TITLE:"Paradise Dawns"AUTHOR:StrwriterSERIES/CODES:Voyager, P/TRATING:PG-13DISCLAIMER:Characters, theirs.  Story, mine.TIME:Now.AUTHOR'S NOTES:This is about as steamy as I can get away with at my age.  Read at your ownrisk, and read with ice and cold water close at hand...it allows you to getinto B'Elanna first-person during a play session with my favorite lust object,so I wouldn't blame you for a little fantisizing of your own.  I know I suredid when I wrote it!***There is a word for where we are.That word is paradise.The night sky stretches above us, an endless drape of ebony velvet imbeddedwith stars scattered against the darkness like carelessly tossed jewels.The moon is a thin sliver of it's rounded face, casting just enough light tosee the sparkle of a wave's crest or the smile of a lover.  Before us, theocean reaches out to meld seamlessly with the distant horizon, as tranquiland warm as a child's wading pool heated by the July sun.Gentle waves caress the soft, white sand, their soothing rhythm and the sighof a warm breeze the only sounds that invade on what is otherwise totalpeace.  The sand is cool now, the heat of the sun having dissipated throughthe night, and it forms a cushion beneath our feet as we walk the water'sedge, staying just beyond reach of the ocean, though the bolder wavesoccasionally manage to tease us with their spray.The tropical air of this unnamed island is warm, even at night, and littlecomes between me and the light wind that sways the exotic foliage and tossesour hair in unruly wisps.  I am wearing a simple black one-piece bathingsuit, cut high on the sides and trecherously low in the back.  The cutaccentuates my long legs, slowly burnishing as we spend more time underthe sun.  The suit is still wet from our swim earlier that evening, andit glistens in the faint moonlight like the glossy skin of some exoticsea animal.  A light gossamer coverup is draped over my shoulders,the lingering moisture on my skin making the fragile fabric clingto every line and curve.A bird calls somewhere nearby, and you feel me squeeze your hand.  You lookquickly, wondering if it frightened me, but it is not fear or alarm that yousee in my dark eyes.  It is desire.I reach to take your other hand, and we stop walking, standing now facingone another, our bodies little more than a foot apart.  We look at eachother for a long moment, time stretching to a length that would be almostpainful except that we know that time means nothing here.  We have forever.My fingernails drag slowly over your palm as I release your hand, leavingonly the faintest whisper of sensation, and I take a step closer, careful tobring our bodies as near as possible without actually touching.  Then thesight of the moon reflected in my feline gaze disappears from your view as Iclose my eyes, leaning forward that last fraction.  Your arms ache to grabme, to pull me near for a fierce kiss, but you know what is happening.We've done this many, many times before.My tongue teases out from between full lips like an exotic snake, and itlightly flicks over your lips before retreating.  I open my eyes to confirmthat my own desire is reflected equally in eyes as blue as the oceanitself...and I see that it is.  That I am wanted, loved.  That you think mebeautiful.  Your perception inspires me, and I raise my hands, allowing themto rest as lightly as twin butterflies on your broad shoulders as I leanforward again.Your hands also raise, brusing a salt-sequined chocolate strand out of myface as our lips come together.  Slowly at first, a simple meeting of lipsno more intense on the surface than one might bestow on a close familyfriend.  Our eyes close, and my hands tighten on your shoulders, my longfingers undulating to knead the firm muscles I find there.  In response,your arms wrap around my small body, almost fragile in appearance, butstrong and nimble in fact.  Your hands are skilled and sure as they movedown my bare back, the sensations your fingers send rocketing through meintensifying the kiss to something only attributable to lovers.Soon, not even the intense pressure of our mouths and the feeling of ourbodies pressed tightly together satisfies me.  My tongue quests outwardsagain, but no longer gently, as my hands move down from around yourshoulders.  Blindly, they seek the hem of the simple tanktop you wear, and aharsh ripping invades on the tropical stillness as I tear the garment fromyou, our mouths never parting.  My tongue thrusts more insistantly now, andyour lips, which have remained teasingly pressed closed, now part, complyingto the demands of a building passion telegraphed wordlessly through theintensity of our kiss and the fervent motions of my hands on the bare skinof your back, then on your chest as they move to entwine and tangle with thefine golden curls scattered there.Exploration.  My fingers and hands seeking, massaging, stroking, memorizingevery plane, every line, every firmly muscled curve of your sculpted form,even as my mouth performs the same actions upon yours.  Lightly running mytongue along the smoothness of your teeth, applying the barest of nips toyour lower lip...just enough that it leaves a faint indentation of a fewtiny teeth for several seconds.  Swirling my tongue through your mouth anddancing it with yours in a series of moves that would put the most sensualof tangos to shame.  And all the while, my lips pressed firmly to yours,opening and closing my mouth ever so slightly so that you feel the fullnessof my lips against you.Sight is a sense for which I have no use, a distant memory good only toproject the image of your handsome face and unerringly masculine form uponthe theater of my mind.  My hearing is filled with the fevered rushing of myblood, the pounding of my pulse from this wild and unstoppable desire thatis building and building in me with no signs of abatement.  My mouth isfilled with the taste of you...salt from the water which had dried on yourlips, a honey-like taste from the fresh mangoes we shared earlier, and theundefinable, unspeakably exquisite taste that is simply you.  My nosecatches the sharp tang of the salt water, the heady aphrodesiac of scentsfrom the jungle blossoms, and the building scent of two heated bodiespressed together.But I live in a world of touch.  My mouth upon yours, engaged in thatpassionate tango.  My hands on your body, moving and seeking with evergrowing fervency for something I cannot define, but know instinctivly that Idesire.  One fingertip brushes the waistband of your swimsuit, and I knowthat will have to go soon.  It would definitely get in the way of what Ihave planned.You seem to share my thoughts, your fingers having fast discarded the flimsycoverup, now teasing the straps from my shoulders.  I whimper slightly withloss as your mouth leaves mine, but it is soon replaced by a low moan ofpleasure as your lips and tongue begin to tease at the sensitive skin at thehollow of my collarbone.  My hands entwine in your blonde hair, and Iwordlessly urge you to continue, all power of cognitive speech havingutterly deserted me.  I am a creature of instinct now, of desire, ofunadulterated passion.The sky is beginning to lighten to the east, and soon it will erupt in ariot of unearthly color as the dawn breaks.  But we are oblivious tonature's displays as our legs bow to the raging pace of our growing arousal,lowering us slowly to the sand before we would have mindlessly collapsedthere.Despite being unknowing of it's approach, we are celebrating the new dawn ina fashion so intensive, so primal in it's origin as to be the truest homageto such a powerfully beautiful act of nature. My last cognizant thought issimple, direct.*Damn, I love holodecks.*THE END