textfiles/sex/EROTICA/P/puberty.txt

     Tom Paris took a deep breath and wondered how the hell he'd
managed to do it again.  Nothing was ever simple, hadn't been since
he'd gotten tanked one time too many over one argument with one
girlfriend too many, and killed three of his friends.  Probably
even since before then, since the first time he realized he'd
never, ever measure up to his oversized hero of a father.  "Only
the best."  He'd heard the motto so many times he thought he'd puke
whenever he thought about it.  And always falling short, never
quite making the grade, good thing he was such a shit hot pilot
'cause he couldn't do another goddamned thing right -- his fevered
thoughts finally gave him the last bit of push he needed to break
through the fall of metal and rock blocking the passageway.  He
didn't dare use his phaser to burst through the barrier, didn't
know where B'Elanna was on the other side and didn't want to risk
hitting her with any sort of energy ricochet if she had somehow
managed to make it through the initial avalanche unscathed.  The
jolt under his feet had knocked him to the side, the earthquake
taking them completely unprepared, but Chief Engineer Torres and
her frigging precious crystal detectors had been caught in the
worst of it.  Now for some reason he hadn't had time to figure out,
not that he probably could, he wasn't a damned electrician, his
communicator wasn't working and she hadn't made any noise and he
wasn't sure if she was even still alive and deep inside he just
knew that this was his fault too--
     "Paris?"
     His knees actually swayed with relief at the gruff bark,
weaker than he was used to hearing but half-Klingon nonetheless. 
He couldn't see anything in the darkness through the small hole,
but she didn't sound completely healthy.
     "Torres?  You okay in there?" Where the hell are you?  He
didn't want to say it, didn't want to admit he felt as helpless as
he did.
     "No, you fucking moron, I'm not okay!"
     Now, that sounded more like Torres.  
     "I'm getting there!"
     "Get help, damnit!"  She sounded exasperated, but also fuzzy,
as if she were in more pain than she wanted him to realize.
     "There seems to be some sort of interference."  His breath
caught in little puffs from the exertion of widening the hole, but
he was compelled to keep trying.  He'd prided himself on being in
shape, but some of those rocks were heavier than they looked.
     She didn't respond, and he began to work faster, ignoring
complaining muscles and shifting debris in an almost obsessed drive
to get through to her.  Running through his mind was the
determination to get to her, not to lose her like he'd lost others,
before.  He wasn't about to let this one down, if he killed himself
in the process.
     With a grunt, he tore the last of the larger rock fragments
out of the way and pushed his head and shoulders through the hole. 
His eyes were becoming adjusted to the inky blackness, and he could
make out a female form huddled in a graceless mass on the edge of
the newly-created cave.  Struggling to free himself, he felt the
wall around him shift, and an answering sinking in his gut. 
Hurriedly he pushed the rest of his body through the opening,
sliding to a halt on the floor, his legs curled up underneath him. 
Pushing himself to his feet, he moved across the floor toward
B'Elanna, when the rumbling noise started again and the world
tilted on its axis.  Crying out incoherently, he threw his body
over her still form, tucking her head under his chest, feeling the
warm chuff of her breath on his throat before a sharp pain knocked
the present away from him.

*****************************************************

     B'Elanna Torres was a warrior.  Her Klingon mother had tried
to instill within her all the proper patterns of honor and fighting
skill, before deciding that she had too much of her Human father in
her blood, and washing her hands of her.  But the early lessons
hadn't been wasted.  Sitting in the murky darkness, trying to make
some contact with her crewmates, she refused to believe that they
were actually stranded.  She knew Chakotay, trusted him in ways she
had never trusted anyone else, knew that he and the Captain would
find a way to get them out of this mess.  Both of them.
     She gave up trying to reconfigure the communicator to cut
through the low level electromagnetic noise that was rendering it
useless, confident that it wouldn't be very long before a rescue. 
Their last known coordinates would serve as a good starting place
for the rescue team, although the same interference that was
bolluxing up the communicators would probably make transporters too
risky.  She bit off a curse, knowing there was nothing to do but
wait but hating the feeling of helplessness the knowledge gave her. 
She was not a patient person under the best of circumstances and
these were definitely not optimum conditions.  
     Paris.  Of all people to end up stuck in a cave with, to be
here with the Pig made her teeth grind.  True, when she came to
she'd been glad, momentarily, that he'd been on top of her.  If he
hadn't, she'd have taken the chunk of rock that knocked him out
right between the eyes.  But other than his being a Human shield,
he was a waste.  Involuntarily, her eyes traced the lines of his
body, stretched out where she had laid him after she realized he
was unconscious.  A well formed waste, with that odd Human flaxen
hair and those strange, alien bright blue eyes.  Blue eyed blondes
were rare, unknown in fact on the Klingon world where she was
raised.  She'd seen some blondes since joining the Maquis, but most
of them were cosmetically enhanced.  She caught herself staring at
his chest, then his groin, wondering if all that golden hair was
natural. And how far down it went.  Abruptly pulling herself from
her reverie, she put her hand tentatively to her throat.  She felt
oddly flushed, and her skin was warm, but she couldn't believe that
it was with arousal.  Not for Paris.  Young Kim, perhaps, she found
him appealing in a little-boy sort of way, but Paris?  His ego and
his callous attitude toward females was too hard for her to accept. 
And she never had liked skinny Humans.  Gradually, her eyes drifted
back to Tom's legs, splayed slightly where she'd rolled him off,
one leg gently flexed, the muscle smoothly stretched from his knee
along his thigh.  Not really aware of her actions, preoccupied with
the fever beginning to buzz in her blood, she shifted closer to him
and continued her study.  A slice of smile curved her lips, and her
skin continued to heat.

******************************************************

     "Any luck, Mr. Kim?  Mr. Tuvok?"  Captain Janeway's voice cut
through the tension on the bridge, steady and hard, not showing her
fear that they, no, she had lost two members of their crew.
     "No, Captain, not yet," came Harry Kim's frustrated reply,
followed closely by the calm tones of the Vulcan.
     "The interference pattern is shifting at irregular intervals,
Captain.  We are as yet unable to lock on to their signals. 
Communication is still not possible."
     Chakotay and Janeway exchanged looks.  Her worry and his
meshed as their emotions so often did, as they often found
themselves mirroring one another.
     "Keep trying."
     No one replied, but two heads bent even more determinedly to
two separate consoles.  The captain and her first officer stared at
the viewscreen, willing it to yield up clues for their crewmen to
follow.

*********************************************************

     What a weird noise.  The thought popped up in Tom Paris's
fuzzy mind, pushing its way past the pain in the back of his head
until he finally forced his eyes to open and try top locate the
source of the trilling.  The figure looming over him caused him to
start, instinctively rolling into a defensive position before he
realized it was B'Elanna.  Relief at her apparent good health
warred with damaged pride at reacting so badly to her nearness, and
he snapped off a wisecrack to cover his embarrassment. 
     "Some sort of Klingon death ritual?  Don't go getting excited,
Torres, I'm not dead yet!"
     She didn't answer, only hummed a little softer and moved a bit
closer.  In the dim light of the cave he could see an odd gleam in
her eyes.  If she had been anyone else, he would have sworn it was
predatory.  On her, it looked ... almost feral.
     "Um, Torres?"  His uncertainty showed in a not-quite-steady
voice.  "You okay?"
     She swayed toward him, like a snake in her sinuous movements,
then slowly collapsed across his lap.  He sat still with shock for
a split second before reaching behind him for the medical tricorder
Janeway had ordered him to bring along.  Snapping it open with a
muffled curse, he ran it over her supine body and tried to remember
what the obnoxious holodoctor had told him about interpreting the
readings.  With a short "sunuvabitch!" he realized he was holding
it upside down and reversed it.  Unfortunately, the readings didn't
make any more sense to him that way than they had before.
     "Why did she do this to me?  I'm no fucking medic!"  It was
almost a prayer.  "I'm a pilot!  That's all!"  He gently lifted
B'Elanna into a sitting position, wincing as her unexpectedly heavy
mass pulled sore muscles in his back.  "C'mon, Torres, wake up.  I
don't know what the hell I'm doing, you know that!"
     She stirred slightly, but didn't fully awaken.  He shifted her
until her head rested comfortably against his shoulder, adjusting
to the angular Klingon musculature, wishing he were bulkier.  Not
for the first time, he wished he was built like Chakotay.  Trying
the tricorder one more time, he remembered how to match the
readings it currently showed with the profile stored in it's
memory.  The only differences he could make out were slightly
elevated hormonal levels, an elevated body temperature, and
increased adrenalin.
     "Great.  Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?  The
flu?" He muttered between his teeth as he racked his brain to
figure out what was wrong with her and how he was supposed to fix
it.  Looking up from the little instrument panel, he was shocked to
find himself looking directly into her fever bright eyes.  Perhaps
it was whatever strange illness she had that was causing the
effect, but her eyes looked enormous in the half light.  He was
really starting to feel concerned about her.
     She brought her left hand up across his chest, sliding it
firmly across the firm surface of his muscles, testing the flesh
with her palm.  He looked back at the readings, noticing a peak in
her body temperature, and increased pulse rate.  This was not good. 
Without any warning, her right arm whipped out to brace against the
wall behind his back, and the fingers of her left hand speared
through his hair, pulling his head back.
     "Shit!  I'm not the enemy, Torres!"  He tried to bring his
arms up to break her hold, fearing in her fever that she was
reverting to her "Maquis versus Federation" mindset.  The LAST
thing he wanted was for an out-of-her-head Klingon to rip his head
off, then try to apologize for it later.  He managed to get his
hands up, but was unable to break her hold.  At the same time, he
twisted underneath her, trying to buck her off and put some
distance between them.  She growled, sounding strangely delighted,
and he felt her teeth close on the skin at the side of his neck. 
The sharp jolt of pain caused him to buck in earnest, more
frightened than he would care to admit, but she was stronger than
he and held him easily.  He felt the slight trickle of blood seep
into the collar of his uniform and went abruptly still, fearing any
further movement would cause her to hurt him even more.  To his
intense shock, she released her hold and lapped at his skin, the
roughness of her tongue causing him to shiver.
     "Uhhm, Torres?"  Softly.  Didn't want to startle her.  She'd
probably break his neck with her teeth, like a terrier killing a
rat.  "B'Elanna?"
     "Mmm?" she purred against the side of his throat.  He
swallowed heavily, and she traced the movement with her lips.   He
was completely confused now, knowing she was ill, but not knowing
quite what to do about it.  Worse, her actions were causing an
unwilling arousal, and he just knew if she felt his erection she
was definitely going to kill him for taking advantage of her fever. 
The fact that he was pinned down and she was the one making all the
moves wouldn't matter, he knew.  It would be a matter of honor, and
he'd get the short end of the stick.  She'd probably challenge him
to some sort of Klingon death dance or something and mop the floor
with him.  He shivered again, but not from anything pleasant. 
Images of his broken body under her booted foot loosened his tongue
again, and almost distracted him from the sensation of her hand
tugging at his hair, caressing his scalp, the imprint of her body
holding his against the wall of the cave.  Almost, but not quite.
     "B'Elanna?"  A little more loudly, trying to get her
attention.  "You ... um, you don't know what you're doing, here. 
You're ... sick, y'know?  This is Paris, B'Elanna.  You despise me,
remember?  Can't stand me.  Think I'm a pig.  Right?"  His voice
gradually grew tighter and fainter, as she pressed closer to him,
rubbing the tips of her breasts across his chest, leaving a trail
of fire in their wake.  Her nipples were already hard, and they
drew an answering response from him.  He inhaled sharply, and her
scent went straight to his crotch, making him even harder and
upsetting his already tenuous grip on reality.  He couldn't believe
this was happening, and was afraid at any minute she'd come to her
senses and tear him apart.  The thought softened him somewhat and
strengthened his resolve to save her (and himself) from her
unexpected lust.  He didn't want to deal with the aftermath if he
let this go any farther.
     Leaning against him fully, she drew her right arm away from
the wall and began to knead the muscles in his shoulder, then down
the curve of his back, pulling him up to her, continuing to hold
his head back with her other hand.  Burying her face in his throat,
licking and nipping the tender skin along the side of his neck and
following the tendon down to the hollow of his collarbone, she
finally stopped her exploration at his buttock, digging her fingers
into the muscle.  That was his cue.  Ignoring the erection that
demanded he respond in kind, he flipped B'Elanna onto her side,
dislodging himself from her hold and rolling away from her grasping
hands.  Now there was pain in his scalp, from wrenching her hand
from his hair, to match the pain in his neck where she'd bitten
him, but at least he had a little distance.  Maybe he could get her
to listen to him.
     "Torres!" he snapped authoritatively, hoping command voice
would get her attention.  It didn't -- his command voice wasn't
really all that commanding.  She came at him in a crouch, like a
street fighter, and he had to twist like an eel to escape her
outstretched hands.  She growled low in her throat, and he looked
frantically around for a way out.  They continued the dance, she
lunging and he twisting away, as he tried to reason her out of her
madness.
     "Look.  It's ME!  Okay, B'Elanna?  PARIS!  What the hell is
wrong with you?  You don't want me!  If you do this, if WE do this,
you're gonna come out of it, and you're rip my fuckin' head off,
and you're gonna HAND it to me on a friggin' PLATTER, Torres!"  She
nearly got him then, and he whimpered a little as she ripped the
sleeve off his uniform.  She laughed, a soft coughing noise like a
wild cat might make, and he found himself cornered.  Looking wildly
around for an escape, any escape, he made one final effort to get
her back to reality.  "You do not WANT this, B'El-mmmph!"
     She tackled him neatly, rolling him to lie spread eagled on
his back, her heels pinning his legs to the dirt, her hands holding
his wrists, her tongue in his mouth cutting off the endless stream
of words that was beginning to annoy her.  Raising her head
briefly, she growled at him.  "You talk too damned much."
     He looked up at her wild eyes and sharp teeth, bared in a
victorious grin, and gulped.  The air in the cave felt cold on his
skin as she ripped the uniform away from his chest, leaving a faint
burn on the back of his neck where the material in the turtleneck
gave way.  He stopped struggling then, knowing she was stronger
than he, still not quite believing she was doing ... what she was
doing.  Which at that moment was nuzzling his chest hair and
whispering something that sounded oddly like "All the way down." 
She slowly pulled his arms over his head, and he resisted
passively, not helping her, not wanting her to be able to accuse
him of being a willing partner in this.  Trying to cover his ass in
any small way he could.  Not that he thought it would help, in the
end.  She'd find some way to blame him.  Then she'd cut off his
balls and hand them to him.  He just knew it.  As she gathered both
of his wrists in one hand and proceeded to tear off the rest of his
uniform blouse, he actually heard himself whimper.  She heard it
too, and chuckled.  With no wasted movement, she opened her own
blouse and lowered her torso to his, rubbing her breasts along his
chest and growling softly, low in her throat.  He responded to her
nearness, the unexpected softness of her skin, her undeniable
control of his body.  It wasn't a sensation he was used to, and in
fact, while his reputation said otherwise, he hadn't had sex since
before being hauled off to the New Zealand penal colony.  The
combination of abstinence and sensual woman finally overcame his
fear, and he thrust his hips up to meet the juncture of hers.  She
laughed aloud at his movements, and ground her sex over the hard
ridge of his.
     Keeping his hands firmly in place, she reached down between
their bodies to slide her fingers over his penis through the soft
material of his uniform.  He groaned, involuntarily thrusting to
meet her touch, and she rewarded his impatience with a sharp
squeeze that elicited a gasp from him.  His wide eyed gaze met
hers, and she slid her hand back over him, tracing the ridges with
her fingertips, pressing just hard enough to send goosebumps over
his skin.  Cupping his sac, she whispered, "Want this?"  All he
could do to reply was nod his head shakily.  She continued her slow
torture, slipping open his fly and pulling his flesh free to give
herself greater access to him.  She covered his face with little
licking kisses, dipping her tongue between his lips, then licking
his eyelids closed,  nibbling along his jawline, tugging on his
earlobe with her sharp teeth.  All the while her hand continued its
work, sliding his foreskin over the head of his penis, pumping the
shaft firmly then pulling back, bringing him to the brink of orgasm
then squeezing him tightly to stop it.  He was moaning continuously
now, trying blindly to meet her questing mouth, pulling against her
hold in vain, wanting desperately to caress her as she was
caressing him.  She ground her wet vagina against his thigh,
stimulating her clit on his hard muscle but not giving him the
satisfaction of touching her, of making her lose control as she was
forcing him to do, asserting her mastery over his body.  Fever sang
through her blood and clouded her mind, and his movements
underneath her fed a need she had never felt before.

***************************************************
     "I've found them!"
     Janeway whirled at Kim's triumphant words, and she threw a
quick grin over her shoulder at Chakotay.  He smiled in return,
hope springing to his normally calm eyes.
     "Unfortunately, Captain, we still have no way to transport
them to the ship.  The field fluctuations are still too irregular
to allow our instruments to get a solid lock."  Tuvok's deadpan
voice dampened their enthusiasm, but not much.
     "At least we know where they are."  Janeway's tone
congratulated Harry.
     And that they're alive, thought Chakotay, but he didn't say it
aloud.  "Can you ascertain their condition, Mr. Kim?"
     "I can do better than that, sir.  We can't get a communicator
link through all the interference, but we can get a visual."  Harry
was anxious to make sure his friend Paris was in one piece.  And
more concerned than he'd care to admit about B'Elanna.
     "Do so, Harry.  Let's make sure they're all right."  Janeway
turned back to the screen, but couldn't make out the picture
clearly through the snowy interference and the dark background. 
"Can you clean that up any?"
     Tuvok went to work at his console, and the picture was
abruptly clear.  Every figure on the Bridge went still, and nothing
broke the complete silence for several moments.
     When she did manage to find her voice, it sounded strangled. 
"Mr. Kim, break the connection.  Now."
     "I'm ... trying, Captain."  He sounded miserable, and utterly
embarrassed.  "It's..."
     She finally managed to tear her eyes from the bizarre sight of
Tom Paris fighting B'Elanna for his virtue, and losing, to stare at
her communications officer.  His skin was fiery red, and he was
working furiously at his keypad.
     "I didn't hear you, Ensign."
     "It's stuck!" he blurted, looking up involuntarily at the
screen before blanching and gluing his eyes back on his work. 
"It's stuck!"  The reiteration was a forlorn wail.
     "This I DON'T believe," Chakotay whistled.  Then he surprised
everyone by beginning to laugh.  Janeway hurried over to him and
grasped his arm.
     "What is so funny about this, Chakotay?" she demanded, waving
over her shoulder at the two figures writhing in the semidarkness
of the cave.
     "Well, I'm not going to owe him my life anymore," he managed
to reply before losing his battle with his laughter.  "'Cause
somebody's going to have to keep B'Elanna from ripping his head
off, and I have a feeling it's going to be me!"
     She held his bright gaze for a moment before the humor of the
situation struck her, than began to giggle.  Taking a deep breath
to try and control herself, she ordered Tuvok, "Send a rescue crew
down there, Mr. Tuvok, to dig our little lovebirds out."  As he
reached for the button to call the crew she raised a hand. 
"Tomorrow, Tuvok.  And, have them dig slowly."  He quirked a brow
at her but made no comment other than a dignified nod.  
     Harry continued to work frantically to cut the connection,
while Chakotay and Captain Janeway carefully didn't look at the
screen.  Instead, they sat side by side and fought the giggles.

*****************************************************

     By now he was begging her, nearly incoherently, to let him in. 
She was close to losing control herself, and she shrugged out of
the remains of her uniform.  The lengths of their legs entangled,
smooth skin rubbing against lightly furred, and the added sensation
leant an urgency to her movements that matched his.  Swinging her
leg over his hips, she positioned herself over him and slowly
lowered herself onto his shaft, filling herself at her own pace,
ignoring his pleas.  He held perfectly still, too close to orgasm
to do anything else, needing to have it end but never wanting it to
stop.  For long moments she sat perfectly still, milking gently
with her internal muscles, driving him beyond his limitations,
taking them both beyond anything they'd ever felt before.  At last
he couldn't hold back any longer, and he bucked underneath her,
forcing her into a rhythm in time with the pulse roaring in his
head.  She finally released his wrists, sliding her hands down his
arms, burrowing one hand into his chest hair to tease a nipple,
reaching behind her with the other to scratch his inner thigh with
her nails, to cup his sac and roll his testicles between her
fingers, sending him over the edge.  His hands move of their own
volition to her breasts, squeezing and kneading as he exploded in
her.  He shouted something as he came, he didn't know what, didn't
hear the Sassenach war cry bred into him, but she heard it and
smiled.  More to this Human than she'd thought, as she continued to
ride him, guiding his hand down to her clit, moving his fingers
under hers until she joined him with an explosive climax of her
own.  Shudders ran up and down her spine, and she slowly curled
over until she lay against his chest, still linked, exhausted.
     He felt her breathing even out against the side of his face,
and gradually felt the thunder of his heartbeat slow to a more
normal pace.  Perhaps it was the length of time it had been since
he'd last had sex, but he was not through, and he felt himself grow
harder, still inside her.  But this time, they'd do it HIS way.
     B'Elanna wasn't quite asleep, more like drifting off into
sleep, when she felt herself gently rolled onto her back.  Paris
slowly withdrew from her, and she murmured a protest at the loss of
his warmth and fullness.  Featherlight touches on her forehead
ridges and along her chest, lightly across her full breasts, toying
for a bare moment with her nipples before drawing along the edges
of her ribs began to awaken her.  She opened her eyes when the
touches settled around her hips, and then tried to sit up just as
she felt the first touch of his lips at the curve of her stomach. 
Then they trailed loser, and his hands left her hips to hold her
open to his questing tongue.  The jolt of sensation when he whirled
the tip of his tongue around her clitoris threw her head back, and
all thoughts of stopping him flew from her mind.  He moved over her
with long, deep strokes of his tongue, alternating with short
flicks at her most sensitive spots, until she lost track of
everything except the way his mouth felt on her opening, the
stabbing motions he made with the tip of his tongue, the firm
kneading of his fingers on her thighs.  He raised his head to look
at her, his arousal heightened by the intense look on her face. 
Slipping two, then three fingers into her vagina, he rotated his
thumb over her clit and moved over her to meet her open mouth with
his.  She moaned into his mouth, tasting their combined juices, and
put her arms around his shoulders, trying to touch all of him at
once.  
     He drew back slightly, allowing the barest cool breeze between
them before whispering close to her ear, "Slowly."  She almost
didn't hear him over the blood rushing in her ears, in time with
the movements of his hand in and out of her.  When she did realize
what he said, she opened her eyes to growl at him incredulously. 
He smiled wickedly, and she reached forward to bite him gently on
the pec.  He tasted so good she did it again, and he found himself
leaning into it.  He'd never been into lovebites before, but then
B'Elanna was unlike anyone he'd ever had before.  She began to pump
his hand, moving faster and harder, and he kept pace, bringing her
to another orgasm, less intense than the first but still enough to
send shivers through her frame.  Without missing a beat, he slid
his hand from her and replaced it with his penis, thrusting into
her with controlled force, determined that he would take her with
him this time.  They settled into a steady, driving rhythm, and she
drew his hand to her mouth, sucking his fingers one by one in at a
matching pace.  His breathing quickened, and her eyes gleamed at
the signs of his impending climax.  She snaked a hand behind him,
seeking the vulnerable line of his ass, probing delicately.  His
eyes widened as her fingers pushed in, and an involuntary scream
rose to his lips.
     "No fair!  This was supposed to be slo-unhm..." His eyes
closed as she found his weakness, and pushed him too close to the
edge for any thought of restraint.  In retaliation, his fingers
found her clit and rubbed hard, sending another jolt through her
that was echoed by his own.  She reared up to meet his thrusts, her
teeth fastening in the flesh above his collarbone, his mouth
roaming along her throat and shoulder as the universe imploded
around them.
     A long time later, she was staring into the darkness,
wondering how long it would be before she came to regret this --
and how long it would take to get rescued.  Paris lay curled around
her, one leg curved over hers, his head pillowed on her breast. 
She softly played with the short blonde curls at the nape of his
neck and wondered how the hell she was supposed to explain this to
him.  It had taken her completely by surprise.  She had thought she
wouldn't have to deal with this, since she was only half Klingon. 
She'd gone through a normal adolescence, for a Human, and the
absence of any sort of mating frenzy in any of her previous
relationships had led her to think that there was one part of the
Klingon heritage she had managed to escape.  Now, she could only
wonder at her rotten luck, that it should catch up to her in these
circumstances.  She felt him stirring and sighed.  This was going
to be ... embarrassing.
     He slowly sat back from her, eventually looking up to meet her
eyes.  At the seeming lack of hostility, he relaxed a little, but
not completely.
     "So.  Are you going to kill me, or just cut them off?"  he
tried to sound like he was joking, but he was worried enough that
it rang through.
     She met his clear sapphire eyes, and growled once, for show.
He swallowed, and she smiled coldly.  
     "It wasn't your fault."  He started to perk up, and she
snarled at him.  He watched her carefully.  "Or mine.  It was ...
a Klingon thing."  He looked confused, and she sighed unhappily. 
"Look.  It was a mistake.  It won't happen again."  He started to
protest and she bared her teeth.  He shut up and listened.  "I
won't say anything.  Neither will you."  She paused significantly. 
"Or it'll be the last sex you ever enjoy."
     He whitened, and she knew the point had gone home.
     "No one will ever know from me, B'Elanna."
     "Torres."
     "Hunh?"  He looked startled.
     "Torres, Paris.  And just for the record..." he looked at her
defiantly, but not too defiantly, since she still could tear him
apart, "I don't think you're a pig."  He smiled at her, and she
growled, "You just act like one."
     They sat side by side in the darkness, trying to ignore what
had happened between them, and failing miserably.  Each was only
comforted by the thought that no one else would ever know what had
happened there, for both their reputations' sakes.  
     The next morning, Commander Chakotay's face was the first they
saw as the rescue party broke through the landslide to dig them
out.  Neither one knew why he kept laughing at odd moments, and he
wouldn't tell them.  But the debriefing in the Captain's ready room
was one none of the participants would ever forget.