Title:    The place to be (if you...)
Author:   Veronica Jane Williams
Contact:  xkhoi@iafrica.com
Series:   Voyager
Code  :   P/7
Rating:   PG13

Disclaimer: I didn't dream up Paris and Seven. Paramount owns them 
and Voyager. I own this little PWP piece.

Summary:  Tom wants to drown his sorrow and Seven thinks she
can cheer him up. 

So totally PWP, with a little bit o'smut. From Ronnie

THE PLACE TO BE (IF YOU...)

Sandrine's was the place to be if you wanted to dance, to flirt,
to socialise and to drown your misery in bourbon. That's what
he thought as he sat at the little round table surrounded only
by the holohussies and other Sandrine holographic regulars.

Nursing his drink.

He was going to tipple the whole evening so he could be 
pleasantly drunk. By the time he left, he would forget why he 
raised the elbow in the first place. 

<That's what you get for being nice, he thought>. 

"Lt. Paris."

Tom jumped at the sound of the voice, its timbre if anything was 
less than melodious and its register always slightly monotone.

Seven.

<Damn, he thought. She should really inject more feeling into
her voice. But then, she was impervious most of the time to
"irrelevant" things.

He swung round, if a little lazily, and saw Seven standing not
a metre away from him. It was quiet, with no crew here. Then
he thought idly that Seven broke his code. He had come here
to... No, forget it. He stood up, and rose to her full height.
His face was level with hers, would be higher if she didn't
wear those ridiculous high heels. He looked at her, a mocking
smile hovering on his lips.

"So Seven, either you soft-shoed in here or you really are a
cat."  He kept her gaze, or rather, she kept his.

"Cat? A Terran feline, domesticated." 

"Exactly," he said, becoming suddenly interested, and the
haze of the bourbon rapidly dissipating.

"I take it you mean the cat, Lt. Paris," she said, and Tom could
swear he saw a gleam in her eye. And a whisper of whatever it was
that had to pass for a smile.

"You can take it anyway you like, Seven," he said, as he walked
with her to the bar. She stood with her back against the counter
while he faced her. Seven thought sitting was not a Borg thing.

"Borg do not sit," she told Neelix once.

"So tell me, why are you here? Assuming you are here to see me?"
he asked, trying to gauge the expression in her eyes. They were
green, changing oddly, to blue-green. Of course, her damned 
outfit didn't help any. Her eyes were large, and really cat-like, 
he decided. They had an open regard. He had to give it to her, 
she was most of the time disarmingly direct. To the point of
embarrassment.

"I understand you are the most experienced with women," she said,
and before he could boast, continued: "I understand you are 
experienced in being...being...cuckolded."

Tom, who was still holding his glass and had just taken a sip,
almost choked on his drink, spluttered some, then said:

"Who's been talking, Seven?"

Seven noticed the Lieutenant's ears turned a bright pink.

"I have been in consultation with the Doctor - "

"Who is *supposed* to observe doctor-patient confidentiality,"
came his retort.

"You blush."

"And you," he coughed slightly, "are verydirect. He placed his 
glass on the counter, reaching past her, and colliding with her 
very ample bosom. He coughed again, then regained his composure, 
placing his hands on each side of her, trapping her in his arms. 
His hands rested loosely on the counter. He met her gaze, until 
she dropped hers. He could swear her eyelids fluttered. <So I'm 
not the only one who is embarrassed, he thought>.

"I - I am sorry. I seem to have offended you, Lt. Paris," she
offered.

"Unsettled a little, but not offended, Seven. Never offended,"
he repeated as he brought his face close to hers and actually
enjoyed that she showed some discomfiture. "Now, back to your
question: Why?"

"I understand from Harry that Lt. Torres has taken another
partner."

Tom blanched at her directness. But he stood his ground.

"And?"

"And that you need to be...cheered," she said, emphasizing the
last word, and almost nodding forward as she said it.

"How do you think, Seven, Tom Paris needs...cheering?"

"I wish to copulate with you."

"That's it? Just copulate, and serve my needs?"

"Yes."

"And do you wish to enjoy this...copulation?" he asked. Tom
remembered how flustered Harry had been when Seven offered
him the same soon after she was integrated with the crew.

"That is irrelevant."

"Oh," he said, as his hand came up, and he stroked her cheek
softly, his thumb lightly touching her full lower lip. He saw
her lips part. "Do you feel my hand on your cheek?"

"Irrelevant," she blurted again, as his thumb pressed against
her lips, rubbing gently. He could feel her warm breath against
his hand. His own breathing became shallow. God, he thought,
he was becoming aroused. As she was. His fingers trailed down
her cheek, gently whispering over her jaw, settling in the hollow
of her neck. He sensed her confusion. She was feeling things.

"Irrelevant," she said again, though reluctantly this time.
But she gasped as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb again
caressing the centre so that her nipple became erect. She looked
down, saw how it responded to his touch. She cried out softly
as he pressed again, tracing little circles round it, the other
hand now on her other breast.

"Are you enjoying this, Seven?" he asked hoarsely.

"You are becoming aroused, Lt. Paris," she said.

"Do you find this human activity something to be enjoyed?" he
asked again, as his hands left her breast, circled her narrow
waist, then held her hips and pulled her against his arousal.
She gasped again, giving a little cry after that. He held her 
away from him again, still holding her hips, but his thumbs now 
worked towards her centre, her core. He watched her face, saw 
the warring emotions playing in her eyes, now suddenly 
very expressive. His fingers pressed against her core, and he
rubbed lazily, and smiled mockingly as she responded by
spreading her legs to accommodate his roving hands against her 
centre.  Even through the fine fabric of the suit, he could
feel that she was wet, and very aroused. "Enjoying it?" he asked 
as his mouth came close to hers.

"Ir...re...le...vant..." she said as his lips claimed hers at
last in a searing kiss. Her mouth opened under his, and he darted
his tongue inside. He could feel she was on fire. His head
swam, and it was not the bourbon. His lips burned on his, and
she pressed into him, wanting him continue stroking her as
her hands came down and covered his, pressing them hard against
her. With magnificent restraint he pulled away, his eyes were 
hot and smouldering, his breath short and raspy.

His voice was hoarse as he said: "Lesson complete."

"Lieutenant."

"Yeah?"

"I - enjoyed it. Very much."

"Fine, then let me negotiate ways of removing this damned
catsuit..." he said. 

When Tom Paris left Sandrine's, he was grinning like a
Cheshire cat.

THE END


Ronnie would like to hear from you. 


This page courtesy Geocities.