A tongue in cheek story (tongue in a lot of places, actually), as close to pure Treksmut as I'm ever likely to write. Very definitely rated NC-17 for some pretty explicit heterosexual activities by both couples. Set in the fifth year of Voyager's journey through the Delta Quadrant.

Disclaimer: Paramount, we all know you own these characters, lock, stock, and barrel. I'm only borrowing them to let them have a bit of the action that you'll never be able to show on screen. They deserve a little fun.

Thanks to the PTFever mail list for nagging me to finish this story and to "Captain Jinx" for his, shall we say, "inspiration" for this piece of fluff.

by J. A. Toner

"Tom, wait up for me."

"Sure. How's our new Lieutenant j.g. doing today?"

Voyager's chief helmsman, Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, waited in the corridor for his best male friend, operations chief and newly promoted Harry Kim, to catch up to him.

The younger man's broad grin disclosed his feelings before he opened his mouth. "I was beginning to think it was never going to happen."

"Picturing yourself with a long gray beard, still answering to 'Ensign'?"

"As a matter of fact, yes . . . " laughed Harry, as the two men walked into the mess hall.

"Ah, the two lieutenants! Good morning Lieutenant Paris, and Lieutenant Kim," Neelix bubbled. Everyone agreed that the promotional dinner to celebrate the raise in rank of B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris to full lieutenants, along with Harry's elevation from ensign the previous evening, had been one of Neelix's best outings, as cook and as morale officer. The promotions were considered long overdue. Since the three were close friends, promoting them the same day had met with unanimous approval from the crew. "Tom, has B'Elanna gotten over the fact that she is still outranked by you yet?" the Talaxian asked.

"She says since I outranked her by two days before and only five minutes now, in five years or so she'll outrank me. I'm not going to let that happen, of course, but I'm not about to rub it in either. I've got my health to protect." The half-Klingon woman's temper was legendary -- although Tom reveled in that temper.

"So, Neelix. What do you recommend this morning?" asked Harry.

"I've got 'flapjacks' with Telurastan sausages. Very tasty, if I do say so myself. And we've got 'Midnight in the Delta Quadrant' coffee blend this morning."

"What kind of flapjacks, Neelix?" asked the operations officer cautiously. Some of the Delta Quadrant native's ingredients to the simplest recipes had been known to create upset stomachs for the rest of the crew.

"Captain Janeway wanted plain pancakes, so -- against my better judgment -- that's what I made. But there's a variety of spiced fruit toppings over there for dressing them up."

"Sounds good. I'll have a short stack and coffee." Tom ordered the same breakfast, also skipping the sausages. They had an unpleasantly sharp taste when eaten alone, although when mixed into a couple of Neelix's casseroles, they were acceptable. This particular coffee, however, was one of the crew's favorites. Even Captain Janeway, lover of all things coffee flavored and a connoisseur who generally disliked Neelix's "special blends," was able to tolerate this beverage of Neelix's.

As the two men walked to their seats, conspicuously avoiding the spiced fruit toppings, Tom leaned towards Harry and whispered, "Got any credits left to replicate some maple syrup?"

"Not much, Tom. What about you? Can we pool our credits?" New replicator rations were not due to be distributed until the following day.

A hurried conference yielded enough credits for a small pot of maple syrup. Spilled over the flapjacks, the syrup helped make the meal a good one. After scarfing down the pancakes, Tom and Harry leaned back in contentment, enjoying the last of their coffee before having to adjourn to the bridge for their duty shifts.

"B'Elanna already on duty?" asked Harry.

"She had some things she didn't get done because of the dinner last night, so she went in pretty early."

"I thought she might want to check up on Gamma shift's work after the dinner. She's been concerned about their productivity lately." Harry's delivery was deadpan and innocent sounding, but even with his head lowered, his smile gave him away.

"Now, Harry, you know how we get."

"A little private celebration after the dinner? Just the two of you?"

"You could say that," said Tom, with a smirk. B'Elanna had been especially enthusiastic after the dinner, treating Tom to a veritable smorgasbord of delightful sensations once they'd gotten back to the quarters they now shared. Tom Paris was feeling very satisfied. Sore, but satisfied. The dermal regenerator had been given almost as hard a workout that morning fixing Tom's body as B'Elanna had given that body the previous night. The pilot had required a fair amount of personal repair before he could bring himself to go out into the public corridors of the ship.

It was a good thing he loved Klingon-style sex so much. It was the fourth dermal regenerator they'd needed since they'd become lovers. There was this one spot on his left cheek that B'Elanna had bitten so much, he didn't think it could ever heal on its own. The spot on his face was even worse . . .

"Uh, Tom, speaking of, uh, private celebrations, could I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Harry. Shoot."

"Well, Tom, I know you've had lots of experience with women . . . " This statement was so obvious that the pilot raised his brow. " . . . with all kinds of women, lots of species, right?"

"Besides B'Elanna, you mean?"

"Well, B'Elanna, too. I was wondering if you could give me any advice about, um, interspecies sexual practices."

Tom exhaled suddenly. "Harry, do you know what B'Elanna would do to me if she hears I've been talking about old girlfriends to you? Not to mention if she hears I've been talking about her to you? Body parts scattered all over the ship! My body parts."

"Tom, I'm desperate."

"If you're talking about the woman I presume you're talking about, we don't need to have this discussion. She's human, Harry, in case you haven't noticed."

"She's Borg, too, Tom. Believe me, there's a difference!"

"Haven't even gotten to first base yet?"

"Tom, I'm not sure we're even on the same playing field. We're just friends. Except I want to be more. And I really think she does, too, but she just doesn't know it yet. Or she doesn't know how to tell me she wants more. That might be it, too . . . "

As Harry's voice trailed off, Tom took pity on his friend. "Harry, I told you a long time ago, she's not that easy to get to know. It's pretty hard to get romantic with someone who was raised by the Borg. She doesn't have a clue about these kinds of relationships."

"That's not true. She has a clue. Just barely a clue . . . OK, not much more than a hint of a clue," Harry finally admitted, sighing deeply. "Actually, we've gotten pretty close. I don't know how to take the next step, though. You're right, she doesn't understand her own romantic feelings."

Tom exhaled slowly. "Harry, are you sure she even has romantic feelings? Aren't you in a teensy bit of danger here of projecting your own feelings onto her?"

The younger man looked his friend squarely in the eyes. "Oh, she has them, all right. She just says that they aren't relevant."

"To the Borg, they aren't. They don't bother with sex, Harry; they just steal the people they want and convert them over to Borg. Much quicker, you've got to admit. No messy diaper stage or 'terrible twos' tantrums."

"You seem awfully knowledgeable about diapers and tantrums, Tom."

"There's been a few people who've accused me of still being in that stage. When they haven't accused me of being a pig. Hi, B'Elanna! Didn't think you'd make it out of Engineering yet, Babe." Tom was looking at a point behind Harry's shoulder. Turning, Harry saw that B'Elanna Torres was, indeed, coming towards them, coffee mug in hand.

"I hate being called that, Paris." The words were belied by her smile. She had learned to tolerate Tom's cute names for her, especially when he was shouting them to her in the middle of a climax. "So, Lieutenant Starfleet. How are you this morning?"

"Great. Just great. It's good you had a chance to take a break while we were still here, B'Elanna. But I've really got to go. I have to check out something on Commander Tuvok's console. Tom, I'll catch you later?"

Catching Harry's hopeful grin, Tom agreed, "Sure, Harry. Later."

As Harry was leaving, B'Elanna turned to Tom. "So, he was talking to you about Seven again, wasn't he?"

Tom's reaction was a quick laugh, halfway between a hiccup and a grunt. "Of course. Who else? He's got it bad."

The chief engineer shook her head. "For someone so smart, he can be really stupid. Getting involved with a Borg! When's he going to get over that crush, anyway?"

"He's already over the crush."

"Tom, you just said . . . "

"He's way beyond crush stage, B'Elanna. He's in love with her."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. Men! Even the best of them could lose their minds when confronted by a pretty face or a body that wouldn't quit. Even if that body was full of Borg implants.


It had always been hard for her to be on this ship alone. On the cube, even in the sleep cycle, the brush of all of the other minds of the Collective had been a soothing presence. Especially the other eight--the rest of the Tertiary Unimatrix. None of the individuals in this group could ever understand just how much she had lost when she had been severed from the rest. She had clung to the imprecise, incorrect designation of Seven-of-Nine all this time as a last link to the one mind that was The Borg.

But it was gone.

In the multitude of Stardates that had passed since Seven had arrived on Voyager, she had learned a way of adjusting. In the security of her alcove, as she regenerated, she used the voices in her memory to substitute for the comfort of the many minds of the Collective. At first, the voices she remembered had been the Collective's, whispering to her to survive, to assimilate this group and return to the home planets of the Borg, to rejoin the Collective in triumph.

With time, she began to realize that she could not expect this to happen. After the ship had been flung 10,000 light years forward, after she had left Voyager to find her childhood home of The Raven, after she learned that even her Borg memories could deceive her, Seven reconciled herself to the silence. Not completely, but enough to remain sane. The voices surrounding her during the days were revisited during the rest periods of the nights, to comfort her. It was not like being one with other minds, but the voices would serve. They were company.

Some were more company than others. First were Janeway and Tuvok. The human captain and her friend, the Vulcan student of human behavior. Seven struggled against Janeway's teachings but somehow accepted those of the Vulcan. It was curious that she had learned more about humanity from the one who was not human. The rebellious streak in Seven, never expressed in the normal course of development because she had become Borg, was exercised primarily against Janeway, secondarily against her second-in-command, Chakotay.

After she ran away and discovered The Raven, Seven's memory recalled her real parents. The ones who had designated her as Annika Hansen, who had ventured into the Delta Quadrant only to become one with the Borg. Their unique voices still lived in her mind, although their drone bodies had been absorbed into her memories of the body of the Collective. She could visit them either way, and did, frequently.

There were other voices, of course. Neelix, who was leaving his home quadrant as Voyager sped towards the homes of the other dwellers of the ship; the Doctor, with his blend of computerized perfection and imperfect human personality matrix; Lieutenant Paris, the first to offer friendship on the ship; and his lover Lieutenant Torres, whose antagonism towards Seven limited that friendship. Ensign Wildman, Lieutenant Ayala, the Delaney sisters. All of those voices were remembered at times as Seven struggled to be accepted into this group.

And Harry Kim. Ensign Kim. No, that was no longer his crew designation. Now he was Lieutenant Kim. The individual who offered much more than mere friendship. He offered amusement, compassion, intellectual stimulation, and an appreciation of her body that was no deception. His dilated pupils gave him away.

She heard all of those voices in the night, but most especially that one voice that, in the beginning, she was most frightened of hearing. Her own. Her own wishes, her personal dreams, apanstrrom that of the Collective. The inner voice of Seven-of-Annika-Hansen-of-Nine, isolated and alone, standing in a regeneration unit that was created to hold nine drones but now held only one. Even that one was not truly a drone any longer, requiring regeneration for barely a single hour of each day. She always stood there for eight hours, whenever possible, following her compulsion to behave the same as she had for all of those years as a Borg drone.

Change had come to Cargo Bay 2, however. The alcoves, once all lit, had been darkened one by one until now, only the three units at the end hummed with power, the juice to nourish the Borg part of her soul. Some time ago, Seven had disconnected the power source from six of the alcoves. The other eight were never coming back. Even three units were a waste of resources, but she let them stay. The light shed from them in the darkened cargo bay allowed her to ignore the fact that she was alone.

That her body was alone. Strangely enough, her body had begun to call to her, separate from her mind, begging for the touch of another. Not only to touch another mind, but to touch flesh as well. As Seven stood regenerating, reviewing the Starfleet database and contemplating her existence as an independent organism, the one who as a child had been Annika Hansen, who loved to laugh at silly jokes and thought red flowers were the most beautiful in the bouquet, felt the stirrings of a desire never known to the Borg drone nor the child. Those stirrings brought the memories of one voice to the fore, repeatedly.

That human voice belonged to the man with almond-shaped eyes and a full mouth, golden skin and thick jet hair. The possessor of a body which, from her studies of the medical databases, she believed bore proportions as close to optimum for the male of the human species as hers did for the female.

More and more, the dreams of her solitary mind were visited by the image and voice of Harry Kim.

The eyes of the woman who had been named Annika Hansen at her birth snapped open, to begin her day amongst the crew of Voyager. There was a task to be performed. She was going to be tested by Tuvok to ascertain her level of competence in Starfleet regulations and procedures. If successful, Seven-of-Nine would join the huge entity known collectively as Starfleet.

There was another task scheduled as well. With the help of the aforementioned Harry Kim, Seven-of-Nine would reset the long range sensor sweep data collection system for maximum efficiency. She was confident this could be accomplished quickly and accurately by the two of them working jointly. Harry Kim and Seven-of-Nine worked well together.

And there was one last task that Seven contemplated finishing. It was time for satisfying her curiosity about certain aspects of humanity. For that task, she would also require the assistance of Lieutenant Harry Kim.


"Harry, you there?" Tom Paris arrived at the mess hall at 1435. Lunch was over; even Neelix was gone to work on his next morning's broadcast of Breakfast with Neelix.

At the sound of his friend's voice, Harry called out, "Over here." He was in the far corner of the mess hall, behind a pillar.

"Couldn't we have met a little earlier? There isn't much to eat here now. I'm starving!"

"I really wanted to be able to talk to you privately, but I had Neelix make you a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before he left. I have them over here. All you need is something to drink."

Arriving at the table Harry was occupying, Tom saw that Harry was also eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. "In need of a little comfort food, Harry?"

The young junior grade lieutenant looked up at the taller man before expelling a huge sigh. "I think I probably do."

Tom took the untouched plate of sandwiches and placed it on the table next to his drink. "It can't be that bad, can it? What's the problem, Harry? Still Seven?"

"Tom, I know this may seem insignificant to you, but it's eating at me. Things are moving right along with our friendship, but I'm still not sure what I should do about taking the 'next step' in our relationship."

"Harry, I'm sorry if I made you think I'm treating this lightly. It's just my way, with the jokes -- you know that. I'm just not sure how much I can help you out here. If Seven were half Klingon, I could give you lots of pointers -- as long as B'Elanna didn't know I was telling you what I knew. I know you've looked up to me because of my reputation with women -- my suave, debonair image." Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, Tom tried to prompt a laugh. When his friend's features remained grim, Tom went on, more seriously, "That's a crock, Harry, and you know it. Plus, since I've never had a Borg, I really can't help you from any personal knowledge."

Harry sat silently for a few minutes while Tom consumed his first sandwich. When he started in on the second, Harry finally said, "I'm not asking for that kind of advice. Well, maybe I am, but it's more because of your medical knowledge than because you'd ever had a Borg. I'm not about to ask the Doctor about Seven's physiology."

"That's good, Harry, because he wouldn't tell you anyway. It would be a breach of confidentiality. And it would be for me if I told you, too, so I can't."

"Tom, you have to help me!"

" 'Any personal medical records are to be used solely for the purpose of medical treatments and can only be accessed by duly qualified medical personnel' -- including field medics, which is what I am. Sure, I know some stuff, but I'm not supposed to say anything."

"It can't all be classified."

Tom sat and chewed a moment, thinking of ways he could help Harry while maintaining his own ethics. Even thinking "ethics" and "Tom Paris" would have been pretty funny to many of his crew mates a few years ago, but times had changed. "I can't g th you anything specifically about Seven's . . . uniqueness. But in general, I can tell you that the Borg assimilate people the same way they do everything else -- efficiently, without wasting time or effort on non-essentials. Anything that doesn't aid the Collective in its survival is irrelevant. I'm sure you're familiar with the term?"

"Intimately," Harry groaned. Anything could be irrelevant. The word was used constantly by Seven throughout the day concerning items or practices for which she did not feel a need. "But what about her . . . body parts. Are they all there? I mean . . . "

"Harry, relax. The Borg don't bother with parts they don't need. Our style of reproduction is unnecessary, so they don't utilize the ability. However, they aren't into wasting time removing body parts they don't need, either, unless those body parts can be converted to a purpose that does help the Collective, like special eyes or limbs. I mean, just look at Seven, and you'll know there's quite a few parts they just left alone. For which I and every red-blooded human male on this ship, along with a few of the various-color-blooded non-human males, are eternally grateful.You don't mind if the rest of us just look, now, do you, Harry?"

Harry smiled for the first time. "Not if it's just looking. So I don't have to worry about any weird Borg implants inside her . . . uh . . . attributes?"

"Let me put it this way, Harry: there may be a pair of homing devices in there, but they're biological in origin. Trust me, the Borg had nothing to do with putting those in place. Annika Hansen was obviously fated by heredity to be a buxom girl." He munched a bit more sandwich before saying, pensively, "Her name sounds kind of Scandinavian. As I recall, the Scandinavians were well known for turning out women who were, shall we say, strikingly well-endowed."

Chuckling in spite of himself, Harry tsked-tsked until Tom continued, "Harry, don't worry so much about it. Be patient. If she starts to become interested in sex, that means her hormones are kicking in. Don't sweat it. Just follow her lead."

"I was hoping I could learn more about what would please her, though. Those implants are an unknown variable. If you can't even tell me which implants the Doctor left in and which he left out, it's pretty hard to know what I need to do to, well, help her to where we want to be."

"I can't tell you which were left in and which were left out. That's confidential, Harry. But, if I'm not mistaken, the Doctor's autopsy of that Borg we found in the derelict cube is part of the regular database, not just the medical one. The Borg follow the same basic pattern when they assimilate any human, and that's what that drone started out life as. They vary the attachments, but not the basic functional design. If you study the autopsy report, I think you can figure out which ones the Doctor had to leave in because it would kill Seven if he tried to remove them or if they were essential for some necessary function, like regeneration. I'm not telling any tales out of school about that, Harry. That's just common sense. You're a smart guy. You can figure ninety percent of it out on your own, at least. And the other ten percent you just . . . explore on your own."

"Explore on my own?"

"Sure, Harry. You're the one who told me she was a woman first, a long time ago. You're right. The Borg stuff is only a little added mystery. Just do what you do with any other woman. Experiment, and find out what she likes. And then you do what she likes, and get her to do what you like, and have some fun."

"Is that what you did with B'Elanna?"

"Are you still trying to get me in trouble, here?"

"Tom!" Harry said in exasperation, "She isn't here now."

"A good engineer could have spying devices anywhere!" He bent down, whispering. Despite his joking, Tom really wasn't comfortable spilling all of his B'Elanna's secrets. "Okay, Harry, all kidding aside, yeah, that is what I did. We had a good time experimenting, finding out about what turned each other on, what was different, what was the same. There are some really subtle differences, Harry. Things I have to work on a little bit harder. There's this one spot along her, uh, very personal areas that, if I work it right, she really turns into a wildcat. Klingon redundancy is a wonderful thing, if you know what I mean. We had a great time finding out how it all worked. Even if I did know something like that about Seven, I'd be a better friend to you by keeping my mouth shut so you can discover it all for yourself. It's lots more fun that way."

"That is, if she can tell me. She . . . " Harry's comment was interrupted by the chirp of his comm badge. "Kim here."

"Lieutenant Kim, this is Seven-of-Nine," she said, unnecessarily. There was only one voice like hers on Voyager.

"We must meet sometime today about optimizing the long range sensor sweep data collection system. Commander Chakotay wishes a report to be provided by tomorrow morning."

"I think I can make time for it, but I'm on bridge duty until 1600. Would you like to meet for dinner, and we can talk it over then?"

"That would be acceptable. What time shall we meet?"

"How about 1800 hours? My quarters."

"Acceptable. Lieutenant Kim, would this qualify as a 'date'?"

"I guess it could." Harry looked over at Tom in some confusion. Tom was beaming.

"Agreed. I will meet you for our 'date' at 1800 hours. Seven-of-Nine out."

"Harry, sounds like you're in pretty good shape already. Coming to your quarters, a little work, a little leisure time activity . . . "

"Yeah? Well, it would be better if I had any dinner to serve her. You got any replicator rations to lend me? I blew the last of mine this morning on that maple syrup."

"I don't think they'd have gone far enough for a dinner, then, Harry. Jenny and Megan Delaney usually have some extra credits you can borrow. They manage to get dinner given to them a lot. Or check with Neelix. I'm sure he can cater your affair."

Harry looked askance as Tom laughed at his own joke. "Yeah, I just wish!"


"The schematics for the improvements are complete, are they not?" asked Seven, looking over Harry's shoulder.

"They are, Seven. Let me just enter these last few figures." Transferring the final bits of data from Seven's padd to his own, Harry snapped off the devices. "All finished. Thanks for your help. I know we couldn't have gotten it done as quickly as we did without your preliminary work, Seven."

"Then we are finished here?"

"Yes. Before you go, would you like some coffee? Raktajino?" Me? he added, silently. The coffee and raktajino, along with dinner, were courtesy of the Delaney sisters, who were pleased to lend Harry the credits for both at only ten percent interest.

"I have already ingested sufficient liquids tonight, Ensign Kim."

"It's Lieutenant Kim, Seven."

"I am sorry. I forgot that your designation had changed."

"That's all right. I'm sorry you didn't make it to the promotional dinner. Everyone had a very good time."

"A good time is irrelevant, Lieutenant Kim. I had other tasks to complete."

"I wasn't aware of any tasks you had been assigned the other night, Seven."

"I needed to study for my Starfleet examination. Commander Tuvok gave it to me today."

"Seven! I didn't know! How did you do?"

"Satisfactorily, I believe. Commander Tuvok has not communicated the results to me as of yet."

"I'm sure you did wonderfully, but Tuvok would have given the test to you a few days from now, if you told him you wanted to attend the party. He likes to pretend he doesn't care because he's a Vulcan, but he's good about those things, really."

"He offered to delay theary.t. I refused. I also had other issues to contemplate the other evening."

"Other issues?" Harry asked, quizzically.

"I needed to consider my status aboard this starship."

"You wanted to think about what formally joining the crew would mean?"

"Not joining the crew. Joining with one member of this group."

Harry had to halt and back up a moment as Seven suddenly changed the subject.

". . . with one member of this group? What kind of . . . joining are you talking about, Seven?"

"I have decided that I wish to change the nature of our affiliation, Lieutenant Kim."

Seven's words resonated in his ears. He had heard her say them once before in a very different context. Or maybe it was a very similar context. It was difficult for Harry to say for sure, but he certainly remembered when he'd heard them before.

"Seven, uh . . . "

"Lieutenant Kim. I am aware that an invitation to a crew member's quarters is often an invitation to reconsider the nature of their relationship. In my studies of the database, copulation often occurs during 'dates' in quarters. I would find it advantageous to copulate with you now," Seven said, rather dispassionately, although the pupils of her eyes had dilated.

"Seven! I don't think that would be a very good idea!"

"I do not see any major barriers, Lieutenant Kim. I included human sexuality in my area of study after the difficulties in communicating that we had last year. I now believe I have a firm enough grasp of the major principles and important details to endeavor to put my knowledge into practice."

Harry's breath began to get somewhat more irregular as Seven moved closer to him. "Seven, I'm not sure you're ready for this yet," he panted, although images of Seven's putting her studies of human sexuality into practice with him arose enticingly into his consciousness.

"You rejected me once before. Do you find me unattractive?"

"I see. You wish to speak of love. I am familiar with the concept, although I confess I do not understand it well. If I say to you, 'I love you,' will that be sufficient?"

"There's a lot more to it than just saying the words, 'I love you.' "

Looking at him in puzzlement, Seven queried, "I am confused. A moment ago, you said that words of love should be expressed before copulation. Now you are saying that saying these words is not sufficient for us to begin copulating? Am I misinterpreting your meaning? You do not wish to copulate with me?"

"Seven, I very much wish to copulate with you . . . " Harry tried to catch his breath. His pulse was hammering in his throat. Everything that he'd been longing for was falling into his lap, but he knew, without question, that if he simply "copulated" with Seven, in the long run he would ruin any chance he had of having a more complete relationship with her. Harry suddenly realized exactly what Tom had had to put up with when a too-willing B'Elanna had thrown herself at him in the mines of the Sakari world. Harry had been one of those expressing amused shock when the rumors about what happened there had begun to circulate. It wasn't so funny now that he was in the middle of a similar situation.

"We should remove our clothing first, should we not?"

"Seven, no, I think we need to talk this through first."

"More talking? Why? You said that you wished to copulate with me and that we needed to express in words 'I love you.' We have done that. I have noticed certain signs in you indicating interest in me of a sexual nature; I have studied the literature and have seen it in others when they look at my feminine anatomy, Ensign Kim."

"Lieutenant Kim. Junior Grade. I got promoted, remember? You missed the dinner." Harry was ready to grasp at any straw to try to change the subject and regain control of the conversation.

"Oh, yes. I must remember that. As I was saying, Lieutenant Kim, my mammary gland tissues particularly attract attention. You are not the only male on this ship I have observed looking at them with dilated pupils. I have also observed this phenomenon with some of the women."

Harry's throat was rapidly being depleted of moisture, and he wished he could get a chance to check the oxygen supply in his quarters. From the way he found himself gasping, the levels seemed to be dropping. He realized he was not going to get the chance to do any checking, however, as Seven approached him. She wore what he thought of as her "serious study" look on her face, and Harry began to feel a certain essential part of his own masculine anatomy responding to her approach by coming to rigid attention.

"Lieutenant Kim, from the condition of your pupils, may I presume that you find my body attractive?" As she spoke, Seven matter-of-factly drew down the tab of the front closure of her snugly-fitting body suit.

To coin a phrase that his companion was fond of using, the size of a woman's breasts had always been irrelevant to Harry, but that did not mean he was unappreciative of the aesthetics of that body part. As Seven-of-Nine tugged apart her opened suit, she revealed the most luscious pair of mammary gland housings that Harry Kim had ever seen. Why melons had served as metaphors for a woman's breasts ceased to be a mystery, as Seven's were the size and shape of ripe cantaloupe and promised to be almost as sweet on Harry's tongue.

Stripping her clothing down to her waist, Seven moved well within Harry's normal comfort zone, as was her wont. Harry was speechless at this point, but that hardly mattered. It was like those perfect breasts contained magnets designed to attract the nearest masculine hand. Harry found himself fondling her lushly round breasts, stroking the taut skin with his palms as his thumb and forefinger fastened themselves, as if by their own volition, upon the rosy nipples that puckered invitingly erect as soon as the cool air of Harry's quarters fell upon them. He could easily have devoted both hands to one of them at a time, thanks to their volume, but Harry manfully made do with the appendages he had available.

Unfortunately, the sight and feel of those breasts beneath his fingertips had a radical effect upon another appendage of Harry.

Harry saw. He touched. He ejaculated.

"Ohmigaahhhh -- " moaned a mortified Harry.

"Are you well, Lieutenant?"

After pausing to catch his breath for a few moments, Harry managed to croak out, "Yes, damn it," in a tone that Harry knew anyone other than Seven would immediately realize indicated supreme disappointment.

" 'Damn it' usually indicates that all is not well." To Harry's consternation, even Seven recognized his dismay.

Ruefully, Harry admitted, "Seven, I'd hoped for a more mutually satisfying experience if we ever . . . did anything like this."

"Perhaps it is not too late? We can repeat the experience?"

"Not right now, Seven. I'd prefer to change my clothes." At least I can do that easily, here in my own quarters, Harry thought resignedly. "I think it would be better if you got yourself fully dressed again, too."

"Are you displeased with me, Lieutenant?"

"Not with you, with myself. Although, if you still think you might want to copulate with me someday, maybe it would be better to use the designation Harry for me?"

Her large, clear eyes looked steadily into his as she calmly stated, "Yes, it might be better, Harry."

Adjourning to his sleeping area, Harry cleaned himself up and donned fresh clothing. He halfway expected that his living area would be devoid of his beautiful but complicated friend when he returned, but she was still sitting on his couch, clothing mercifully returned to its original, relatively modest, state. The expression on her face was considerably more subdued than usual.

"Lieutenant . . . Harry. You still do not wish to copulate with me?"

"I do, but not now. Wait. Let me explain, because the last time this came up, I know I didn't explain it very well. Seven, some people can copulate with anyone, pretty much at anytime. I'm not like that. I need to know that there's affection on both sides. My feelings are sincere for you, Seven. I care about you, too much for our first time together not to be really fulfilling to you. I just don't think that you feel that way about me, at least, not yet."

Had Harry Kim been linked to the mind of Seven-of-Nine at that moment the way the Collective once had been, he would have realized his mistake. A turbulent jumble of conflicting emotions she could not even identify confused her, but her calm exterior masked them, deceiving him into thinking they were not there.

"Lieuten . . . Harry, I find it difficult to put into words what I am 'feeling' right now. I could recite some vocabulary terms, but you do not appear to want to hear them."

"No," he said gently. His hand brushed her hair lightly, softly grazing the implant below her right ear. As he touched the implant, her eyes closed in what he suspected was a reflex action.

"Before the copulation should come the courting. Walks in the moonlight. Dinners. Long talks about past experiences, and then, maybe, making love."

"We had dinner. And my past experiences are primarily from when I was with the Collective. Speaking about the Borg makes others . . . uncomfortable."

"You have had new experiences since you came on Voyager.

"They are limited in scope; however, I will share them with you if you wish."

Harry sighed, smiling sadly. "How about a walk then, down to Cargo Bay 2. We can talk along the way. Even about being Borg, if you want. I don't mind."
s we> "Do you still wish to learn Borg, Harry Kim?"

His smile broadened. He was glad to see her subtle sense of humor reassert itself. "Sure. How do you say, 'Nice night for a walk?' in Borg?"

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and her full lips parted almost imperceptibly. Subtle signs of her response to humor, which Harry had long since learned to recognize.

"That is one of the experiences that would be acceptable to share?"

As Harry's door closed automatically behind them, Harry answered, "Sure. Ordinary things. What happened on the Bridge. News about other people. What Neelix's dinner from last night felt like when it landed in your stomach."

"Or how offensive it was to the taste buds?"

"Exactly. Your thoughts and feelings, hopes, dreams of the future . . . "

"Contemplation of my existence?"

"That would be very good to share with me. Or what you want to be doing, five years from now."

"Whether or not I would like to return to the Collective?" Seven asked, as they entered the turbolift together.

"Do you want to return to them still, Seven? Give up your individuality?"

"I do not know. When I consider that possibility, I find that the prospect of not seeing certain people in the future would be as disruptive to my functioning as being severed from the Collective was to me when I first came here. However, if these people were to be assimilated, they would not find the experience as favorable as it was for me. I find I do not wish to see them do something that is not of their own liking."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Seven. That's all any of us want. A chance to go our own way, even if it means making some mistakes along the way. Not being perfect."

"I also find, Lieut . . . Harry Kim, that when I contemplate my own existence, I think of the existence of certain others as well. I sometimes contemplate your existence, also," she remarked as they exited the turbolift and walked in silence to the entry of Seven's cargo bay.

"That's good to know," Harry said distractedly as they entered Seven's quarters and Harry looked around. It was much more subdued than it had been a few short months ago. Fewer lights in the regeneration alcoves. That had to be it.

He turned to go, but his way was blocked by her body, standing so close that his shoulder brushed against her bosom as he turned. Catching his breath, he said to her, "Seven, now that I've walked you home, there's something I'd like to do. I'm not asking you to throw yourself onto the floor so we can copulate, or anything. I just want to make sure that we don't skip any more steps."

"Skipping steps?"

"Yes, like the Kissing-Each-Other-Good-Night step." Harry rested his hands on her upper arms and, bending his head down, delicately captured her lips with his. As they kissed, his full lips on her lush ones, Harry moved his left hand up to gently touch her face. Because his eyes were closed, he missed the ecstatic look on her face as his thumb brushed the implant next to her ear.

When the kiss ended, Harry was a little breathless. Seven's stoic face made him avoid any further comment than, "Good night, Seven," before he left.

He did not notice that Seven-of-Nine had become as breathless as he from the touching of their lips. Nor did he see her standing motionless for many minutes in the same spot of the cargo bay where he had held and kissed her, while reliving the experience, and continuing to contemplate her individual existence. As well as that of Harry Kim.


At the moment Harry Kim was leaving his quarters to walk with Seven to her cargo bay home, Tom Paris was in his own quarters, enjoying a walk with his own lover. It was considerably shorter in length than Harry's would be, as Tom Paris' stroll only lasted from the doorway of the suite to the table where, occasionally, he and B'Elanna would have a private meal from the replicator. Tom happened to be in the mood for a quick bite this evening, but since he was out of replicator rations, he had planned on a menu that was out of the ordinary: B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris. In the raw.

The journey from the entrance could easily be described as the first course: more or less a series of quick nibbles. Necks, cheeks, lips, all teased by teeth that managed to almost break the skin, but not quite, accompanied by the removal of one piece of clothing for every step one or the other of them took. The last two steps involved the ripping of the remaining undergarments -- literally -- from each others' bodies before Tom, enjoying the taste of B'Elanna's tongue as it extended into his throat, cupped B'Elanna's tight buttocks and scooped them up onto the table. Laying her out upon her back, Tom's own tongue began to lick a lazy trail down B'Elanna's body, stopping to mouth, knead, and/or suckle every sweet spot from ridged forehead to beautifully shaped breasts to navel, ending finally at the place where the taste of salt and spice could be enjoyed for as long as the muscles of his tongue were capable of licking. And then some.

B'Elanna loved to be appetizer, main course, and dessert, all rolled up into one fragrant, tasty package. Tom was only too happy to consume her, knowing full well that his turn was coming up next. Her hands had already massaged his buns thoroughly, and he could anticipate the feel of her talented lips around his cock.

He just wished they had enough rations for some wine to go with the evening's pleasures, but B'Elanna was also out of rations this week, courtesy of a run of unpalatable meals on Neelix's menu. They would just have to make do with their own juices to satisfy their thirst.

Having worked her up into a frenzy through the actions of his sensitive mouth and long fingers pulsing deep inside her core, Tom stood erect, pulling B'Elanna's legs up so that her knees bent over his shoulders, positioning her for stuffint whmself inside her. He looked up and grinned at the sight of her shining eyes and glistening face as she readied herself for the feel of his plunge inside . . .

"Kim to Paris."

"If you value your life, Helmboy, don't answer him."

Tom looked at B'Elanna pleadingly. This was Harry, for the love of . . .

"Kim to Paris? Tom, are you all right?"

Sighing in resignation, Tom shrugged his shoulders and answered, "Paris to Kim. And this had better be good, Harry, because I'm kind of busy at the moment."

B'Elanna's legs slid from his shoulders as she popped up to a sitting position while Harry's reply could be heard over the comm link. "I'm sorry to bother you, Tom, but I really need to talk to you. Can I come over?"

"Now's not such a good time," he grunted. B'Elanna's fingers had closed over both penis and scrotum in such a way as to immobilize the pilot, lest her fingernails slice into some very tender skin. Tom was not averse to being bitten, scratched, or pounded by his half-Klingon enamorata, but there were certain tissues simply too delicate for him to be willing to tolerate much damage. He hadn't planned on having nuts served quite that way tonight.

"How about later. A half hour, maybe?" The young lieutenant's voice, even over the communication system, sounded tentative but hopeful. B'Elanna's fierce expression, on the other hand, decided Tom upon the only course of action available to him, particularly when her glare was followed by the movement of her teeth to his pecs, where she began to graze on the curls of hair on his chest as her mouth descended to his nipples. Chewing, he knew, would be next.

"How about an hour . . . uh, Harry, make that an hour and a half from now?"

"Thanks, Tom. I owe you one. Kim out."

"You have no idea, Harry," he winced, as B'Elanna's dental equipment reached his nipple and began to gnaw. Slipping a finger into her mouth to divert her attention from his chest, Tom bent his mouth to capture hers again as, coaxing her hands from their tight hold on his equipment, he encouraged her to lean back down onto the table.

When she was lying down again, allowing Tom to come up for air, B'Elanna growled, "You're cutting into our up close and personal time, Paris."

"It's Harry, B'Elanna. The poor guy's really in too deep with Seven." A smile curved onto his face. "And besides, we'll be ready for a break by then."

Her legs swung over his shoulders again, tightening briefly around his neck for emphasis as she said, "If you say so. You'd better stuff me now, then, Flyboy, and make it good."

Tom was very happy to oblige.


When Harry walked into the quarters of his friends, B'Elanna, dressed in an attractive red lounging pajama outfit, was wiping down the table, removing the last bit of evidence of the activities that had recently taken place there. "Hi, Harry," she said nonchalantly to him as he passed her.

"Hi, B'Elanna. Sorry to interrupt your evening, like this. I really appreciate your letting me come over to talk."

Seeing the look on his face, B'Elanna's miffed feelings softened a bit. He really did look miserable.

"Harry, what's up?" A freshly bathed, barefooted Tom sauntered out of the sleeping area, pulling a blue tank top down over his head and tugging it into position over soft gray knit pants. Gesturing to the couch, Tom sat down next to a dejected looking Harry, who was sitting at the edge of the seat, elbows on knees, hands clasped together. "Maybe I should say, Harry, what's down?"

"I'm down, all right, Tom." Harry flicked his eyes over to B'Elanna, who had disposed of the cleaning cloth and was now seated at the table.

"The date didn't go too well, I guess," said Tom, this time without adding a flippant edge to his voice.

"You could say it went too well, Tom." Harry put his hy sedown, then looked over at B'Elanna again, a puppy dog look in his eyes. It was going to be hard enough admitting to what had happened to Tom, but he couldn't see how he would be able to say anything at all with B'Elanna there.

"Then why the long face?" asked Tom.

Feeling his face flush, Harry took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and . . . couldn't find any words to say. He managed a quick glance at Tom, a look down at the floor, and then stood up, saying, "I've taken up enough of your time tonight. I'm really sorry for bothering you. I'm sure you're getting ready for bed, so I'll just . . . "

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Harry, I won't bite," B'Elanna said in exasperation. "If you want me to leave, just say so!"

"B'Elanna, I'm sorry. I just can't say what I have to say to Tom with you in here. It's too embarrassing."

"Then I'll leave you two, and you can tell your story to Mr. Lonelyhearts, here. G'Night, Harry." B'Elanna patted Harry's shoulder firmly, shoving him back down on the couch in the process, and sashayed out of the room, secure in the knowledge that Tom's eyes were sure to be glued to her swinging hips until she was in the sleeping area. The sleeping area which, by virtue of the lack of a true wall between it and the seating area, was well within earshot of anything Harry said, as long as he didn't whisper. Given Harry's mood, she didn't think he'd manage to remain that quiet for long.

Leaning in towards Tom, Harry said, in a low voice, "Tom, it was a disaster. I could have had exactly what I wanted, and I blew it."

"Did you do your research like I suggested?"

"No, no time," Harry sighed. "I don't know if it would have done any good though . . . " Harry filled Tom in on the particulars of his night. The new lieutenant j.g.'s voice increased in volume as he became involved in the tale, forgetting all about B'Elanna, who rested on the bed as if asleep, her hands behind her ears to scoop up every sound wave she could.

" . . . so then she asks me if we could still copulate, but I was definitely NOT in the mood anymore. I was humiliated. We talked a little bit more, and then I walked her to her quarters. We kissed good-night, and that went okay, at least. As soon as I left her, I called you. What am I going to do, Tom? I could have had what I thought I wanted, but it turns out it isn't what I really want!"

"I don't know why you're so upset, Harry. Things are going great! You know she wants you, so just ask her out on a few more dates, build the relationship. It's probably a good idea to explain things as you go, and then let her tell you what she wants. Make sure she's enjoying herself. I'm sure she'll come around real soon. It's going to be okay, Harry!" Tom gave Harry a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Do you really think so? After screwing up our date like that? You're sure I won't scare her?"

This was too much for B'Elanna. "Harry, she's a Borg! She isn't going to scare easily! Tell her that sex is just another way of assimilating someone, and she'll feel right at home!" The chief engineer stalked out of the bedroom shaking her head energetically as she approached the two men on the couch.

Harry jerked back as B'Elanna got close. "Will you stop that, Starfleet? I told you I won't bite you." A wicked thought slipped across her mind: I've got Tom for that.

"B'Elanna! This is really . . . "

"Harry, don't you want a 'female opinion' about all of this? Hotshot here doesn't know everything about women, even if he thinks he does."

Tom raised his eyebrow and opened his mouth as if he were about to protest, thought better of it, and wisely closed his mouth. After a year of being intimately involved with his half-Klingon love, Tom had learned to pick his spots with B'Elanna, avoiding a confrontation unless he felt it was over something really important enough to take a stand. He wasn't afraid of her, but the relationship went much more smoothly if they weren't at each other's throats all the time.

Harry, unaware of some of the nuances of B'Elanna Behavior that Tom had learned the hard way, plowed on, "Tom's right. Until I know more about what Seven wants, I don't want to move too quickly."

The pilot was very glad that, for once, B'Elanna's glare was not directed at him. "That girlfriend you had in the Alpha Quadrant, Lizzy . . . "


"Whatever. That girl must have put some real moves on you, huh?"

Harry blushed crimson. "Libby was always very assertive, I admit."

"She must've cornered and roped you, Harry. I'm amazed she let you take a posting away from her."

"B'Elanna, that isn't Libby's way, but, uh, she wasn't real pleased to be separated from me, no."

Tom, the silent onlooker, thought that given the results of the posting on Voyager, Libby might have been psychic. Or jealous and possessive. Like someone else Tom knew, but he wasn't stupid enough to voice anything aloud. Harry even seemed to be catching on, as he simply looked at B'Elanna without saying anything more.

B'Elanna sighed. "Look, I don't pretend to be an expert about Borg/human cultural relations, but if Seven was willing to strip off her clothes and have sex with you even after your blundering, she's telling you she wants it. Remember, Harry, she may not have ever experienced sex herself, but some of those assimilated humans and other beings must have. She has all of their experiences; she may understand it better than you think. It sounds like she wants you, Harry. If you go too slow, you might bore her to death."

"Now, B'Elanna, Harry has a point," ventured Tom cautiously. "Seven may have some inkling of what it's all about because of her memories from the Collective, but she doesn't understand the emotional part yet. Sex is in the brain as much as it is in the body, and sometimes the emotions have to catch up with the hormones. If you recall . . . "

B'Elanna's extended her glowering to Tom, and he quickly swallowed the rest of what he was going to say.

"Okay, Tom. The emotions have to catch up with the hormones. How do you know they haven't already?" Tom remained silent. No matter what he said at the moment, it would be the wrong thing.

Harry had no such qualms. "You should have heard her, B'Elanna! She was talking about reciting vocabulary words!"

"Exactly, Starfleet. That's my point. She doesn't know the vocabulary. She can't express what she's feeling because she doesn't really know how to talk about any feelings! Forget the research, use your head, Harry. What is it that makes a Borg a Borg? What are they, anyway?"

Harry thought a moment before answering, "They're a half-biological, half-mechanized race that reproduces by assimilating members of other races, all thinking with each other in a hive mind . . . "

"Stop right there, Harry. Hive mind. Think about what that means." B'Elanna paced up the room and back, waiting for her friend's answer.

"Uh, well, they're one mind. One organism, really. What one feels, the others know. They all remember what the others do, including any sexual. . . "

"Harry, they know what every other Borg knows. They don't need to talk about it, they already know. The only form of communication they need is the implant in the brain that links them together. Quite a feat of engineering, actually. They're able to do their own jobs even though the hive as a whole is thinking at them all the time. So while they're fixing the ship or slapping Borg attachments on newly assimilated drones, they're mind is on their next regeneration cycle, probably. They think as one, just like your own brain thinks for all of you. Do your . . . does your ass have to ask your hand to scratch it? Or do you just start to scratch?"

"Of course not, but . . . "

"So how much talking do they do about anything, let alone feelings? She may belf iechanized being, partially, but the human part does have feelings. Look at how she's jumped all over the captain. If any of us had pulled some of the stunts she'd pulled, we'd be spending decades in the brig. Why . . . "

Tom gulped. As B'Elanna's voice had risen in pitch and volume, he had realized that she was getting rather testy. The gleam in her eye, the changed wording, and the pause before the word "ass" all suggested she was originally going to say "balls." B'Elanna was starting to get very impatient, and an impatient B'Elanna wasn't pretty.

"Harry, B'Elanna's right. If Seven gets angry, all those other emotions probably are in there, the good as well as the bad. Maybe it's not the feelings you need to worry about, but how she expresses them. She doesn't really know how. Or maybe she is saying them, but it's so subtle, you aren't picking up on it. You know -- like her sense of humor. You were the first to recognize that subtle sense of humor of hers. Once you pointed it out to me, I could see it easily. Anybody could . . . "

Whoops. Tom's glance at B'Elanna brought him up short. She was glaring again. Noticing Seven's sense of humor was a blunder, but not as big a one as mentioning it in front of B'Elanna. Time to wrap up the conversation as quickly as possible, before his lover's righteous indignation boiled over into any aggressive actions. Tom needed to get Harry out so that he could repair the damage.

Harry, however, brow wrinkled in concentration, had thought of something. "You know, there was something she said when we were walking to the cargo bay. We were talking about her sharing her experiences, and Seven said she spent a lot of time contemplating her existence. She'd told me that before, but this time, she said she also contemplates my existence."

"There you go, Harry, a Borg declaration of love," declared B'Elanna. "She's yours!"

"I don't know . . . "

"B'Elanna's right, Harry. You just have to teach her how to express her feelings better, and then you can show her how you feel with a clear conscience."

"But that means I'm back where I started. How can I 'teach' her? I don't know how!"

"Maybe we can find a holodeck program to help out. I'm sure Tom has a few guaranteed to raise the hormone levels of anyone with a pulse. Don't you, Dear?" B'Elanna's smile was sweet, but the use of the word "Dear" was a dead giveaway. Tom had to get Harry out as soon as possible.

The first viable idea Tom could think of spilled out of him. "Harry, since she was assimilated as a small child, maybe she has trouble interpreting any memories she has about sex. She needs a little demonstration about expressing affection. How about a double date? B'Elanna and I can help you give Seven a few pointers about human relations. Is tomorrow night okay? I already had Holodeck 2 reserved for a little R and R. We can run my Mars program. I've programmed in a few other cars, Harry. I've added a '63 Cadillac. Big seats. Meet us there at 2100 hours."

"Tom, that sounds great. Thanks."

"No problem, Harry." Tom, his arm around B'Elanna, his hand resting firmly on her neck, quite literally holding her down.

A wave of relief washed over Harry. "I'll just go to my quarters and call her from there. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it."

For a fleeting moment, Harry thought of sitting down and relaxing with his friends, just like old times. Then Harry noticed B'Elanna's fevered face, her flared nostrils. Tom's smile looked awfully forced. Harry realized that he could not see B'Elanna's hand, invisible behind Tom and apparently hovering in the area of Tom's buttocks. Tom's forced smile changed briefly to a much more natural one as Harry became aware of just how late it must be.

Uh oh. Here I go again. Harry Kim, Third Wheel," Harry thought. "This has been great, Tom, B'Elanna, but I think I should try to sque"Comin a little research before bedtime."

"Great idea, Harry. You won't waste that research. You'll use it someday," Tom assured Harry.

"Bye, Starfleet," said B'Elanna, her hand still hidden behind Tom.

Backing out the door, Harry chimed in, "Good night Tom, B'Elanna. Tomorrow night. 2100 hours, Holodeck 2." He breathed a sigh of relief as the door swished to a close. Talk about raging hormones, Harry thought, hurrying down the corridor to his quarters to contact Seven.

"Thomas Eugene Paris!" B'Elanna sputtered. "That was supposed to be our time, sailing on Lake Como! We've been looking forward to it for weeks! It's bad enough we have to have the Borg and Harry with us, why did you change which program to run?"

"Because if we go sailing, we really need the whole three hours to do it right, if we want to preserve the illusion of a real sail. This way, we get that first hour for ourselves."

"First hour? . . . Oh!" B'Elanna remembered. Tom had reserved the holodeck from 2000 through 2300 hours. Smiling, B'Elanna released her hand from where it was pinching Tom's ass and instead slipped it inside the waistband of his lounging pants to fondle his balls from behind.

Leaning forward to rest his weight against the wall next to the door, Tom gave himself over to the sensations B'Elanna's expert fingers were eliciting from the back, prompting a welcome stiffening to the front of him. Rest time was just about over.

"And B'Elanna," Tom purred, "just think, hmmm. After we've already managed to get ourselves feeling really good, uhhmmm, we can help our oldest mutual friend Harry with his problem. Ahhh. That's good, right there. And, uh, while we're, uh, demonstrating techniques, think about the fun we'll have doing . . . uh! . . . a few things on the sly . . ." Tom turned to face B'Elanna, no longer able to contain himself from getting her caught up in the action. Slipping his right hand inside her pajama bottoms while the left traveled up beneath the matching top to tease a lovely breast or two, he took a deep breath as her momentarily dislodged hand repositioned itself and began to pull on his erection. "And think how exciting it will be to have to restrain ourselves . . . oh, yes, Babe . . . until after they leave, when we can really enjoy our personal time."

The flesh Tom's right hand was massaging felt warm, wet, and inviting. From past experience, he knew that B'Elanna's human nub and its Klingon counterpart were throbbing at a pace commensurate with the moans echoing in his ear from B'Elanna's lips at every stroke of his fingers.

"So how long are we going to restrain ourselves now, Tom," she finally managed to say.

He couldn't answer, as her mouth immediately fastened onto his to prevent him from making any reply other than through his fingers. Not exactly Morse Code, but B'Elanna was able to interpret the response: Not for long, honey.

They did restrain themselves long enough to get to their bed. Just barely.


At 2034 hours and 47 seconds, Harry Kim stood before Cargo Bay 2, trying to screw up enough courage to announce his presence to Seven. It was silly. He was no school boy. He was Voyager's Chief of Operations. Last night had been such a fiasco, it had been laughable. Maybe it would break the ice between them. Just one of those wild and crazy "shared experiences," like he had said to Seven. The trouble was, he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Seven, he was sure, would not be bothered by what had happened. When he had contacted her the previous evening to ask her out upon his return to his quarters from Tom's and B'Elanna's, Seven had received his communication and accepted his request for a date with equanimity. Even when he carefully remarked that just because this was a date, he did not expect copulation from her, there'd been no hint of a quaver in her voice. She didn't have a problem with tn, u so why should he?

He had taken Tom's advice and done his research, however. In fact, it had been a fascinating three hours-plus spent in front of his monitor, studying the results of the Doctor's very thorough autopsy of the Borg drone. Tom had been correct in assuming that Harry could figure out which of the implants were either too dangerous to be removed or served so important a purpose for the individual organism that it would be undesirable to do so. Or both, like the useful but complex arm construct which was so intricately wound into a Borg's body that the only way to take it out was to cut the entire arm off.

Since Seven had lost her left eye, she had to have a prosthetic, of course; but Harry knew that the Doctor could have created a much more normal-looking eye for her, without the exterior adjustment implant, if he'd wanted. Since Harry knew that Seven's eye could be adjusted to receive input that was outside the visible spectrum or the normal phase of reality, he figured that the Doctor had made it that way so that Seven would see in a way that was more "normal" for her, after her years with the Borg. Having a part which "looked Borg" as well as human was really a very compassionate thing to do, as it helped make her more accepting of her changed appearance. The enhanced eye was also a practical tool that had paid big dividends already. On one occasion, Seven had been able to perceive invisible aliens experimenting on the crew through that eye, helping everyone to get out of a nasty situation.

The continued presence of the spidery implant along the ear had been pretty easy for Harry to figure out, too. Internally, it was connected to the main facial nerve, the tympanic nerve, and thence directly to the brain, where it was connected to an important neural implant. Trying to remove it would have risked not only facial paralysis and hearing loss but major brain damage as well, so complicated was the invisible part of the structure, especially within the cerebrng dortex. It was much safer leaving it alone.

The more critical implants, in fact, were located totally within the body. Most of them were undetectable without a tricorder or other instruments. An exception was the loop which, for want of a better term, the Doctor had called the regenerative wire. Apparently Seven's corset-like undergarment had a much more critical use than simply to support inner organs scrambled by Borg implantations and their subsequent removal, as Harry had always presumed. There were two contact points along the Borg spine, one level with the shoulder blades and the other at the base of the spine right at the beginning of the crack of her very trim posterior. The power that Seven needed to make the remaining Borg devices run was directed from a plate in her alcove, through the upper contact point, channeled through the corset, and sent along a long, curving, subdermal wire, to be distributed to the various devices in her body via the humanoid nervous system. During regeneration itself, any excess power apparently exited the Borg body at the lower contact. The corset was, in a sense, a transformer. Harry might have glimpsed Seven's wire when she stripped to the waist for him had his attention not been so completely diverted by the delectable globes of flesh that had bobbed just above . . .

Harry, thinking about this won't help you now! he lectured to himself. Thinking about the crack of Seven's ass wasn't helping, either. The stirring in his groin made him want to turn around and retreat to his own quarters, if for no other reason than to relieve the pressure on his genitals manually rather than face Seven with another erection. He knew where that would lead! But he'd already indulged in one prophylactic masturbation session to minimize the chances of embarrassing himself again. He couldn't spend the entire night retreating to his quarters to jerk off!

Standing immobile for a moment while doing some quick mathematical calculations, Harry felt his recalcitrant body part relax. Taking a deep breath and telling himself firmly that he was as prepared as he could be for whatever was to come, Harry opened the cargo bay door and called out to his date to let her know he had arrived.

When Harry entered the cargo bay, he could not see Seven. Neelix had stored a large quantity of non-perishable foodstuffs in this storage area after their last supply stop. Crates, barrels, cartons, and boxes abounded. He found her only after Seven called back to Harry, "I am here, Lieutenant. Harry."

She was sitting in the corner of the compartment, in front of the three lit alcoves. As Harry approached her, he felt a little disappointed. She was wearing a skin-tight brown velour one-piece body suit, the same as she did every day. "You aren't going to dress for our date, Seven?" he asked.

"I was not aware that there was a prescribed costume for this activity."

"There isn't a specific costume, like there was when we all dressed like pirates for Neelix's 'Jolly Roger' party, but Tom likes all the details to be right when he does a holodeck fantasy. We're supposed to dress the way someone from the twentieth or early twenty-first century would if they were driving around in a car."

"Lieutenant Paris has recreated an automobile? We are to drive around in a fossil fuel-burning vehicle? The exhaust from the propelling system is offensive to the nose and detrimental to lung tissue." Despite looking almost the same as she always did, Seven managed to express disgust very well by her slightly curled lip and twitching brow.

"If I know Tom, we won't be doing a lot of driving around. We'll probably just find a place to park and sit and talk." Among other things, Harry added silently.

"I see. I do not know if I have any appropriate attire available to me."

"Did you ever recycle the costume for Neelix's 'Country and Western Night' from a few weeks ago? That would be perfect."

"I do not believe syou llow me time to search for it."

While Seven went to a storage locker next to her alcove, Harry strolled around the cargo bay. He wouldn't mind spending a little time in here exploring. Neelix was quite a pack rat, and Seven had permitted him to stack lots of intriguing equipment and supplies there. The inside of one of the dark Borg alcoves had been stacked with several containers. It was no mystery to Harry that the little Talaxian had been able to survive for so long on his own in the Delta Quadrant. Somehow, Neelix knew how to get what he wanted, whether by cajoling, negotiating, pleading, or nagging. Need extra storage? Seven in the 'Borg Bay's' got plenty. No problem.

Harry was about to ask Seven if she needed help in looking for the clothing when he heard her say, "I believe all of the pieces of the outfit are available, Harry. I will put them on if you feel it is the most appropriate way to dress."

"Sure, Seven. The blue jeans and that plaid shirt will be perfect . . . " Harry gagged on the rest of the sentence. He had looked up just in time to see Seven pulling her body suit off her shoulders and arms before shoving it down past her hips and towards floor. This required bending over, and the mammary tissue spilling out over the tight corset still in place around her waist wobbled as she pulled her suit off, one foot at a time.

Knowing he should look away after what had transpired the previous night, Harry found that he couldn't. He watched, fascinated, as Seven stood up and unhooked a closure to her corset along the left side. A few deft twists of the fingers, and Seven-of-Nine was standing three meters from Harry wearing nothing but a small triangle of utilitarian gray fabric, obviously for sanitary purposes, suspended over her hips by a pair of slender threads. The subdermal wire was indeed visible beneath the skin along the lower edge of her ribcage. Harry was able to look there long enough to verify that his guess had been cededct about that implant being necessary to Seven's physiology. His gaze then slipped upwards toward the twin anatomical structures directly above it, and then down to the lower areas. He moaned softly. No amount of mental mathematical calculations were going to save him from his growing state of arousal this time.

If Seven noticed his discomfort, she did not indicate it as she said, "Lieutenant Kim. Harry. The boots that are a match to this clothing are located in the second alcove, on the floor. Please bring them to me."

Thankful for a reason to point his gaze elsewhere, Harry turned and spotted the boots. As he bent down to retrieve them, he told himself, She'd been a Borg for a long time, Harry, remember. What use is modesty for a race that does not copulate, eat, drink, or eliminate waste products? It's counterproductive. Irrelevant. Keep that in mind, Harry. She's got no need for false modesty. Then, unbidden, another thought came to him. Not with that body, she doesn't!

Sighing deeply, Harry straightened up, boots in hand, and walked (somewhat awkwardly) to Seven. She was struggling to pull the denim trousers up over her rear end. The pants were as tight as all of the suits Seven wore. Harry wondered if it was just something that always happened with denim jeans or if the replicator was as insensibly stunned and unable to function properly as the humanoid dwellers of Voyager were when confronted with the task of providing clothing for Seven's physique.

"Will you help me put them on, Ens . . . Harry?" Seven asked him. Harry was unable to do more than grunt a "yes" as he pointed to a box for her to sit on.

Mercifully, the boots were nowhere near as tight as the pants had been and slipped on her feet fairly easily. As he bent near her body to help her with the boots, the urge to lean over and take one of her nipples into his mouth was almost overwhelming, but he resisted. Tightening his hold on himself, hoping to keep his errant genitals from a repeat performance of the previous night, Harry straightened up to find Seven's eyes staring at him. Or more precisely, at his genital area. Seven had not failed to notice his reaction.

"You've got to hurry up and get dressed, Seven," Harry said, groaning inwardly, since he sounded for all the world the way his mother had when admonishing him to get ready for school when he was a little kid.

Fortunately, Seven said nothing to him as she slipped the blue T shirt over her head, removing Paradise from Harry's view. A red and blue plaid shirt came next, but Seven struggled a bit with the buttons. The hands that could perfectly align complex equipment in the Astrometrics Lab were a bit uncoordinated when it came to slipping a small disc through a small hole, undoubtedly due to lack of practice rather than a true inability to complete the simple task.

"Here, Seven, let me help you," Harry offered when he saw her fumbling with her shirt. Unbuttoning the shirt, since the fasteners were misaligned, he concentrate mightily on placing the plastic circles correctly into the narrow slits in the cloth. "There, that should do it. Leaving the two near the neck undone will give you a . . . casual look." Even to Harry's ears, this sounded unbelievably inane, but he was trying very hard to avoid thinking about where he was going to place his hands now that he was finished with helping her dress.

Settling on resting his hands safely on the edge of her shoulders, Harry's eyes met Seven's. They were at a somewhat lower level than was customary, as the western-style boots had heels only half as tall as her usual footwear. The expression in those eyes, both the biological and the mechanical, was quizzical, but she said nothing. Harry knew he couldn't stare at her all evening, and he had to get his hands safely off her shoulders.

Breaking eye contact after a mighty effort, Harry's eyes slipped up to her hair, which was in its usual tight twist. "Seven, why don't you weay guur hair loose tonight, the way you did for the country and western party? Here, let me help you."

As Harry lifted his hands to her head Seven turned her body to make it easy for him to remove the several pins that held her hair. In seconds, a shoulder length flow of blonde hair caressed the back of Harry's hands as he fluffed out her hair. "Where's your comb, Seven?" Harry asked, as he continued to stroke her hair, accidentally brushing his fingertips across the spidery implant by her ear in the process.

Seven breathed in deeply and shuddered. Concerned, Harry was going to ask her what was the matter, gently laying his hand along her ear and the implant as he turned her to face him. Her eyes closed slowly. He heard another sharp intake of breath as her body swayed slightly.

Harry Kim was, as Tom Paris had noted, a very smart guy. He realized that some rather significant responses occurred whenever he touched Seven's spidery implant. He recalled that when he had touched her there once before she had closed her eyes in what he had thought was a reflex action. He remembered that all of those Borg implants were interconnected through Seven's human nervous system. All of those implants, a part of Seven's body for years, serving many purposes for a Borg.

Might some of these purposes be erotic?

"Seven, does it hurt you when I touch your implant?" Harry asked cautiously.

"No, I would not use the term 'hurt' to describe the sensation. A better term would be 'pleasurable.' Of course, pleasure is irrelevant."

"Ah, well, maybe so, Seven, but maybe not. For a Borg, pleasure may be irrelevant, but for individual organisms that need to reproduce, eat, and take care of all their own needs, pleasure, pain and comfort are all very relevant. Pain warns us from dangerous actions, comfort lets us know when our bodies are in a state of equilibrium. And pleasure makes us want to do things, like eating or . . . reproducing . . . that are important to the survival of the species. For beings that utilize 'single cell fertilization' to reproduce, pleasure is a very, very relevant part of the process."

"That concept has merit." Her lips were centimeters from Harry's; her eyes were boring into his, but with a soft expression that he didn't recall ever having seen before. As she leaned her body weight onto his, Harry groaned and captured her lips with his, kissing her thoroughly while moving his hands down to her waist. And then to above her waist, to the lower edge of her ribcage, using his tactile sense to locate and trace his fingers along the subdermal wire he'd seen there.

Her response was immediate. Back arching to thrust her hips forward, Seven's pelvis made contact with the swollen member in Harry's pants, causing him to moan even more in the midst of his kiss.

"Harry, you are making noises consistent with pain. Am I hurting you?" Seven asked, panting, but in a tone which Harry now realized bore an undercurrent of concern for him. She did have feelings, but they were so subtly expressed that they were easy to miss.

"You aren't really hurting me. Well, you are, but I don't think you can help it. My body's response to being here so close to your body is the problem."

"Is it possible that your body will respond the way it did last night?"

"Not only possible, but probable. Maybe 99.9% probable."

She backed away from him, steadying her breathing while studying his bulge. "In my studies in human sexuality, I have learned that there are multiple ways of relieving such pressure in the human male other than coitus. Since you do not wish to copulate, would you be willing to allow me to experiment with one of those other ways? I would like to see the male penis ejaculate semen. It seems to be a most curious delivery system for reproduction, but from my readings, it appears to be a popular method for a multitude of species." As she finished this little speech, Seven looked back up at Harry, her face a blend of curiosity and desire. Sexual desire. Her pupils were definitely dilated.

As late as yesterday, Harry Kim might have heard this and misinterpreted it as being a totally emotionless speech, but now he was catching on to Seven Speak. If he accepted Seven's offer, he had a feeling that "going slowly" was no longer going to be an option. B'Elanna's advice rang in his ears, and the last thing he wanted to do was bore Seven to death. And hadn't Tom said only a couple of days ago to follow Seven's lead? Besides, his cock was killing him.

"I would be very willing for you to help me. And satisfy your curiosity at the same time."

Unfastening his pants, Harry slid them down so that his erection, held in only by his briefs, was straining to be released. Harry flicked his eyes up to Seven's. Her eyes were wider, and the pupils dilated even more than a few seconds ago. Before he could say or do anything, he felt a pair of hands, one completely human in feel, the other augmented with mechanical aids, slip into the waistband of the briefs and slip them down. Harry's penis bobbed in its relief at experiencing freedom.

"It is broader than I had anticipated. And it is considerably darker in color," Seven opined.

There was just enough of a hush in her voice for Harry to feel comfortable with asking her, "Have you anticipated what my penis would look like often?"

"Yes. In those hours when I have been resting in my alcove, considering your existence, I have frequently wondered what your body would look like unclothed. From my studies of human anatomy, I believe your body's proportions to be very close to perfection."

Several avenues of discussion immediately leapt into Harry's mind as a result of this comment. He really wanted to know just how frequently she considered his existence and thought about his body's "perfection," but Harry's penis probably had the most significant vote in his taking the avenue he followed. "Would you like to see my belp s proportions now?" he asked her.

"Yes, Harry. I would like to see all of you." Harry wasted no time in totally divesting himself of his clothing.

Seven walked around him and eyed him, somewhat critically, before saying, "Yes, Harry, I believe your body's proportions are ideal. Or as close as possible to ideal as a man can achieve. Your shoulders, your pectoral muscles and the gluteus maximus seem especially well developed."

"I work out," Harry heard himself say. The inanity of him making that particular comment as he was standing naked in Cargo Bay 2 while a fully clothed Seven-of-Nine circled him did not escape him. Fortunately, with Seven, that was the kind of subtlety that she was not yet able to comprehend (although Harry had a hunch she understood a lot more than she was letting on). Seven again made no verbal response to him, but instead stood in front of him and very delicately touched his smooth chest with her left, Borg-enhanced hand while her right made contact with Harry's penis. Harry's penis' response was to jump noticeably.

"Are you making it do that?" Seven inquired.

"No, sometimes it just seems to have a life of its own," admitted Harry.

Seven's right hand closed over Harry's length and gently slid from the tip to the base, then back up again. While this was going on, Harry's eyes were locked upon her moving appendage while his own appendage felt like it was going to explode. Harry's breathing turned to panting, and he seriously considered flopping Seven on her back and taking her immediately. He restrained himself, but Harry could not hold back the drop of semen that leaked from the tip of his penis. Since Seven's forefinger was there, she stroked up the drop of moisture. Lifting her finger to her mouth, her tongue lapped out of her mouth and tasted it.

Harry wanted to scream.

"It is salty. The literature was correct, as I assumed it would be. Harry Kim, how would you wish me to elieve you of your discomfort? The literature has mentioned massaging with a hand to masturbate or giving what I have seen described as a 'blow job' with the mouth as alternatives to coitus. Of course, I am perfectly willing to copulate with you, if you wish it. Which method would you prefer?"

At the moment they all sounded pretty good to Harry, but the prospect of seeing Seven unclothed again was the deciding factor. "Let's copulate, Seven."

Seven promptly opened her jeans and pulled them down. Taking them off, fortunately, was much easier than putting them on had been. She sat down on the box she'd used before as a seat to take off her boots. "I'll do that for you," Harry offered. As soon as he'd taken off her boots, Harry took her shirt and popped off all the buttons he'd so carefully fastened only a few minutes before in his eagerness to remove it. The T shirt was thrust over her head in a split second. "Stand up, Seven," Harry ordered, eager now that he was so close to Paradise. As she did, he broke the threads by her hips and stripped away the little scrap of cloth they'd held upon Seven's body. She was revealed to him, in all her glory. And definitely a natural blonde.

Ah, choices. How to proceed? Harry let his present position help him set his course. Kissing the front of her thighs and planting a soft kiss on her pubic hair (he'd be returning there later for a more thorough exploration), Harry took to his feet, his lips and tongue touching Seven in any spot that attracted his attention as he ascended. For scientific purposes, of course. He wanted to see if any other implants might cause a reaction in her similar to that which he'd seen caused by those with which he'd previously experimented.

Kissing the small spidery one above her pubic bone caused her to tighten her ass beneath his hands, which happened to be resting there at the time. Licking the tiny one in her navel made her groan. A thumb dragged slowly along Seven's second subdermal wire, curving along her upper abdomen just below the waist, caused her hands to convulsively grasp his shoulder.

Yes, his experiments confirmed what he'd suspected. All that Borg talk about pleasure being "irrelevant" was just so much hogwash. They got pleasure, and for the same reason that any species did: survival. Regeneration might be the means by which a Borg received energy, eliminating the need for food or the removal of waste products, but Harry was willing to bet it also provided a whole lot of pleasure in the process. All that current circulating through the nervous system? That could create quite a buzz. Harry wondered if the sensations experienced during regeneration might be powerful enough to be designated a Borgasm.

By the time Harry had reached this revelation, however, thinking about anything was becoming difficult. Seven's responses to his attentions to her were gratifying, and what little brain power Harry could still access was increasingly being utilized to figure out how next to please her, and him. Without him instructing her in any way, Seven had started to touch him the way he had been touching her. Her hands probed and stroked him, her lips gently touched his hair, his face, and his neck. When her eyes met his, he could see a flicker of amusement along with the desire.

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

"The stimulation of my dermal layer is quite a pleasurable experience, as I found it to be last night, when you were touching my breasts. Would you care to touch them again?"

Smiling broadly, Harry replied, "I can do even better than last night," and proceeded to demonstrate what a suckled tit felt like.

"This is a very interesting sensation. Is it much like the way suckling an infant would be?"

"It's similar, I think. I don't have any personal experience, of course," he mumbled as he switched from licking one nipple to the other.

"It is just as pleasurable an experience as having them stroked by your hand."

"Thanks," grunted Harry, a mouthful of breast interfering somewhat with intelligibility.

"Do these actions we are taking now constitute foreplay?"

Releasing her nipple from his mouth, Harry gasped, "Yes, they do, Seven. But I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out before we get to the copulation part."

"It is customary to use a bed for copulation, I believe. I regret I do not have one available in this cargo bay. Should we move to a location that is equipped with one?"

The prospect of getting dressed and moving to his quarters, at that moment, was not a particularly appealing one to Harry. "Oh, I think we can manage here. Why don't we improvise?"

Reluctantly tearing himself away from Seven's lusciousness, Harry quickly glanced around the cargo bay. Spotting a crate marked "bedding," Harry opened it to find, fortunately enough, a quantity of Starfleet regulation sheets, pillows, and pillowcases, although he couldn't find any blankets. Handing a several sheets to Seven, he pulled pillowcases on a pair of pillows and looked around again. The box Seven had been sitting on earlier had two duplicates. Pushing them together might make a bed, but it would be an uncomfortable one. Casting his eyes around again, Harry spotted a platform next to Seven's alcoves. That would be better than the boxes or the floor.

"Over here," Harry said, and quickly spread out the sheets. "A bed. Next to your normal 'bed,' Seven."

Once they were horizontal, Harry's ministrations to Seven picked up in tempo and intensity. He sucked her breasts and rubbed his hands over her body, making sure he paid attention to the uniqueness of her Borg parts as well as the more familiar human ones. His reward was to hear Seven actually moan a few times herself, in echo of the sounds issuing from his body as her hands roamed over him.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Harry moved his hand to the fair-haired mound between her legs and slipped a finger between the lips he found there. Damp, warm, slippery lips. Her body was responding now. Seven's initial response was to tighten slightly at the feel of his hand, but then she slowly parted her legs to give him easier access. Stroking and fondling her, Harry felt more and more liquid issuing from her, along with an increasing number of moans and groans.

Fingering the opening to her vagina, Harry pushed one finger inside her to explore her, but was brought up a little short. How stupid of me to forget. She's a virgin, Harry remembered. Sighing, he pulled back a little and rose up on his elbow to look into her eyes. "Seven, I'm sorry, but the first time a woman copulates can be painful. Only at first, and not for long, but I . . . "

"I understand, Harry. My studies of human sexuality have acquainted me with the fact that the rupturing of the hymen in the female can cause pain and bleeding. It is a necessary prerequisite to the first act of intercourse. I am prepared for it. Pain is, after all, irrelevant."

Harry had to smile. "As irrelevant as pleasure?"

Seven's face brightened, and a wisp of a smile could be seen crossing her features. "Perhaps pleasure is less irrelevant now than it was a short time ago."

He had to laugh then, and as he looked down into her face, he resolved to make her first experience as wonderful as he could make it. Kissing her gently on the lips, he moved lower to further stimulate the dermal layers of her mammary tissue with his oral orifice (Harry was beginning to get the hang of Seven Speak, and "thinking" like a Borg was starting to be fun) before licking his way down to her navel. He could almost feel the little implant inside buzz in rapture before he began to work on the spidery one just above her mound of Venus. While he was doing this, Harry managed to locate her clitoris with his thumb, working it carefully, while his rhythmically flexing fingers ascended up her vagina as far as they could go.

Harry's left-handed stimulating of Seven's breasts, the teasing of her pubic implant by his lips and tongue, and his right-handed stirring up of sensations in her vagina had a very gratifying cumulative effect. After moaning with increasing intensity for some minutes, Seven cried out suddenly, gutturally, not at all the sound a Borg drone is ever likely to make, as a gush of fluid lubricated Harry's right hand. His penis ached unbelievably, hearing her response. It was now or never.

Arching himself over her, Harry settled in between her legs, carefully positioning the tip of his cock at her opening. Probing cautiously and pushing in gently, his rigid shaft encountered the blockage. No use prolonging it, he thought, and thrust himself deeper. Seven jumped, uttered an "Ah," that was just as much an "Ouch," and involuntarily tightened upon him (and she was already unbelievably tight). Harry held his body perfectly still, because he knew if he didn't he would immediately ejaculate. He didn't want to, not yet. Bringing his lips up to her ear, he traced her spider-shaped ear implant with his tongue to soothe her. It worked. Her eyes grew wide, but her lips assumed a curve that was definitely a smile.

Satisfied that she was not in any great discomfort, Harry kissed her, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth several times to imitate the moves he was about to make inside of her. As he lifted his mouth from hers, the sight of her open mouth and heaving bosom expressed, more clearly than any words, that she was very pleased by the sensations running through her body.

"Harry, we have achieved copulation?" she breathed, heavily.

"We aren't finished yet," he answered, thinking how beautiful she was, even as he longed to see what reaction she would have to the completion of the act.

Moving gently and without any great depth of penetration in deference to the newness of the experience for her, Harry worked on finishing. He didn't really need to work too hard; he was so close already; and she was so wonderfully tight around him. And moist. And a very quick study. She was already moving well in rhythm with him, even though this was her first experience.

Then Harry's mind ceased to matter to him. The analytical operations officer disappeared; Harry reverted to a far more primal state. Sensual, almost animal, open only to the feel of the woman beneath him and the explosion of sensation as he climaxed. The years which Harry Kim, lost in the Delta Quadrant, had played by the rules and had become a virtual celibate were washed away in a flood of semen and a yell of triumph as he came, a throwback to the kind of primitive biological being who could never have comprehended a woman who was wired with technology at the same time that she was a creature of biology, of flesh, blood, hormones and, at the moment, secretions.


Seven was not so caught up in the act as Harry was, but that was to be expected. Her moment had already come before he had fully penetrated her, and now she looked on in fascination at the change in her totally human lover. The grimacing of his face, gleaming with sweat from his exertions, coupled with the moans he uttered as he collapsed on top of her, were amazing. Harry Kim, the competent and skilled Starfleet officer, was not easy for her to detect at the moment. The memories she had absorbed from others through being assimilated had not prepared her for this transformation, any more than they had truly communicated to her the exhilaration she would herself feel during the experience of orgasm.

Her mind considered the ramifications. If Harry had anticipated how this would feel once the act had been accomplished, no wonder he had acted so strangely around her when they had first met. Seven knew, without a doubt, that Harry had always been attracted to her, even when she had possessed far more Borg components than she did now. Her dermal layer was flushed with warmth thinking about it.

Putting feelings into words was still difficult for her, in fact, might always be difficult for her. But after the discussions of the last few days and her recent probing of her oldest memories, formed before she became Borg, Seven had no trouble interpreting the words that were escaping his lips between the groans. Seven had an excellent idea what Harry was feeling when he was murmuring, "Oh, God, Seven, I love you so much." She was confident that she felt the same way towards him.

Listening to his moans grow softer, his breathing steadier, Seven felt the urge to be doing something. Pitching him off her body was not it. The feel of his body's mass on top of her was a strangely compelling one. Another urge formed, taken from her memories. In fact, the memory that now slipped into her consciousness was a very old one, formed long before she and her human parents had ever come to the Delta Quadrant. It was one that had been reinforced recently by the actions of a few other crewmen, notably Neelix, but always it had been done to her, not by her.

She who had once been Annika Hansen remembered what it was like to circle her arms around another person. Slowly, she drew her hands along Harry's warm, supple body until her arms rested upon his upper back. When he started to move as if to draw himself out of her, Seven stopped him by the simple expedient of giving him a hug and saying softly, "I . . . love you, too, Harry Kim."


If any visitors with the clearance to override a privacy lock had chanced to exercise that option at 2122 hours and entered Holodeck 2, their ears would have been assaulted by a pounding wall of sound emanating from an ancient vehicle parked at an overlook, reproducing one on Mars in the Sol System of the Alpha Quadrant. These imaginary visitors could be forgiven if they assumed that the pronounced bouncing of the vehicle was due to the vibrations from the wailing, grinding sound of electronically-fortified musical instruments and the driving beat of drums masquerading as music. Hard rock music. Rock hard, hard rock music, playing very loudly on the radio of the vehicle.

A closer look at the automobile would quickly reveal the true source of the motion. A pair of rather large feet were poking out one back window of the car, toes pointing upwards to the ersatz sky of the holodeck. Through the rear window, a female form could be seen, bouncing energetically in time to the drumbeat. Since the female was facing in the opposite direction of the window the feet were hanging from, those feet clearly could not belong to her; it was an anatomical impossibility.

Two figures in the back seat of a vehicle that was bouncing up and down -- the imaginary visitors would not have needed to consult with Sherlock Holmes to figure out what was going on.

Any lingering doubts would disappear when other sounds, now loud enough be heard over the cacophony of the music, were discerned: "Don't stop, Tom, don't stop, don't . . . " was interspersed with "B'Elanna!" and variations on "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Ahhh!"

Although the music continued to throb, the volume lessened considerably shortly after the bouncing of the car ceased. The head of the female form disappeared, and the long slender toes of the feet uncurled before both appendages were pulled inside the vehicle.

"That was spectacular, B'Elanna. Whew! I could use something to drink after that. I'm parched."

"Want a synthale?"

"I don't know. We were going to save them for when Harry and Seven got here, weren't we?"

"We brought ten. Want to split one?"

"Maybe in a minute. I don't want to split apart yet."

B'Elanna laughed into Tom's fuzzy chest. They were still coupled together, with B'Elanna stretched out on top of her long, lanky lover. The former ladies' man, now very much one lady's man. He joked frequently about the monogamous ways of the Klingons and how jealous B'Elanna could be; but in his heart of hearts, he loved her possessiveness. There were long stretches of his life when he'd felt that no one cared about whether or not he was alive or dead. And the most disconcerting thing about it was that he may very well have been right.

Now, despite being exiled along with all of his crew mates in the Delta Quadrant, he was a happy man, living with the woman he loved, doing a job he loved, regularly having the chance to act heroically. A respected member of the community that was Voyager.

And enjoying the best sex he'd ever had in his life.

It was universally acknowledged that when it came to sexual appetites, the best matched couple on Voyager had to be B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris. Neither of the participants cared to refute this opinion, as they considered it a given.

B'Elanna pushed herself up from Tom's chest but didn't bother to get off him. In fact, she gave her bottom a little wiggle and tightened certain muscles that made Tom smile very contentedly.

"You know, Tom, I never thought of Harry as somebody who would go gaga over someone like Seven."

"Oh, I don't know. I think she's exactly his type."

"He never struck me as being in love with big bazooms." B'Elanna punctuated this statement by cupping her own and jostling them up and down for Tom's benefit. Tom lifted his hands up to help her with this. Playing with her breasts was one of many activities that Tom loved to do. In fact, touching B'Elanna's body almost anywhere, with any of his body parts, was one of his favorite activities.

The slight stirring he felt in his warmly embraced shaft encouraged him to play with her body a little more energetically. Even though they'd enjoyed plenty of action already tonight, a little more was always welcome.

"Actually, I don't think the size of her bust has anything at all to do with Harry's attraction for Seven." Catching her look of frank disbelief, he added, "Well, maybe it has something to do with it, but it isnm.
"What is it then? Her warm and winning personality?"

"She's the outsider."


"She's the outsider. Not really accepted by everyone. Harry wants everybody to be one of the gang. He's the ultimate, clean-cut Starfleet officer, but he's attracted to outcasts like Seven. Like us."


"B'Elanna, let's face it, neither one of us would have won any popularity contests when we first came on board. The exec and the doctor filled in the green ensign about my dubious past, and I even warned Harry off from me. So who becomes his best buddy? Me. And you were one of the Maquis who . . . well, you weren't all that popular either, in the beginning."

B'Elanna snickered at Tom's obvious prevarication. "Yeah, I guess so. The Maquis who broke Joe Carey's nose the first week she was on board."

"I was trying to be tactful by not bringing that up."

"No use. I picked up on it anyway. I never thought of it that way before, though. He does glom onto the losers, doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't exactly put it that way . . . "

"So if Seven were ninety years old and ugly, do you think he'd still be so crazy about her?"

"Maybe not as her lover, but yes, I think he'd go out of his way to be her friend."

B'Elanna was silent a bit, considering this while savoring the feel of Tom's hands stroking her. Finally, she grudgingly admitted, "You may have a point."

"Of course I do. And I'm glad for Harry if he can make this thing work with Seven. I warned him to be careful with her myself, if you recall. I should've kept my mouth shut. I knew it would only make him more determined to be with her in the long run. Especially now that we're together."

"His job with us is done, you mean?"

"Exactly. We've got lots of friends on Voyager now. We're a couple, and he was left on the outside by himself. Then Seven comes -- a Borg, a real outsider, and turns his head."

"That body could turn anybody's head."

Tom wisely did not respond to this remark.

B'Elanna stretched up, Tom's hands still upon her, and added, "I certainly wouldn't mind having her breasts. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Tom?"

"Nah, you're perfect the way you are."

"Perfect? I think I'd better get you to Sickbay. You're delusional."

"You are perfect, B'Elanna. I wouldn't want to change anything on you. Not one thing, and certainly not these." He was fondling her nipples, and a gleam was appearing in his eye. She could feel it, too. A gradual swelling could be detected inside her as he began to stiffen again. Her brown eyes flashed. Leaning forward to kiss him, B'Elanna curved her back so that her breasts would be closer to his mouth. Taking the hint, Tom kissed downward, but before he could reach the Promised Land, she straightened up again.

"I'll be changing whether you want me to or not, Tom. I'll get older, maybe pregnant and fat . . ."

"Doesn't matter. You'll still be perfect to me, B'Elanna. I wouldn't care if you were swollen with twins. Triplets even. You'd still be my B'Elanna. The perfect part isn't on the outside, you know."

"That's sweet," she purred, with a wicked edge to her voice and a warm feeling in her heart.

"I always aim to please, ma'am," he said, grabbing her around the waist and trying to coax her to lower herself down within reach of his mouth again.

"Tom, before we get involved again, isn't it getting a little late? They should be getting here soon. I know you wanted to give Seven a little demonstration, but this is a bit more than I was counting on."

"You're right, we should check on the time. It must be close to 2100. Computer, the current time, please?"

"The time is 2139 hours."

"What!" cried B'Elanna.

"Owww!" cried Tom. At B'Elanna's shriek of dismay, she had jumped off Tom's lap, twisting a very sensitive, semi-erect part of his anatomy in the process. His yell was followed a split second later by a higher pitched shout and several Klingon curses as B'Elanna hit her head on the roof of the car.

As an aggravated B'Elanna rubbed her head while searching for her underwear, Tom said, "Wait a minute, B'Elanna. Maybe we don't have to get dressed."

"Tom, they may have been here and gone already!"

"That isn't very likely. We had the privacy lock on."

"Are you sure?" A quick check with the computer confirmed that the lock was on and had been on since 2001, when they'd arrived on the holodeck.

"So where are they?"

Tom considered this for only a few moments before a slow smirk spread across his features. "Maybe Harry was able to solve his problem without any outside assistance. Computer, location of Lieutenant Harry Kim."

"Lieutenant Kim is in Cargo Bay 2."

"Is Seven-of-Nine with him?"


"At what time did Lieutenant Kim enter Cargo Bay 2?"

"Lieutenant Kim entered Cargo Bay 2 at 2035 hours."

"Did Lieutenant Kim or Seven leave Cargo Bay 2 at any time since 2035?"


Tom thought a few seconds more before his eyes lit up and, glancing towards B'Elanna, he said, "Are the comm badges of either Lieutenant Kim or Seven on their persons at this moment?"


"At what time was Lieutenant Kim's badge removed from his person?"

"At 2051 hours."

"At what time was Seven-of-Nine's badge removed from her person?"

"At 2047 hours."

"Now, B'Elanna, if we both removed our comm badges and didn't put them back on again for, say, 40 minutes or so, what kind of activity could you predict we would be indulging ourselves with?"

"The kind where we wouldn't want company barging in, that's for sure."

"I agree. Computer, please notify us when either Lieutenant Kim or Seven-of-Nine leaves Cargo . . . make that if either one puts their comm badge back on their person."


"I predict we are not going to be having any company on the holodeck this evening, Lieutenant Torres, other than ourselves."

"Damn. We could have gone sailing."

"I don't know, I've had a pretty good time so far tonight, B'Elanna."

"How much longer do we want to be rolling around the back seat of a car? No matter how big the back seat is."

"Nothing's engraved in stone, here. This is the holodeck, where fantasies happen. How about a little spliced-in subroutine to liven things up?"

"Got something in mind, have you, Hotshot?"

Grinning confidently, he declaimed, "Computer, initiate program splice. Run the Paris Tau Upsilon Beta Subroutine, spliced into currently running program, and locate it about 10 meters to the left of our current position. Add terry accessories for two."

"Ooo. What a nice idea, Hotshot. I'm really in the mood for that about now."

"I thought you would be," Tom said, rather smugly, as a short hum announced that the additional subroutine was being added, as requested. They peeked out the car window as a large redwood hot tub, steam rising from the surface of the water, appeared to view. Adjoining the tub was a low platform equipped with benches, a massage table, and a pile of folded white cloth items. Terrycloth robes and towels for two.

"After you, B'Elanna," waved Tom as he reached for the cooler of synthales. B'Elanna opened the door and climbed out of the car, treating Tom to one of his favorite views. B'Elanna's perfect ass.

Life was very good in the Delta Quadrant, no question.


"Umm. That was good, Seven. Very good. Was that feedback I felt?"

"I perceived some feedback, Harry. Was it uncomfortable?"

"Oh, not at all. Felt pretty good, actually."

Harry Kim was slumped on the floor of a Borg alcove, one of the ones still glowing with power, leaning his head upon Seven-of-Nine's shoulder. She, in turn, was in his lap with her legs wrapped around him, her back leaning against the rear surface of the alcove. She had her corset on and Harry still inserted inside her, but she showed no inclination to remove either. Her eyes were half-closed, as were Harry's. The expression on both of their faces could best be described as contented. Or possibly exhausted. Most likely, it was both.

"Do you wish to remain here until your morning duty shift, Harry? In case we wish to explore another position?"

"No, I think I'd better be getting back to my quarters. And three positions on your first night of intercourse should be sufficient for the time being. We can get together tomorrow and work on a few variations."

"I will research them if you wish."

Harry laughed. He didn't doubt that she would be willing to do the research, but he was also realizing, more and more, just how often Seven was kidding the crew without them picking up on it. "I'm sure you will. Suppose you pick two positions to work on, and then we'll try to be creative like we were tonight." Making love standing up with Seven impaled upon him at what she claimed was the perfect, 95 degree angle for intercourse had been Harry's idea, to test his theory about the buzz one could get from the process. It must be said that Harry was feeling even smarter than usual since the conclusion of the experiment. Making love while his loved one was regenerating in a Borg alcove would definitely be on their short list of favorite positions.

Harry looked towards the dark alcoves. "I wonder if we could get one of them hooked up in my quarters?"

"Why would you want a Borg alcove there? For me?"

"Sure. We could set it up in the sleeping area. Whenever you come to my quarters for the evening, we could s air together, and if you needed regeneration you could do it without having to leave."

"And you could be regenerated as well."

"In more ways than one! Well, I'd better be going. Where're my clothes?"

"Where you left them."

"You're a big help!" he chuckled.

It didn't take much searching to locate the pile of clothes near the box. As Harry was pulling on his shoes, his eyes fell on the discarded plaid shirt. The reason the plaid shirt was there flashed into his mind. "Ohmigod! Tom and B'Elanna! Our date! Computer, what is the time?

"The time is 0157 hours."

"Oh, no. B'Elanna is going to be so mad at us that we forgot!"

"I did not forget."

"You didn't? Seven, why didn't you tell me?"

"When I remembered, I was unable to speak. My mouth was full. When my mouth ceased to be full, I was unable to speak because I was shouting. And then my memory failed me for some reason until you mentioned it just now."

"Tom and B'Elanna are going to be so upset with me. I begged them for their help and then we stood them up."

"I do not believe that is true. Lieutenant Torres is unlikely to have missed me. And we did stand up."

"I wasn't talking about . . . never mind." Harry gave up. He'd have to apologize to Tom in the morning.

"Harry, their assistance was not essential."

"No, that's true, it wasn't." Not tonight, anyway. I'm going to have to thank Tom and B'Elanna for their advice, though. What makes a Borg a Borg -- great advice! Harry smiled at Seven. She was standing in front of him wearing only her regeneration corset, hair disheveled, her mouth bleeding a little from a nip he gave her while the current was wending its way through their joined bodies. Electricity, an astonishing aid to erotic pleasures, he thought, smiling wider. He took her in his arms and kissed her gently so as not to hurt the injury to her lip. Seven had promised tod hito the Doctor in the morning if it were not already healed by her internal Borg nanoprobes by then.

"So, what percentage of the time do you think we're going to be contemplating our existence until we meet again tomorrow?" asked Harry.

"I believe we will meet again later today, rather than not until tomorrow. You will be the subject of my thoughts for approximately 40% of the time until then. Perhaps more. The percentage of time will be higher if we include our memories and shared experiences."

Harry smiled at her. There were many more ways of saying, "I love you," than the obvious way, he was beginning to realize.

"Good night, Seven."

"Sleep well, Harry Kim."

"I don't think there's much doubt about that."


Chakotay was intrigued by the undercurrents on the Bridge this morning. Lieutenant Kim had been 10 minutes late and had apologized profusely, but the entire morning, the young lieutenant had had trouble keeping a smile off his face. Periodically all morning, Tom had turned to Harry to nod over at him with a smile, although Harry had looked like he wanted to apologize to the pilot, too. When B'Elanna had come to the Engineering console briefly on one occasion, she had given Tom one of those "come hither" looks that she always gave him when they were on the bridge at the same time -- that was nothing new -- but Chakotay could swear that she had winked at Harry. Very strange.

Finally, when Harry was relieved from his post briefly for a quick visit to the head, Chakotay took advantage of his absence to stand next to Tom at the helm and whisper, "What is going on with you and Harry this morning?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Commander. Just something personal. I'll stop it, sir."

"I'd really prefer to know what's going on. Does it have some bearing on why Mr. Kim was late this morning?"

"You could say that."

"Tom . . . "

In a conspiratorial whisper, Tom said, "OK, I'll tell you. But it really isn't going to compromise the ship's functioning, not really. It's just that B'Elanna and I had a double date with Harry and Seven in the holodeck last night."


"And Harry and Seven never showed up."

"Ahh. I see." The smile that appeared on the Commander's face was a joy to see. Broad. Bedimpled. Wicked. He had no trouble putting two and two together. Or Seven and one together, as it were. That self-satisfied look Harry'd had on his face most of the morning was now explained. Glancing down at the pilot, Chakotay added, "I gather you and B'Elanna weren't overly broken up about it."

"We managed to get over our disappointment, sir."

The commander did not trust himself to reply to this, as he was afraid an unseemly guffaw might issue from his mouth if he did. He nodded his head but waited until he'd resumed his usual seat before saying, "Carry on."

The captain had been busy in her ready room or elsewhere (it was not clear where she was part of the time) most of the morning and did not appear on the Bridge until almost noon. When she did, she sailed out of the ready room to declare, "I'm leaving you with the conn, Commander. I'm going to lunch. Mr. Kim, Mr. Paris, you are also relieved for your meal."

Nodding to his relief, Tom stood up and sauntered to the turbolift, arriving just soon enough before the captain to risk a sotto vocce, "Don't we look like the cat that ate the canary this morning, Lieutenant?" to Harry.

Before Harry could respond, the captain entered the lift and had said, "Gentlemen," before she directed the lift to Deck 2.

As the lift descended, Harry caught his friend's eye and said, "Sorry about that miscommunication last night, Tom."

"No problem. I presume that everything worked out for the best?"

Harry's smile as he nodded was so broad, so . . . so satisfied, that the captain was left intrigued by thcoupstery as much as her first officer had been. She resolved to check with Chakotay to see if he knew anything about it.

The captain exited the turbolift before her two lieutenants. As Tom and Harry followed the captain, they could see, in front of the mess hall, three figures -- two in the gold of operations/engineering, the other in the blue of sciences. The figure in blue was momentarily unfamiliar until a turn of the head revealed a Borg appliance near her left eye. "I see you've been orienting our new crew member, Commander?" the captain said to Tuvok, who was standing between Seven and B'Elanna.

"Yes, Captain. She is ready for her first regular duty shift as an official member of Starfleet."

"Splendid, Commander." Assembling her lieutenants into a group by the way her eyes caught each of theirs, she announced, "Lieutenants Torres, Paris, and Kim, I'd like to introduce you to Ensign Hansen, as she will be known during her duty shifts. She's agreed to be listed that way on the ship's manifest. I'll be announcing it to the rest of the crew this afternoon over the ship's comm, but I thought you ought to know ahead of time. I hope you don't mind, Lieutenant Kim. I know the two of you worked on the Astrometrics Lab together. Ensign Hansen will now have primary responsibility for it as the Head of the Astrometrics Department, as I informed Commander Chakotay earlier today." The captain's smile was proud, almost maternal.

"No problem, Captain. Ops certainly keeps me busy enough."

"Well, then, everyone is officially off duty until after lunch. Tuvok?" said the captain, as she gestured to her chief of security to enter the mess hall along with her.

Once the captain had left, the new Astrometrics Lab Chief said, "I will, of course, prefer to be called by my designation of Seven during off duty hours."

"An excellent compromise," said Tom.

"You look wonderful in that uniform, Seven," gushed Harry.

B'Elanna looked over at Tom, rolling her eyes. The helmsman managed to keep himself from laughing, but it required a tremendous exercise of will-power. He could almost read Harry's mind: But I can't wait to get you out of it after our shifts are over.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Kim. Lieutenants Torres and Paris, I regret our missed engagement last evening. Accept my apologies for the . . . inconvenience."

"Oh, no problem, Ensign Hansen. Perhaps some other time." Over B'Elanna's dead body, probably, but maybe I'm wrong. She might agree to it again in a decade or two . . .

Harry swung his arm protectively around Seven as the mess hall door opened, and they stepped in together. Tom took a step to follow, but when he realized B'Elanna had not moved, he hesitated. B'Elanna was standing in the same place, arms crossed in front of her with her left hip higher than the right one, staring at Seven's back.

"She certainly can fill out a uniform, can't she?" said B'Elanna.

"Is this a test?"

"No, I just thought I'd save you the trouble of having to decide whether to say it or not."

"Considerate of you, Lieutenant."

"You know," B'Elanna went on, "I'd hoped that once she'd settled in and started to wear a uniform, she'd blend in. But no matter what Seven wears, she still seems poured into it."

"I hadn't noticed." What else could he say?

"Right." B'Elanna gave him "that look." The one that said she was indulging him in his Tom Paris-ness.

Tom knew that a non-verbal message, in this instance, would be the best. He put his right arm behind B'Elanna as if to steer her into the mess hall, but his hand drifted down to her hip. After a surreptitious glance down the corridor to make sure no one was coming, his hand drifted just a bit further, giving her perfect ass just enough of a squeeze to communicate his appreciation of its firmness and shape. And incidentally, his love for the possessor of that ass, too.

B'Elanna smiled back brightly, accepting the compliment, and walked into the mess hall with him.

As Tom Paris strolled up to Neelix's station with B'Elanna Torres at his side, ready to sample the latest culinary delight from Voyager's resident chef, he had but one thing on his mind:

God, I love the Delta Quadrant -- I am a very lucky man.

The End (in more ways than one)

Return to With Jamelia in the Delta Quadrant


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