As always, Paramount owns everything but my own twisted little
thoughts.  Any responses should go to the author. 
 
For Christine, who remains a constant inspiration in my otherwise
bland life.
 
 
Beauty and the Beast
by Nancy Brown (nancy@rat.org)
Copyright 1995
 
 
     The Klingon sat across from her in the dimness, half-dozing. 
It was an illusion, of course.  She knew that, were they to be
approached from any direction, the semi-slumbering form would
spring straight up, and before two seconds had passed, would have
torn the still-pulsing arteries from the would-be attacker's
throat.  She knew that she should feel safe.  Somehow, though, the
thought was not as comforting as it should have been, because she
also knew that it would be nothing for the Klingon to do the same
to her.  Especially now.
     A passing chill made her shudder, and the Klingon moved
slightly, ready to strike if necessary.  She made her best effort
not to move.  After an eon, the dark eyes closed to her, and she
could breathe.
     She was not exactly a prisoner.  If she wished, she could
certainly stand up, walk away into the darkness.  But there would
be no place to go.  Her companion knew the layout better.  By this
point, she wasn't exactly sure where they were anyway.  Safe.  They
were safe.  That's all she needed to know for now.
     Sleep tempted her from the dark corners.  She could sleep if
she wanted.  She would be protected.  She closed her own eyes,
feeling weights sinking upon them.
     A face danced before her and chased away the sleep.
     They had left him.  There was no reason but necessity and
their own lives.  Maybe there could be a chance to go back for him. 
Yes.  They would go back and march straight in and steal him back
from his keepers.  The two of them.  Maybe they'd take over the
Romulan Empire next, just for kicks.  She suppressed a laugh,
knowing the sound would disturb her friend's slumber.
     Friend.  Now there was a word she had never thought possible
between them.  Wasn't there always something stopping it?  She
thought back, remembering dozens of times when their wishes and
needs and desires and duties had brought them to wage silent
battles, noticed by everyone but remarked on only by a select few
who understood.
     Here in the dark caves, those tiny wars were as nothing.
     She opened her eyes and watched as slow, deliberate breaths
moved in and out of the other's still body, just barely moving the
dark material to rise and fall.  It was the movement of the tides,
but of a far different ocean than the one from which her own
ancestors first crawled.  There was power in that body, strength
that spoke volumes without words.  The strength had saved them both
many times.
     Now she remembered other things.  Her mind called forth
visions of the past, when the Klingon had saved her life.  She saw
the powerful arm reaching out to casually bat away a lethal beam,
when she had only been half-aware of her impending death.  The
protectiveness and suspicion that annoyed her to no end had almost
always been proven justified.  Working together, they had done
amazing things, deeds she could relate to her grandchildren if she
lived that long.  They would listen, and then they would laugh and
tell her that she was telling stories again.
     She supposed that some of her adventures were more incredible
than even the fairy tales she remembered from her childhood.  "And
then, the Big Bad Cardassian said, 'I'll huff and I'll puff and
I'll blow your ship up!'"
     She almost giggled, stopping herself just in time.  If she
started to giggle, she would laugh, and she would laugh until she
started crying and then she would start screaming because she was
trapped here in the caves.  With the Klingon.  They had to reach
the ship, had to reach safety.  They weren't safe here and he
certainly wasn't safe because he was with them oh god he was still
with them and they would kill him but what they would do to him
otherwise would be far worse.
     She began trembling again.  The Klingon did not acknowledge
her movement, for which she was grateful.  She knew without a doubt
that her weakness would be revolting, and she could not stand the
carefully hidden look of contempt on the other's face.  That would
be too much to stand right now.
     She was frightened.  They could not stay hidden forever.  If
they did not find a way to get away, the others would find them and
kill them.  But they could not leave him, and to get him they would
have to go back in *there* and there was no way they could go back.
     Tiny voices, like enchanted daisies, whispered to her sounds
of madness.
     She needed focus.  Yes, that was it.  She needed something to
calm herself.  Perhaps the Klingon could help.  At the moment, she
barely remembered any of the Muk'bara she had learned.  If she
could recall some of the breathing exercises, maybe she could find
some control.  Damn.  She should really learn more.  She promised
herself that if she managed to escape the dark caves alive, she
would learn everything she could about things Klingon, if only she
could center herself now.
     She began her breathing, trying to echo that of the one before
her.  Slowly, she took in the dank air through her nose, letting it
finally escape through her lips, filling her rib cage with sweet
oxygen for as long as possible.  After several breaths, the terror
that had been threatening washed itself away from her, leaving her
lightheaded but calm.
     Without breaking the rhythm of her breaths, she let her gaze
travel over the Klingon.  As never before, she was aware of every
detail, every motion, the movement of tiny hairs and the taut skin
over the well-defined muscles.  She visualized herself standing,
stretching every muscle of her own, then padding silently over like
a cat to where she could find strength.  Her mind's eye reached out
to caress the rough fabric, then slip beneath it to soak in energy
directly, dusky skin against her own ethereal hands.  Her mind
wandered just slightly, and her mental image slid her hands lower
down the strong back...
     With a shudder, the image faded, and she was herself only. 
She became aware of a warmth within her stomach, not far from the
feeling she'd had the last time she'd tried real alcohol.  The
blush spread out through her and became her body and passed like a
wave.  She tried to regain her center but failed.  Her body was
already interested in other matters normally foreign to its
desires.  She had never found Klingons particularly attractive; she
preferred human lovers to Klin the way some people liked chocolate
more than raspberry flavors.  Then there were those who liked
chocolate-covered raspberries.  She licked her lips.
     There.  Her companion's nose twitched.  Was she releasing some
sort of pheromone?  She knew how sensitive Klingons were to shifts
in mood and emotion, merely by the changing scent of the person. 
Or the prey.
     The dark eyes fluttered open.  Great.  Her small foray into
fantasy had cost both of them their peace.  She remained still,
staring back, waiting for the inevitable words of anger or
remonstrance.
     Instead, the eyes stayed fixed on her own as the large form
seemed to melt upwards.  Before she was aware of it, her own slim
arm had been seized fiercely.  The strong fingers bit into her
flesh, nearly crushing the small bones in her wrist.  She gasped,
trying to avoid the cry of pain, or was it more?
     Their eyes were locked, and she could see the matched fire in
her own gaze reflected back at her, and she could see the tiny
mirror images in her reflected eyes.  Mirrors inside mirrors said
the reflections.
     "Do you want this?"  That voice, low and struggling with inner
demons itself, surprised her.  *Did* she want this?  It was not too
late to say no.
     "Yes."  The grip shifted, and her wrist brushed tendrils of
hair as it was moved towards the snuffling, hot mouth.  The warmth
that had begun inside of her was now near boiling.  They sank to
the cold ground.
     Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that they would
still be safe, that anyone coming upon them would still die
quickly, perhaps even more so, for a Klingon excited by sexual fire
was as dangerous as one on the hunt.  She let herself free to the
experience.
     Hands, warm and seeking, tugged at the waistband to her form-
fitting pants.  In moments, they were huddled at her knees, willing
and needing to go no further.  Her shirt came free with a bare
minimum of tugging, and suddenly a hungry mouth was caressing her
right nipple with wet kisses.  She sighed, then squirmed to find
another garment still separating them.  Her wrist was set free as
the warm hands began to stroke her face, her sides, then took over
for the mouth that had begun a definite journey downwards.
     Softly, her navel was tickled by a teasing tongue, before it
curliqued down again.  The hands slid down her sides to her thighs,
where they slid between her legs and slowly parted them.
     Fields of roses filled her mind, heady with deep perfume.  Was
she that rosy down there?  She had no idea.  Her last lover had
always said she reminded him of flowers slowly opening to the
sunlight.  Orchids, not roses.  She was an orchid to be raised
lightly and gently plucked from the garden of the Beast.  Two solid
thumbs spread apart her damp labia, and she shuddered all over as
her clitoris felt something warm and wet and searching against it.
     Aware of everything now, she silenced the tiny cries that rose
in her throat at this delightful invasion.  The tongue circled
around her opening, and she writhed as it entered deep within her.
     She could smell the roses and the orchids.  Calmly,
deliberately, her own hands found movement of their own, twitching
with every new movement within her.  She slid her hands down the
still-clothed back, trying to reach the pleasure points.  Together,
they shifted position until she had easy access.  Using only the
tips of her fingers, she stroked against the sensitive area she
knew would evoke the greatest response.  In return, tiny sharp
teeth grazed her labia and she did cry out.  Without pausing, she
used knowledgeable fingers and palms and nails to glide on and
around the Klingon's hot, pulsating sex.  She felt their heartbeats
converging in hands and tongue and rushing tides and they were both
beautiful and they had left him there to be tortured and she came
harder than she could remember ever coming before and fiery liquid
ran over her hands as the Klingon howled briefly and was still.
     "I do love you," she whispered when she could breathe.  "Know
that."  She waited for a response, perhaps even a similar
confession, but there was none.
     After a long time, she removed her sticky hands from the
Klingon's pants and endeavored to put her own clothing back on. 
They still had so much to do, and so little time, but now she felt
alive and alert.  She had the strength to do whatever needed to be
done.
     The Klingon watched her dress, but she felt no shyness. 
Without a word, they touched one more time, and the beautiful head
came down to her throat and bit her painlessly.  Then she put on
her shirt.  They left the dark cave in silence.
 
 
     Although he often speculated on it later, Paris never could
understand how or why one B'Elanna would die for the other.
 
The End