Summary: Tom and Seven have finally reached that stage of a relationship.

Author Notes: This story is pulled almost verbatim from a scene in One Word itself, with heavy additions and modifications. I really, really tried to avoid it, but couldn't. Angst galore, because I simply can't write without it, and some snugglebunnies for the romantics out there. This story is set directly after the episode Nothing Human. Thanks to Kat and Diane for being so sweet as to write for me--Diane is off the hook, but poor Kat is still under contract for a couple. Maybe more.

*****

Tom wasn't surprised when he saw Seven waiting for him at the door of his quarters.

"I wish to speak to you, Tom." Her inflection was so precise his name became his title, and he stepped back mutely, allowing her entrance. She walked to the center of the room, turning to face him, hands behind her back, her face expressionless. At her Borg finest.

"What's wrong, Seven?" He moved to face her, leaning against the arm of the couch and crossing his arms over his chest, watching her carefully. She met his eyes coolly.

"Are you considering a reconciliation with Lieutenant Torres?"

A question he'd been asking himself since he'd returned from Sickbay. He'd been pretty sure she'd ask. He took a breath, trying to find a way to say what he was thinking. Seven never accepted anything but absolute honesty.

"Seven--sit down, please. I guess it's time we talked."

"I am more comfortable standing."

"Humor me." He reached forward, taking her elbow, and she reluctantly allowed him to lead her to the couch. After she was seated, he took the opposite side of the couch, hands clasped together, elbows rested on bended knee.

He'd never felt so guarded--everything he said now would be important, and he began to frame his responses, already knowing what she would ask, even how she would ask him--he knew her that well.

"Tom?"

He glanced up, meeting her eyes.

"I can't say the thought hasn't occurred to me, Seven."

Her jaw tightened and Tom drew in a deep breath, trying again.

"I was with her the entire time that--thing, insect, whatever it was--was attached to her, killing her. And I was scared, Seven. I won't deny that, either. I do--I still have feelings for her."

For a moment, he stared at something far away.

"But--Seven, having feelings for someone when they are in danger is normal. I don't--I mean, I--dammit."

"You need not resort to profanity to get your point across, Tom. I understand." And she began to rise. One hand shot out and caught her arm, stopping her half-way up.

"No, Seven. What I'm trying to tell you--and I'm doing it badly, I know--is that having those feelings doesn't mean that I want to--well, reconcile, so to speak."

"But you have feelings for her."

"I have feelings for you too."

Blue eyes darted to his, and he watched surprise spread across her face. One talent--he certainly could keep the women in his life uncertain. Disliking himself for that, he shifted closer, feeling her sink back into the couch completely.

"Seven, I'll probably always have feelings for B'Elanna--I was in love with her, and we were together for a long time. But--but that's as far as it goes." Looking at Seven, at the curious vulnerability her face reflected, even in its lack of expression, he knew he had to say this right the first time--as he knew, second chances were too rare. He smiled, shifting his grip from her elbow to her hand, caressing the long fingers gently. "No, I don't want to initiate a reconciliation between myself and B'Elanna, Seven. Too much went wrong--and it's been too long." He moved a little closer, lifting her hand gently. "And it just so happens I come to be very much attached to you."

And Tom watched in fascination the myriad emotions that played across her face, then the sudden flush of hot color on her cheeks. He leaned forward, one hand brushing across her jaw, and kissed the warm, slightly parted lips. He laced their clasped fingers together, and she shifted closer herself, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh as she leaned forward, balancing herself.

He'd kissed her before, but she'd never responded quite like this. The hand on his thigh tightened as she brushed her tongue against his teeth, and he tightened his grip on her jaw, drawing her even closer, trying to move closer himself. And she tasted--he didn't have words to describe it even if he'd been clear-headed enough to try. A little sweet, a little tart, so warm and soft

After a moment, he pulled back, looking into slightly drugged blue eyes. The pink tongue crept out, licking her lips slowly, unconsciously, and he followed the movement with his eyes, feeling his breath quicken.

"Will you stay for dinner?" His voice sounded a little breathless.

She nodded slowly, uncharacteristically subdued, and he stood up, noticing his own slight shakiness. Slowly, he walked to the replicator, ordering something in a low voice, he had no idea what, then turned around to look at her.

She had leaned back, almost reclining, hands clasped on her knees. The blonde hair had come loose, and several soft golden strands curled around her neck and ear, one delicious curl brushing over her eye. She was watching him with an expression he recognized, though he'd never seen it on her face before, though he'd certainly seen it on his own, on countless others.

But something else--surprise, maybe wonder--definitely pleasure, with a light flush staining transparent alabaster skin. Without meaning to, he walked back over, hearing as if from a distance the replicator humming, but sat back down beside her, bracing himself on one arm against the back of the couch, and leaned over to kiss the full lips. One arm went around his neck, pulling him against her, opening her mouth fully beneath his.

A kiss he felt all the way to the bottom of his feet. She took over, as she always seemed to--long fingers running up and down his back, her other hand tightening on his shoulder, and he locked an arm around her waist, pulling them both up, then slipped her into his lap, leaning against the back of the couch. She accepted the change in position easily, parting her long legs to straddle him, sliding as close as clothes would allow them, then pulled her mouth back, taking a long breath as she looked into his eyes.

"What?" His voice sounded breathy, a little strained. Certainly not unusual, considering.

"I feel--" She glanced down at the position she was in, then back, and Tom laughed softly.

"Yes, well--male response to stimuli. Especially stimuli like that." He caressed her cheek, watching with fascination as she leaned into the caress.

"I would--" she stopped, frowning a little, and he let his hand travel the line of her neck to her collar. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I would like to continue this activity."

"No problem."

She frowned, and he watched again as she searched for the words.

"I would like to engage in coitus," she finally said, looking down at Tom with that cool, determined look he knew very well. He'd seen it in a lot of situations.

Just not this one.

"Sex?" He knew his voice must have jumped at least an octave, but Seven, usually remarkably perceptive, did not seem to notice.

"Yes." She leaned back a little in the circle of his arm, watching him. Tom tried to remember the last time someone had surprised him like this.

"Seven--" he took her face in one hand, looking up into clear eyes. "I don't know if you're ready for that."

"I have discussed this with Captain Janeway."

Tom lost color, and Seven worried she had upset him until he began to laugh. Arms tightening, he buried his head in her shoulder and laughed until he couldn't draw in enough breath. After a few moments, Seven freed herself from the tight grip and looked down on him with concern.

"Tom?"

Tom shook his head, trying to get his air back. If only he could have heard that conversation...

"You discussed it with the Captain." He grinned up at her. "No wonder she's been giving me such strange looks on the Bridge today." He shook his head. "To be a fly on the wall...what did she say?"

"Not to rush into a physical relationship, and to be sure I feel ready to make the transition."

"Are you?" He studied her face.

"I have considered all possible ramifications of this course of action..."

"That's good."

"And I cannot--I do not see any impediment to changing the nature of our relationship."

"You mean, have a relationship," he answered, and straightened, gently drawing down her face. "Seven, it changes a lot of things. If we have sex--or when, or whatever--it shouldn't simply be because we are attracted to each other. It should be because we have feelings for each other, and that we have a certain amount of commitment--" {I've changed. Three years ago I never, ever would have thought anything like that.}

"I understand this. I do not mean to suggest that we simply--" She stopped again, and Tom realized just how far she was out of her comfort zone by the way she spoke. "I would like to have a relationship with you, Tom. A--monogamous relationship."

He nodded slowly.

"Do you have feelings for me, Seven? More than friendship or attraction--I mean, do you feel like-"

"Yes. I have what is termed 'romantic feelings' for you." The long fingers clenched briefly on his shoulders as she thought. "I enjoy your company, and I have found that I--miss it after an extended absence. I--look forward to our time together. You have begun to occupy a considerable amount of my thoughts during the day. Does that qualify?"

"I'm glad I'm not the only one, then." She tilted her head, and he quickly reworded it. "Yeah. I think that qualifies."

He kissed her again, gently, then pulled back to smile.

"Do you want to eat dinner?"

"No." She shifted her position, deliberately, and Tom caught his breath.

"Here?" he asked softly.

"Yes." The soft voice was almost a purr. In a single liquid movement she stood up, and Tom, after a moment, followed her, taking her hand in his. The long fingers trembled a little, but when she turned to him once the door was closed behind him, he saw the smile--small, a little tentative, but most definitely there--turning her mouth.

"You don't have to do this--" She stopped him by stepping closer, blue eyes darkening almost to black, almost on level with his. "Okay, never mind that part."

"I've studied the recorded data on sexual intercourse, Tom. I understand what will happen." She met his eyes without flinching. "Are you worried because I have not had the opportunity to engage in this before?"

Softly, he caressed her cheek, then let one finger trail up to touch her eyebrow implant.

"No. Not that. Well, not really." Though Tom, in retrospect, was aware he had never, to his knowledge, made love to a virgin--and Seven of Nine was as virginal as they came. "But--mmm--well, you'll see." He slid one arm around her waist, kissing the parted lips, letting his hand slide down her face to her neck, to the collar of her jumpsuit, then to the back of her neck, finding the zipper without difficulty and sliding it down her back to her waist. Soft skin was beneath his fingertips, and the slightest ridges of wiring beneath her skin. He felt her quiver at the touch.

She pulled back, looking at him again, eyes wide, the smile on her face shaking a little, but definitely there, and her hand touched his cheek--almost hesitantly, almost with wonder.

And Tom Paris, without a second thought, fell in love with Seven of Nine.

* * * * *

Tom woke up first, the second her arm touched his shoulder.

It was one of those things--he slept light. It took time, familiarity, and a shitload of trust to make it otherwise

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, trying to remember when he had last ate. It had to have been awhile ago. His stomach, however, was not at all interested in food. Or anything.

He'd slept with Seven of Nine, former Borg. He'd gone through with it. He'd changed the level of their relationship.

They actually had one.

That was enough to make his stomach turn over. He was pretty sure it was the good kind of turn-over. The butterfly kind, not the nauseous, I-want-to-throw-up-at-the-first-opportunity-kind.

God, he hoped he had said the right name. He couldn't remember.

It hadn't been just sex. He'd made love to her--hell, he'd been her first lover, a responsibility he didn't take lightly, and he knew he'd done everything right. Everything perfectly--she wouldn't settle for less, and by God, he wouldn't be any less. For her.

She'd been so curious. About everything. And Tom Paris, who had had so many lovers he'd lost count long ago, could just about tell her anything. And show it to her. Everything he knew, everything he'd practiced to a fine art--he had skills other than piloting, and God knew he'd practiced this one.

He had one of those rare opportunities to shape her into exactly the kind of lover he wanted--exactly the kind of lover he preferred, and ruthlessly, he took advantage of it. She had every advantage otherwise in their relationship and knew it--in this one area, he wanted it to be in his control.

And he'd exhausted her; she'd fallen asleep, extremely sated, and here he was, sitting up, wanting to wake her and do it again--after getting the regenerator and fixing a few things he knew he'd damaged.

Well, it was in the training, actually. He'd spent years working himself into the tightest emotional isolation he could manage--which was considerable.

And that part scared him more than anything else. He glanced around the room, noting the discarded uniform on the floor, her shoes by the bed--then the long blonde hair spread across his pillow. Curling slightly from sweat against her bare shoulder, sheet clinging to her slim body.

Maybe he should think about getting a bigger bed. She was his height, after all. Things could get uncomfortable very soon. He couldn't afford to wake up every time she brushed against him.

Preferably awake, on her back, on her side, on her knees, on him, against the wall--maybe in her alcove during gamma shift--the possibilities were endless.

The shock in the blue eyes when he'd entered her. Shock and pleasure and amazement that he knew no one else had ever seen reflected there--that only he had, and only he would.

He liked making her look at him like that. He liked the way she murmured his name. He liked the way she touched him, smiled at him, kissed him. He liked her trust.

It was a heady feeling. He reached out, touching her face gently, stroking a thumb over her cheek, feeling the smooth skin warm to his touch. Noting the bruising, suddenly remembering her teeth in his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood.

How many times in your life did you get a chance like this?

Tom closed his eyes, walking to the bathroom, not bothering to dress. Stared at the mirror, trying to decide, and God knew why, if he looked any different. This was something you did after a first time, not--

But in a way, it was a first time. For her. For him too.

"Tom?" He hadn't heard her get up.

He didn't turn around, watching her reflection approach--unclothed at that, and completely unself-conscious in her nudity. She stood just behind his shoulder, then one hand stroked down his back. He felt the air leave his lungs, the blood recongregate in another region entirely.

Blonde hair, long legs, flat stomach, full breasts--nothing he didn't already know, nothing he hadn't already enjoyed--and so had she--remembering how she'd looked on her hands and knees, remembering how she'd looked just above him, her breath erratic--who would have recognized Seven without her infamous passivity, panting--showing her how to balance herself, touching all that flawless skin, finding every implant, memorizing their location, her response to them--showing her everything she asked for.

He remembered how it felt to be inside her, how tight she was, how hot--how incredibly responsive to everything he did.

Vaguely, he wondered if he should check on her reading material from the database. It was apparently a better source than he had expected.

"How do you feel?" he asked, catching her hand on his shoulder, bringing it gently to his lips. He thought he heard her purr. Her free hand slid across his waist--definitely looking for something.

She was a fast learner.

"I assume you are referring to my emotional state," she answered coolly, leaning against his back. He drew in another breath at the feel of those full breasts pressing into him. "I am well. And you?"

He wasn't really sure. He stared into the mirror, at the silky hair trailing over his shoulder, her eyes half-closed, her mouth moving slowly over his skin, long fingers trailing up and down his stomach, somehow more arousing than direct contact would have been.

"Fine." He felt her breath on the back of his neck. "Do you need the regenerator?" He knew she did--at least in a few spots that probably were uncomfortable at very least.

"Perhaps you would like to examine me?"

"You've been studying the database innuendo subfiles, haven't you?" Still holding her hand, he turned around, looking into the blue eyes.

She didn't answer. She was staring at his mouth, a look he couldn't misinterpret, didn't even bother trying to resist.

"I wish to--"

"I think I can guess." He pulled her against him, kissing her, feeling her instant response, moving against him, one hand against the back of his neck, the other sliding down his back, nails biting. He lifted her, and she slid those impossibly long legs around his waist, devouring his mouth, pressing as deeply as she could. As he'd noted before, she was surprisingly light, extraordinarily flexible, and very, very enthusiastic--and she tasted--

He found the shower stall with one hand, slipping inside without distracting her, pressing the shower on, the hot water hitting his back instantly. She drew in a gasp, and he moved to her neck, finding that soft spot just below her ear that made her melt. Her back found the cool wall, water hitting them both, and she reached down, taking him in her hand, lowering herself onto him with slowly increasing expertise--she felt so good--

He stopped breathing. He knew she did. Fully inside her, he paused, searching the beautiful, flushed face, the glazed blue eyes, parted pink lips. He ran a hand across her back, over the subdermal wiring that made her shiver, to the implant near her hip, teasing one nipple, finding her lips again in a kiss. Feeling the brush of her tongue at the corner of his mouth, nails digging into his back hard enough to break the skin--as he'd learned to like, even need.

"Seven--" he whispered against her ear.

Her head tilted back, the arm around his shoulders tightening. Eyes in his. He smiled a little.

"Lesson eight."

The End

 

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