Disclaimer: This story belongs to me, yet Paramount owns anything that is not mine (i.e. the main characters and the ship). All planets, other aliens, minor characters, etc., in my stories and not seen in the series, Star Trek: Voyager, are brought to you courtesy of me. Thanks!
Notes: B'Elanna lost a bet that ended her up on the holodeck with Tom at the beginning of Displaced. Now, Tom loses a bet that ends him up in B'Elanna's quarters. "Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn," said one Deanna Troi, and those words live on in B'Elanna Torres. A special thanks to my beta-readers, DangerMom and Chels! Rated R.
By Diana Cabana
“Computer, search the computer music database for ‘Macho Man,’ ” rang out B’Elanna’s giddy voice. She had a grin from ear to ear painted across her glowing face.
“Processing request,” the computer replied.
‘How could I have gotten myself into this,’ thought Tom. He should never have tricked her all those months ago. But he hadn't expected her to want revenge after so long. He should have known better than to not expect revenge from a Klingon. He had tricked her into a silly bet which had taken them to a holodeck where they battled holo-warriors to the death, and then ended in an argument in the corridor about the value of the program. Tom hadn’t considered that her anger might have stemmed from losing the bet, and had thought it had everything to do with immersing her in Klingon battle simulations against her will.
He had been wrong, at least partially. B’Elanna seemed to carry a grudge to the grave unless it was repaid in full. Well this was a two hundred percent return on the investment of time she had spent in that program with him.
“This is unfair,” Tom whined from her bathroom door, knowing it would get him no where. B’Elanna seemed determined, not to mention girlishly overjoyed, at the prospect of knocking him down a peg or two.
“I can’t wait to see you dance, fly boy!” she said, laughter dripping like maple syrup in her voice. “You lost the bet. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before trying to trick me twice. You were lucky the first time!”
“Isn’t there any thing else I can do?” he begged.
“Nothing that can top a private strip tease show, no,” she replied, trying to be completely serious and failing miserably, and not unintentionally Tom guessed.
“I can’t believe I got involved with such a cruel woman,” he cried out in mock horror.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” she remarked to herself as she got up from her bed and strolled to the replicator. “Troi Chocolate ice cream, one scoop, no make that two.” She looked at Tom. “It might take you some time to warm up,” she said justifying the extra scoop. “Oh, one more thing,” she said softly. “Replicate male undergarment 249 and ritual garment 198.”
B’Elanna grinned impishly at the freshly materialized clothing that appeared next to her ice cream. Her smile widened at Tom’s shocked gaze. She tossed the pile towards the end of the bed.
As the replicator worked its magic the computer finished its search. “There were 2047 instances where the words ‘macho’ and ‘man’ occurred.”
“You know, you could make this much more painless, Tom, if you just told me the file number of this song. I know you know it, I heard you listening to it a few days ago.”
Tom considered her request. He might as well get this over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible. He watched B’Elanna in her silk robe, which barely reached mid-thigh, doing little to cover her curvaceous bottom as she climbed onto the bed.
Tom shook his head in resignation and decided to he had no choice but to go through with her request. He picked up first the cerulean blue, obscenely small, scrap of silk.
“I believe it’s called a g-string,” B’Elanna explained.
Tom gathered up the robe and displayed it in front of him and looked at B’Elanna for another explanation.
“It’s the ritual garb of a Tabran monk who is soon to be making the three sacred vows; silence, a pure mind, and celibacy,” B’Elanna said, a flush coming over her cheeks.
“How fitting,” he replied sarcastically, remembering his comment towards her about appearing to be a Tabran monk during the early days of his pursuit for her affections. “Seems like you’ve done your research,” he added.
“Never you mind that, Paris,” she said smiling to herself. “You just go get changed before my ice cream melts.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, and was grinning as he turned around. Who was he to deprive B’Elanna of one her fantasies he thought devilishly?
He took several frustrating minutes to figure out how to put on the monk’s garb and the undergarment. After a few impatient calls from B’Elanna he came out into her view.
B’Elanna tried not to sound too eager as she called out for him, but her ice cream was melting after all. She couldn’t contain her appreciative smile as he came out of the bathroom, wearing the outfit and a nervous grin.
“What took you so long, helm boy? The robe was too complex?”
“No, the g-string was,” he joked.
Tom called out for the music. He noticed that B’Elanna’s head started bobbing to the infectious beat of the song. Containing a chuckle and followed suit.
“Comfortable?” he asked her.
“Most certainly,” she replied. “Now, no stalling,” she warned him.
“I just need to get the rhythm,” he said seductively.
B’Elanna didn’t have to wonder at the underlying meaning of his remark and pointed out, “You’ve never had a problem at finding the rhythm before,” she said coyly then added, “To a song that is.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he grinned. He began to move around the room. “Let the games begin,” he said in an official tone.
B’Elanna put aside her empty ice cream dish, eagerly anticipating her next treat. She smiled demurely as Tom immediately pulled off the outer robe and remained in a long sleeve turtleneck and dull matching navy pants.
“Take it slow and easy, fly boy, wouldn’t want the show to end before it’s begun,” she said brazenly.
Tom was waving his hands in the air to the beat. “I don’t suppose I could justly be accused of not delivering what I promise,” he retorted, matching her innuendo for innuendo.
She bit her lip responsively as he continued to dance. After another step towards the bed, he began to tempt her with the motions of taking off his turtleneck.
B’Elanna couldn’t hold back her giggle.
“Enjoying tonight's entertainment?” he asked feigning naiveté.
More than he could ever imagine, she wanted to say. “It’s tolerable,” she replied attempting to sound bored.
Pretending to be insulted, Tom scoffed. “I guess I’ll just have to turn up the charm,” was his reply.
B’Elanna anxiously awaited his next moves.
In one swift move he reached for the nape of his turtleneck and tore it just past his navel. The incomplete tear allowed the turtleneck to dangle around his arms as his powerful, yet not overwhelmingly so, torso was exposed to her. “I’ve got to be a macho man,” he explained along with the lyrics in a melodic tone.
Laughter erupted from the deepest parts of B’Elanna’s self. Her deep merry chuckle made Tom’s exploitation worth it to him. He had never heard a laugh so purely delighted explode from B’Elanna Torres. He gave her his most charming grin, and continued to wiggle and shake his body in an almost convulsive yet suave manner to the twitching beat of the music, in hopes that she would be pleased.
The continuation of her laughter was reward enough.
B’Elanna watched as he finished ripping his turtleneck and flung it towards her. She caught it in her clapping hands and spun it around in approval of his bold tactic.
Tom became less conservative in his display and began to tempt her with the removal of his pants, pulling the waistline down past one hip and then quickly moving it back up.
The feral growl he evoked from B’Elanna warned him that he shouldn’t try that sort of temptation too many more times but he repeated the action once more on his other hip.
“Take it off already,” she roared and leapt to her knees.
Tom only smiled at her and continued dancing. B’Elanna appeared shocked by her outburst and Tom realized that he was enjoying this as much as she seemed to be.
B’Elanna sat back, still stunned at her reaction, and watched Tom as he turned around so his backside was facing her and began to sing, “Body, baby, body, body, come and thrill my body… it's so hot, my body.”
He had pulled his pants down to his hamstrings and was swinging his hips left and right. It was all B’Elanna could do not to leap on him while she appreciated the "string" part of the silky replicated wonder.
Tom untied the cord that held the waistline of his pants at his thighs and they finished their descent to the floor with a satisfying whoosh. Satisfying especially to B’Elanna, who wasn’t sure if the whoosh she heard came from the sound of cloth hitting the floor or the constriction of her chest and the resulting gasp.
He was a beautiful man. His sinewy shoulders and back complemented his powerful thighs, legs, and the calves she couldn’t quite see as the end of the bed got in her line of sight. She didn’t care, though, as her eyes rested just above his lovely hamstrings on his muscular buttocks. This was torture, she decided.
“Turn around,” she said indelicately.
Tom kicked the useless pants towards the bathroom but didn’t turn around just yet. He continued dancing, moving his hips and snapping his fingers in a taunting manner.
B’Elanna hid her irritation and moved off her knees and sat cross-legged on her pillow and enjoyed the delicious view.
Tom pretended to turn around a few times stepping left and right but never bring his front into her view. B’Elanna now didn’t hide her irritation. Tom began to sing more enthusiastically and dance more skillfully to the throbbing pulse of the music. “Macho macho man, I’ve got to be a macho man…” he sang happily knowing full well the affect he was having on her.
B’Elanna eyed him suspiciously, he was performing a little too well. She wondered if this wasn’t his first time being an exotic dancer. He had seemed appropriately appalled at the idea of dancing for her but she hadn’t considered that his reaction was faked. All suspicions were cast aside when Tom finally spun around.
Tom’s grin broadened as he watched B’Elanna’s reaction. If her jaw hadn’t been attached to her skull it might have dropped onto the covers. He was very pleased.
B’Elanna’s blood began to boil. The silken scrap did little to hide his parts and left just enough to her imagination. Still, she wanted it gone and not in a matter of minutes, but in a matter of seconds. Finally, Tom did some last and agonizingly provocative dance steps and stopped. He was breathing heavily and his nearly naked body was gleaming with perspiration. The smile was gone from both their faces as they stared intently at each other.
B’Elanna took a deep, mind-clearing breath, and said in as steady a voice she could muster, “This was suppose to be an adult show, wasn’t it?”
“That’s what the admission sign to your quarters said,” he replied throatily.
“Doesn’t that include a, uh, complete disrobing?” she asked alluringly.
“I was going to leave the rest up to you,” he replied, enticing her like no one else could.
That was all B'Elanna needed to hear before she performed the course of action she had been considering throughout his entire production.
“Come here Macho Man,” were the last words Tom heard before he fell back onto the floor, B'Elanna's body crashing against his.
Her soft and strong feminine form pinned him to the floor as her plundering kiss made sure no crevice in the cavern of his mouth went unexplored. She wasted no time in ripping the pathetically small undergarment away from his body, wanting to feel his entire nakedness against her.
Tom, matching his lover’s passion ounce for ounce, rolled B’Elanna onto her back, a difficult and barely manageable feat in the small space between the wall and the foot of her bed. The fact that B’Elanna protested against the action made it more difficult but that much more rewarding.
B’Elanna groaned in defiance then moaned in satisfaction as he placed himself between her awaiting thighs. She noticed that her own garments had disappeared nearly as quickly as his g-string had and she laughed gleefully. She loved it when he was aggressive and she gave his jaw line a praising bite. His scent was intoxicating and the taste of his blood drove her absolutely out of her mind.
Tom’s hot, pulsing, smooth flesh felt marvelously good against her own skin. His anxious kisses were divinely delicious, his touches seemed to be ethereal blessings. His heartbeat echoed the driving cadence of the song he had danced to earlier, matching the forceful pounding of her own heart. Every impassioned caress drove into B’Elanna the realization that he was a completely giving lover, one whose only purpose was to please his counterpart. The awareness brought rare tears to B’Elanna’s eyes and she promised herself that she would reciprocate every loving touch he administered to her.
This was going to be one of “those” nights, Tom thought blissfully. One of those nights when B’Elanna experienced no restraints and neither did he. Her arms were like snakes slithering over his backside, causing an intense, fiery friction; her mouth an explorer that was conscious of no rules, aware of no limits, uncaring of any boundaries. Her body was an aching, blazing, needy, passionate mass ready to give as much as it demanded. Tom had never believed that such desire existed, never believed that the entity called passion could be manifested into a touchable creation, yet here was passion in his arms and her name was B’Elanna Torres.
Several hours and many locations later Tom and B’Elanna found themselves in a tangle of limbs on their bed, exhausted and weary, but far from beaten and staring triumphantly at disappointment which lay timidly on the opposite end of their spectrum. Their screaming lungs and muscles had finally turned mutinous, going on strike until they received a much deserved rest. They had taken their bodies to the ultimate limits and had enjoyed every second of it.
Tom was murmuring incomprehensible words into her ear when she interrupted him.
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before tricking me into a stupid bet, hmm?”
“Next time I won’t have to think at all before tricking you into a stupid bet,” he joked, his first coherent sentence since she had tackled him.
“You were very acceptable,” she assured him teasingly. “Almost looked like you had some experience,” she probed.
“That wouldn’t be too far from the truth,” Tom replied mysteriously. “I’m curious, though, was I able to fulfill your rather, unusual, fantasy?”
“You far exceeded any high expectations I may have had,” she grinned.
“Was I the first to dance for you?” he questioned.
“Getting a little personal, hmm, fly boy? Now go to sleep…” she murmured.
And as welcome sleep claimed him, Tom dimly wondered whether or not she had added the phrase Macho Man under her breath.
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Posted: September 14, 1999