Author’s Note:  Second in what I am now calling the Chained Melody Universe, which started as the one (and only) sequel to “Chained Melody.”   In this story, we learn what might have occurred if Tom had gotten his wish to be the “filler in a B’Elanna-and-Seven sandwich.”  However, there is no question as to just who is in charge of this little escapade.  T/P/7, in that order.  Rated NC-17.  Thanks to Captain Jinx, for thinking up Mallworld, to which I refer.

This is entirely for “queco,” testosterone-packed young man that he is.  But he begged so sweetly, and included chocolate whipped cream!  Just like Tom in this story, how could I resist?

Disclaimer:  Paramount (er, Viacom, er, CBS) owns it all.  Always has, always will.  I accept this.

Yes, B’Elanna

by Diane Bellomo

“Ow!  Shit!”  B’Elanna leaped back, but couldn’t avoid being hit with almost the entire contents of the mug of water she had just asked for.

She had absently reached for the chilled mug from the replicator, forgetting her wrist was  sore.  It twinged sharply and refused to support the weight of the oversized glass mug.  Ice cold water dripped from her shirtfront, as well as down the wall beneath the replicator.

She bent and picked up the now-empty mug with her right hand, attached as it was to her  good wrist, and set it back upon the replicator pad.  She then retrieved a towel and proceeded to dry herself off, taking a swipe or two at the wall for good measure.

Still damp but no longer dripping, she brought her attention to her wrist again, twisting it in a circle and feeling some definite discomfort.  Perhaps she should have gone to Sickbay that morning before her shift, but that had seemed like an incredibly bad idea at the time and it hadn’t really hurt like it did now, after a full day’s work.  Maybe she could sneak in now and have her wrist properly attended to, without the whole world noticing.

Cradling her wrist in her opposite hand, she absently wondered if Seven had gone to Sickbay.  Probably not.  Though her humanity was manifesting itself more and more each day (no kidding!), there were many things her Borg nanoprobes could still easily handle.  A sore wrist would certainly be one of them.

Her door chimed.  Who the heck could that be at 1530 hours?  Tom still had half a shift in Sickbay to get through and she hadn’t made plans with anyone else.


The door opened to reveal Seven-of-Nine, who stepped into sensor range so the door wouldn’t close.  There was a bandage around her right wrist.

“Lieutenant Torres, I am sorry to bother you.  I can return if this is an inconvenient time.”  She actually turned to leave, when B’Elanna spoke.

“No, Seven, god, no, come in, please.”  Her wrist began to throb, as did her head.  What was this about?  Oh hell, she knew what this was about.

Seven entered and the door slid closed.  In her usual style, she wasted no time getting right to the point, though it was clear she was unsure how she wanted to express that point.  “Lieut…B’Elanna…I have spent this entire day…distracted…by thoughts…not unpleasant…thoughts about what we did…”  She faltered and her voice trailed off in decidedly human fashion.  She brought her bandaged wrist up to rest within her Borg-enhanced hand and just stood there, blue eyes wide, full lips parted in distress.

B’Elanna decided to cut the woman a break.  Even with the damned implants, she looked pitiful and very un-Borg-like, standing there with one arm cradled by the other.  Which was, B’Elanna noticed, exactly the way she was favoring her own arm.  Besides which, it was not like she was ignorant of what Seven was trying to say.

The day before, the captain, in a desperate attempt to teach the two women a lesson about working together, had chained them together using an uncomplicated metal wrist restraint.  While they had certainly learned how to work together during their duty shift, they had also learned quite a bit about how to play together when their shift was over.

When morning came and the captain had roused them, they had engaged in a brief  moment of passion before going to Tuvok to have the restraint removed.  No real words had been exchanged between them since the night before, and it was unsettling to B’Elanna to see Seven standing there in such serious straits, still unable to give voice to her feelings.

“Seven, c’mon, sit down here, would you?  I see you went to Sickbay.  I thought your nanoprobes would take care of it.”

Seven dropped to the couch, clearly grateful for the change of subject, and B’Elanna sat beside her.  “They…did, for the most part, though I am able to control the extent of their abilities.”  She held her arm out to B’Elanna.  “The Doctor advised I should wear the bandage until it healed completely.  He said there shouldn’t be any scarring, but that I could return to Sickbay if there was and he’d take care of it.”

B’Elanna took Seven’s hand and carefully began to peel back the bandage.  She saw the thick pink line of new skin in a circle all the way around her wrist and winced, remembering the horrible way it looked just yesterday.

A red alert klaxon began clanging alongside the ache already occupying space in her head, but she resolutely ignored all of it.  She kept Seven’s hand and met her eyes.  She felt a familiar tingle in her loins, and wondered how on earth she thought she could simply forget what they had done together.  First of all, the memory was too fresh for her to be over it, and second—second—she wasn’t sure she wanted to be “over it.”

She also wondered what Tom would think of this and then scolded herself silently.  He would think this very hot is what he would think, Torres.  Oh hell, she thought it was hot; how could she fault Tom for thinking the same thing?

B’Elanna could feel her blood beginning to simmer.  If resistance was, indeed, futile, then B’Elanna did not resist, any more than she had the night before.  There was just too much innocence in those pale blue eyes to ever forego, innocence seduced by a raging desire to learn as much as she could about every aspect of her blossoming humanity.   It occurred to B’Elanna that this was not altogether unlike her desire to understand her own humanity—except Seven didn’t have Klingon physiology to kick her into warp nine arousal at one touch.

She spared a thought for the woman beside her, that maybe it was unkind to use Seven like this, but dismissed that thought immediately.  Seven had come to her, practically vibrating with “distracted thoughts.”  B’Elanna knew that didn’t necessarily give her carte blanche, but it did give her less of a reason to think she was using the ex-Borg solely for her own pleasure.

She came back to herself when she felt Seven move her hand and shift on the couch.

Already knowing the answer, B’Elanna licked her dry lips and asked anyway.  “Seven, was there something you wanted?”

Seven took a huge breath and released it, sighing, “Yes, B’Elanna.”

B’Elanna’s headache disappeared, as did the throbbing in her wrist.

*   *   *

Tom Paris trotted down the corridor towards B’Elanna’s quarters.  He had just been released from his stint in Sickbay and was looking forward to dinner and a little snuggling with B’Elanna.  He was tired, sure, but he knew he could shake that off if she was in a mood.  Which she usually was.

He arrived at her door and cheerfully pressed the call button.  He knew her key code, but he didn’t really like to use it much.  It was more fun to ring the chime and have her answer—especially if she did so in one of her more skimpier outfits.  He waited with anticipation for about thirty seconds, and then wondered why she hadn’t come to the door.  He was right on time; wasn’t late or anything.  He pushed the chime again, and this time the door slid open.

Oh boy, she was wearing something skimpy, all right.

She was wearing Seven.

Well, no, that wasn’t exactly correct.  She was, in fact, wearing a burgundy silk spaghetti-strap nightie that just about covered the tops of her brown thighs and provoked a faint stirring in his pants.  Seven, taller than B’Elanna, was draped casually (and possessively, he noticed) sort of over her, dressed in what looked like one of his off-duty khaki workshirts.  It did not compliment her coloring as much as the burgundy did on B’Elanna, but it sure looked a hell of a lot better on her than it did on him.

He knew (as did the entire ship, gel-packs included) they had been chained together the day before, and at the express orders of Captain Janeway were told to get along or die trying.  He had not gotten a chance to speak to B’Elanna about what had happened between she and Seven, but apparently they had figured out a way to get along just peachy.

Seven’s hand moved against B’Elanna’s bare shoulder.  His eyes followed the movement.  Kee-rist in heaven.  They were joined at the wrists again, B’Elanna’s left to Seven’s right, but this time it wasn’t a harsh metal restraint that bound them.  It looked like a short length of silk.  Ice blue.  Matched Borg eyes exactly.

Instantly, his pants got a whole lot tighter, and he was very glad for the bottle of wine he had brought, which he tried with feigned nonchalance to place in front of himself without it looking like that’s what he was trying to do.

That trick didn’t work at all.  B’Elanna leered at him, reached out and took the bottle.

“Hello, Tom.”  She glanced at the label.  “Mmm…Chambourcin this time.  Very nice.”  Seven remained silent, but had lifted her hand and was stroking B’Elanna’s smooth cheek as she spoke.  Definitely possessive.

Then Seven did something completely unexpected—as if finding her hanging over his girlfriend, clad in one of his shirts wasn’t unexpected enough.  She reached out and stroked his own cheek, which was not nearly as smooth, he knew, but she gave him a rare smile, apparently pleased with the roughness, and issued something even rarer:  an invitation.

“Won’t you come in, Ensign?”

Straight into his head the thought came roaring, the classic one, the one he figured B’Elanna had, by the looks of her, also heard:  Resistance is futile.

He was not sure when they had probed his mind for this particular fantasy, but he knew they hadn’t had to probe very deeply, and he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, as they said (whoever they were, and who gave a damn, anyway).

“Thank you, ladies, I believe I will.”  He was surprised as hell that the words came out in such a neat and orderly fashion.

*   *   *

Once inside, he went straight for the stemware B’Elanna kept on a shelf by the replicator and brought down three wineglasses.  He was not about to ask if anyone wanted a drink.  He was about to provide them with drinks.

He brought two glasses to Seven and B’Elanna, who were sitting side by side on the couch, returned to the kitchen for his own and came back to the living room.  He placed himself precariously on the edge of B’Elanna’s favorite armchair, facing the women across the room, and raised his glass.

“Drink up, girls.  No synthehol tonight.  This is the real thing.  I think…” he choked then, not a good thing, but continued, opting for honesty, “I think, well, I don’t know about you two, but I could sure use it.”  He took a healthy swig, enjoying the fierce burning in his throat.  He watched B’Elanna take a tentative sip, tasting and apparently approving, because she took another less-tentative drink.  Seven brought the glass to her nose and took a polite sniff but did not drink.  Oh yeah, he remembered what synthoholic champagne did to her.  He did not want to imagine what affect real alcohol might have on those implants of hers.

He studied the women as they contemplated the wine.  Why was B’Elanna so quiet, and why, why did Seven keep stealing looks at him like that?  She looked like some kind of predator, eyeing her next meal.  Maybe she was.

He suddenly came to a decision, not even aware he’d been on the verge of making one.

“B’Elanna, Seven, wanna tell me what’s going on here?  I mean, it’s not like I don’t already know what’s going on here, but I was just wondering where I fit in.  I love a mystery just as much as the next guy, but if you’ve got some special plans that include me this evening, I’d really like to have a clue.  I’m much, much better if I have a clue, ya know?  If you’re just teasing me, I’m not up for it, no matter what my body might be doing.”

He stared pointedly at B’Elanna during this little tirade and saw her face soften into a genuine smile, which relieved him no end.  He was ready to get up and leave, but he really didn’t want to.

B’Elanna cut right to the chase.  She set her glass down, removed Seven’s glass from her hand and set it down as well, and then kissed the woman full on the lips.  They spent a few seconds engaged in a passionate liplock that provoked quite a bit more than just a “faint stirring” in his pants, and then B’Elanna turned her head slowly to him, her black eyes hooded with desire he recognized oh so well.

“Wanna fuck, Tommie?”

Thomas Eugene Paris carefully placed his glass on the floor and stood.  Equally as carefully, he put one foot in front of the other and walked the three steps to the couch, kneeling down in front of them.  He put one hand gently along the inside of Seven’s thigh, heard her gasp lightly at the contact, and stretched up to give B’Elanna a firm, quick kiss.


He rose again, yanked off his shirt and let it go flying, and untied the drawstring at the waistline of his pants.  They slid to his ankles, revealing a pair of silk boxers, in the exact same color as B’Elanna’s nightie.  Of course it was, they had purchased them together at one of the well-stocked hotel gift shops on Mallworld.  A piece of pure luck that he had worn them.  He stepped out of the pants and kicked them aside, holding out his hands for each of theirs.

It was then he realized how much negotiating they must have had to do the day before when they were chained together.  They took his hands and stood, but their opposite wrists were bound by the blue silk.  The only way they could move was if he began walking backwards or if they dropped hands and he turned around.

He chose the former, and began walking backwards around the furniture and into the sleeping area.  He sat on the edge of the bed, and they sat to either side of him, their bound wrists together in his lap.

It was a rather enchanting way to begin.  He kissed Seven and was not surprised that an up-close-and-personal experience revealed she was just as good a kisser as had been demonstrated some moments earlier.  (Well, she had had an excellent teacher, after all, assuming B’Elanna was the one.  Could have been one of the Doctor’s lessons.  God, who knew?  Who cared?)  He separated from her and turned to kiss B’Elanna, who brought her free hand to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, growling deep in her throat.

He felt his penis jump against two hands that were immediately stroking him.  He guessed it was two hands, anyway.  It was hard to tell unless he actually looked, and he didn’t want to bother with that.

He lay back, twisted to his right behind Seven, and scooted up to the head of the bed, resting his head on the pillow.  After a minor, but very well-executed adjustment in positions, both women followed him, stretching out on opposite sides but nearly halfway on top of him, their bound wrists on the pillow above his head.  They parted their thighs around each of his, and he quickly learned that the nightie and the workshirt were all they were wearing.  His next thought went straight to his crotch.

…filler in a B’Elanna-and-Seven sandwich…  And that was all it took.

“Oh Christ!  Oh Go…!”  He bucked and spasmed, right inside his shorts, just like a teenager.  He heard B’Elanna chuckle, felt her reaching under the elastic of the boxers to smear the warm product of his climax over her hand and along his belly.

“What’s the matter, Tommie, we too much for ya?”  

He snatched her hand out of his shorts and brought it to his lips, licking her fingers.  “Oh, I don’t think so.”  He went to roll on top of her, pulling the nightie up out of the way, but she stopped him with a wet hand to his chest.

“Whoa there, Flyboy.”  She leaned around him and he heard her whisper something to Seven.  He strained to hear it but only caught the last bit:  “…just like I showed you.”  Seven’s response was plenty loud enough in the quiet room.

“Yes, B’Elanna, I remember.”

“That’s my girl.”  B’Elanna returned to her former position on her back beneath Tom, issuing instructions.  “Up, Tom, get up on your hands and knees.”

He wasted no motion, rising up, shucking the messy boxers, and easily straddling her.  B’Elanna shimmied down until her mouth was level with his shaft, which was bouncing lightly as it hung there, stiff as a board.  He had had to walk his arms over a set of tied wrists as B’Elanna moved down.  It was very odd to see them there beneath him, a flash of blue silk in the dimly-lit room.


B’Elanna wrapped her hand securely around him and began to swirl her full lips around the leaking tip.  His eyes dropped shut.

“Jesus, Bee, that feels so good.”  He started to rock forward and back, unable to keep still.  She chuckled with her mouth still around him, and he felt that vibration to his toes.  He could smell his lover and wished momentarily that he could touch her, knowing the nightie was up above her waist.  The thought, unfortunately, was far too fleeting to act on.

He felt a cold hand on his backside.  Seven.  Even as he was looking at two silk-tied wrists, he had forgotten she was there.  She was massaging his ass, and it was a disturbing sensation, because he realized she was using her free hand, the left one—the one covered in Borg enhancements.  He surged forward, away from the contact, and B’Elanna gagged violently.  He pulled back immediately.  The hand on his ass did not return.

“B’Elanna!  God, I’m sorry!  Are you all right?”  He tried to sit back on his heels, but Seven was right behind him and he couldn’t.  Balancing on one arm, he stroked B’Elanna’s hair, figuring he had spoiled everything.

Silly him.  He should have known B’Elanna was more resilient than that.  He did know B’Elanna was more resilient than that.

She raised up on her bound hand and used the other to pull his hand out of her hair and set it back on the bed.  She coughed lightly but was clearly on the road to recovery.  “Don’t have a Vulcan cow, Tom, I’m fine.  You just startled me.  What happened?”

Seven spoke up.  “It was me, B’Elanna.  I was…I was…”  Once more, Seven was unable to voice her feelings.  Once more, B’Elanna rescued her.

“I suspect you were doing what you were supposed to be doing, Seven.  Helmboy here just couldn’t control himself, and if he doesn’t fast learn to control himself,” she looked sharply at him, “we’re going to cancel his evening of special fun, aren’t we?”

Seven spoke again, in that breathless tone that seemed to indicate she would follow the dark woman into the depths of Hell and stay there forever to serve her with rapture, “Yes, B’Elanna.”

“Okay, Ensign, back up on your hands and knees.  Let’s try this again.”  B’Elanna fell back on the bed and reached to stroke his semi-flaccid penis into action again.  Seven resumed her position behind him.

It did not take long for his body to respond, but this time he was extra careful to keep himself from moving too much against B’Elanna’s mouth.  He just hung there, swaying a little from side to side.  B’Elanna’s practiced tongue knew all the right ways to keep his attention.  Seven, behind him, had clearly had a few lessons as well, but it wasn’t until he felt a familiar chill directly at the entrance to his anus that he jumped and tried to swing his head around to see what Seven was doing.

B’Elanna moved her mouth off him to purr in throaty Klingon admonition, “Thomas Eugene, I’m surprised at you.  Settle down, now, settle down.”  She gave a soft aside to Seven.  “Not yet, love, try that first.”

He turned his head back to B’Elanna and nodded.  “Right.  Right.”  He took a deep breath and exhaled, willing his entire body to relax.  Surprisingly enough, his body responded and then responded further when he felt a very slick, very warm enhanced hand slide over his backside and up his spine.  Oh, that was much better.  Seven was massaging him, using warm oil.  Smelled like patchouli, cut with a lighter fragrance he did not recognize except that it kept the patchouli from being too heavy.  He relaxed even more, breathing deeply once again and allowing his eyes to slip closed again.  Blindly, he moved his hand to cover the hands bound beneath him, and their fingers tangled together.  B’Elanna continued to suck him lazily, purring contentedly, expertly keeping him just on the edge.  He wallowed in the sensation.

Seven’s massaging technique was uneven because it was one-handed, but no less arousing because of it.  She moved back down around his ass and parted the cheeks gently.  This time, he did not resist, but pushed back against her questing fingers.  She fondled the tight opening, stretched it, coated it with the warm oil.  The stimulation drew a loud groan from him and a corresponding approving growl from B’Elanna.  He felt B’Elanna’s teeth pierce him, and he squirmed in luscious agony, groaning again.

Just then, Seven made a human cooing sound and inserted one warm, oily, finger deeply into him, stirring gently.  B’Elanna relaxed her jaw and took him fully into her mouth, and he was lost, gone, gone.  Gone from the room, gone from Voyager, gone from the Delta Quadrant.

He soared in the vacuum of space, into some hazy nebula somewhere that contained just the three of them.  He knew he was making noise and he thought he was even speaking words, but he was not sure and he never became any surer after it was over.  (B’Elanna knew, but she never told him.  He was saying “Yes, B’Elanna” over and over.)

B’Elanna and Seven continued their leisurely carnal assault on him until B’Elanna decided it was time.  She made a subtle adjustment to her method and immediately felt him tense for release.  She was very near release herself, and quickly rearranged her legs around one of his, pushing herself against him, straining towards her own climax.  She felt him slide his knee forward, grinding his thigh into her.

In the explosive moment when he came, roaring with the effort, B’Elanna came, too, choking on his semen, swallowing and ripping her mouth off him.  She spit and screamed hoarsely, pounding herself against her lover, adding an obscenity that echoed in the room.

Seven observed this harsh lovemaking, feeling moisture dripping down her inner thighs, trembling with the intensity of it, but without once disturbing the rhythm of her finger inside Tom.  B’Elanna had taught her well.  B’Elanna had also cautioned this might happen—that she and Tom might get a little carried away and she might be left out.

B’Elanna told her not to worry too much about it.  She said Tom would probably sleep like the dead afterwards and then they could have another go at it.  Even if he woke, he would just watch, and that would be okay, too.

Seven whispered, “Yes, B’Elanna.”