and beat him to it. He dropped his hand and glared at her. Nostrils flaring, she turned away and regarded the doors as if she found them infinitely more attractive. Ensign Vorik came down the corridor, intent upon returning to his quarters after some overtime repair work on another part of the deck. But the atmosphere in front of the lift was so foreboding, even to a Vulcan, that he decided it would be most logical to go the long way back to his cabin, even if it meant crawling through the Jefferies tubes rather than brave the turbulence ahead. The lift doors finally opened, and Tom bowed low, waving his erstwhile lover in. The sarcasm behind the gentlemanly gesture only served to fuel her ire as she brushed past him, snagging his outstretched hand and dragging him in after her. "Deck 5," Tom ordered, just as B'Elanna uttered, "Deck 4." Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why my quarters again?" he demanded, as the lift began its descent. "So you can break more of my furniture? All that recycling and replicating gets noticed by Ship's Services you know, *Chief*!" "As if it's any of their business!" she growled, moving closer to him, her eyes smoldering as he backed into the wall. "It is when I get a memo about 'wasting replicator energy'!" "Deal with it!" she snapped, almost on him. "Back off, sweetheart!" Tom said, throwing his arms up to fend her off. "I'd like to survive one week without any broken bones!" "Don't you 'sweetheart' me, you--you--" B'Elanna ground to a halt, unable to think of a suitable epithet. The fires of anger and lust flared inside her. She lashed out with both hands, one on either side of his body in an attempt to trap him against the wall. Tom lunged forward and twisted to deflect her, catching her fist in his hand. But she followed through, and both their hands impacted on the lift controls with a bone-jarring crack. "Dammit!" Tom swore fiercely, trying to push her back. Snarling in pain, B'Elanna kicked him in the knee. The lift shuddered to halt. Already doubling over, Tom felt himself falling, and reached out and snared B'Elanna around the waist, dragging her down after him. As she fell, B'Elanna twisted, landing elbow first across Tom's torso, cushioning her fall at his expense. She rolled over, panting with anger as he gasped for air. On the Bridge, a tiny light began flashing on the Ops control panel. Ensign Lang made note of an apparent turbolift malfunction, and sent a message to dispatch a repair crew. "You bitch," Tom snarled softly, his eyes flashing as furious heat built in him to match hers. "*petaQ*!" she spat at him. Blue lightning met dark thunder as they gazed into each other's eyes, and Tom reached up, twining his fingers roughly in her hair. He pulled her down, their lips barely touching, and B'Elanna's parted in anticipation. Tom tightened his grip and wrenched her head to the side, sinking his teeth into the smooth column of her throat. B'Elanna gave a strangled cry of shocked pleasure, and her hand darted to the collar of his tunic. Tom jerked his head away. "Not this time--" But he was too late. She ripped his uniform open and lunged for his neck. Tom howled with pain and desire as she bit him. His hands released their hold on her hair after an abortive attempt to pull her away from his neck. Deciding that one ruined uniform deserved another, he took hold of the back of her collar, and exerting all his strength, tore her smock and tunic down the middle. B'Elanna growled against his throat as she felt her uniform top give way. A desperately rational voice in her head tried to whisper that they really shouldn't be doing this in the lift. But she was too inflamed by anger and desire to listen. When she felt Tom's hands slide down her back, sensuously fingering the slight ridges of her spine before slipping under the waistband of her pants, the little voice gave up and took cover. Her hands roamed recklessly down his side, pulling his turtleneck from his trousers and working back up over the heated skin of his torso. She retained enough sense of the moment to realize that they wouldn't have much time before the malfunctioning lift was noticed and one of her repair teams showed up. "Hurry--hurry," she hissed in Tom's ear, raising her hips. He took the hint, stripping her pants and briefs off as she slid her knees forward to make it easier to slide them over her boots. Reason raged futilely against desire in Tom's mind as he realized what they were doing. But he was acting on instinct now, and there was no going back. He held B'Elanna up with his legs, and quickly shoved down his own trousers and briefs. B'Elanna tore herself away from his neck with another growl, and her eyes closed to slits as she felt him raise up, and his skin made contact with hers. Then he was pressed against her, hard and hot. She raised her hips higher and her hand trailed down to grasp his heated flesh. She bared her teeth in a triumphant, predator's smile as his eyes closed from the sensation of her hand on him. "B'Elanna, my pants--" he moaned, trying to get her to understand they were stuck just below his knees. "No time!" she growled, lowering herself onto him and smothering any protest in a fevered, plundering kiss. Any thought of the state of his clothing was driven away as the first sensation of her hot, wet flesh surrounding him raced through his body. Meanwhile, Repair Crew Seven reported to the Bridge that they were on the way to Deck 4 to attend to the stuck lift. "Acknowledged," said Ensign Lang. "And check the environmental controls as well. I'm reading a substantial increase in temperature." Tom and B'Elanna moved together, in total harmony for the first time that evening. Words of love and passion were exchanged, and heated breath caressed flushed skin as they strained toward their common goal. Two voices mingled in a wordless cry as they were swept under by the force of their climax. As the echoes died away, Tom held her close and she nuzzled his ear. "Who needs the Holodeck?" he murmured contentedly. "The hell with staying in," she whispered back. Just at that moment, the floor gave an abrupt surge, and panic glinted in Tom's eyes. "What the--" he began. "It's got to be one of my repair teams trying to get this thing restarted," B'Elanna said softly. "Nothing to worry about." Tom craned his neck back to get a look at his uncannily placid lover. "Umm, I hate to say this, but don't you think it'll be a bit embarrassing for us to be found here like this?" The lift jolted again and began to slowly descend. "No, I don't," she replied. "Why, afraid for your reputation, Helmboy?" "B'Elanna!" Tom reached down toward his knees, trying in vain to reach his pants. "B'Elanna, we're almost to Deck--" With exaggerated calm B'Elanna snuggled her head down onto Tom's shoulder. "Computer, initiate transporter sequence Torres X-ray one." After entering his override code, Ensign Ashmore waited patiently for the turbolift to settle on to Deck 4, his hand poised over the door controls in case they were jammed too. Tom felt the transporter take hold of them just as the lift stopped. He saw the doors begin to open...and found himself lying back in the softness of his own bed. B'Elanna sat up and calmly began to pull her torn clothing together. She grinned evilly at him. "I told you not to worry." As the lift doors slowly opened of their own volition, Ashmore's eyes widened in shock. His lips twitched in a tiny grin at what he could have sworn he had seen on the floor of the lift before the doors slid fully apart. Ensign Lang noticed the transport, and was about to report it to Commander Chakotay, when she saw the destination. Looking cautiously about, she tapped a few keys, and cleared the log of the obviously erroneous reading. *This should come in handy the next time I need help on my navigational evaluations,* she thought smugly. Stepping inside the lift with his partner, Ashmore wasn't very surprised to find the control panel smashed. Bending closer, he noticed a tiny smear of something vaguely pinkish, but quickly wiped his sleeve over it before it was noticed. "Umm, Ensign?" "Yes?" He turned from working on the panel. "What do you think could have caused this?" "Frustration, most likely." That was all the answer his partner got out of him. While they labored to repair the damage from the storm, just a short distance down the hall a faint rumble of thunder could be heard. "What in the Nine Hells was the idea of waiting so long? And I thought we were going to your quarters!" The reply was a growl and the soft whump of a pillow impacting a body. It promised to be a very long week. ---------------------------- VICTORY THROUGH SHEER VOLUME ---------------------------- Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/ Before you buy.