For those moments, I own her.
Bent backwards over her desk, against the wall of a deserted turbolift, on her knees on the floor of a convenient Jefferies Tube, saying my name over and over.
Just for those moments, she doesn't belong to the ship, or the Captain, or her damned engines and reports and friends and everything else.
Just to me.
Walking over to her in engineering, hidden by a console, running a hand over her hip, down her back, feeling her stiffen, as if to say no.
But she doesn't.
Sitting in the ready room, tracing her thigh with my fingernails, watching from the corner of my eye as she shifts, cheeks coloring, as if she'll move away.
But she won't.
In Sandrine's, pulling her into a corner when I've had one drink too many, hiking her up against the wall, a knee between her thighs, licking the skin beneath her jaw as her hands go to my shoulders, as if to stop me.
She never has.
She feels it too.
She says my name, whispers it against my skin, eyes closed when I pull her shirt out of the loose skirt she's wearing tonight, sliding a hand up to her breast, playing with the nipple while I kiss her, her head pressed against the wall.
Just for those moments, she belongs to me and no one else.
Finding the line of her underwear with my other hand, seeing what kind she's wearing, finding her ready--knowing she would be--teasing her open just a little, her breathing becoming ragged. Opening her legs a little further, lifting one around my waist. Biting her tongue hard enough to taste her blood, feel her growl.
Pulling back to look at her, sliding a finger inside her, feeling the clench of muscles, watching the brown eyes close, her hands on my shoulders tightening, nails digging into my shirt, into the skin beneath and knowing I'll find blood there in the morning. Pressing against her, licking her jaw to her throat, catching the skin between my teeth--she tastes--
"Tom," a breathy whisper.
I shift my grip on her hair to her neck, looking into her wide eyes.
"Maybe--we should--should leave."
We could, we probably should--it won't be the same if we go back to quarters, and she's collected herself, no longer surprised--no longer that moment.
And it would be good--great--but it won't be this.
I push her up a little farther on the wall, finding the crotch of her underwear with two fingers, pulling sharply downward, hearing the satisfying tear of material. She breathes in sharply, looking into my eyes.
"Just let it happen, B'Elanna." I whisper it in her ear, nipping the lobe sharply.
She reaches down, unfastening my shorts, fingers brushing against my erection through the boxers--I clench my teeth, jerking her hand up, pinning it beside her head--covering her mouth, stifling her voice, her tongue is still bleeding--trapping her against the wall, her leg tightening around my waist, pulling us closer together, until I lift her, lowering her slowly, not letting her mouth go, until she takes all of me--until I have all of her--until I brace my elbow on the wall and begin to move inside her.
A dangerously public place. It doesn't matter.
Riding her, feeling every tremble of her body, feeling everything she feels, knowing that for these moments, nothing exists for her but me.
I own her. But only then.
Her legs tighten around me as I keep that steady rhythm, unbuttoning her shirt with my teeth, biting across her collar, knowing I'm bruising her, hearing her growl, muffling herself against my shoulder, teeth cutting through thin material into my skin. Thrusting up into her again to hear her gasp.
I can keep her here forever, I think, as her arm around my back tightens, hand on the back of my neck where the skin is damp--keep her panting, body beginning to shudder, speeding up just a little to hear her moan, running my free hand down to touch her center--she's so tight around me. Her heartbeat accelerates, I can feel it with my lips on her breast--pushing her bra aside, licking across one nipple, taking it between my teeth and tugging hard. Lifting my head, pulling her face up so I can see her eyes, glazed, lips, parted--moving hard into her again so I can see her face this time when I do it, want to know everything she's feeling, want to know I'm doing it to her, making her feel it.
She's so close. I can feel that too.
I kiss her again, stopping any sound she makes, pushing into her a little harder, bucking her up a little higher, letting her come down to do it again, taking her hips between my hands, licking the corner of her mouth, running my tongue over her teeth.
Thrusting into her a little faster, her legs locked around my waist, the heels of her shoes digging into the back of my thigh, looking into her eyes. Knowing the moment is coming, she's saying something in Klingon I don't understand, head back against the wall, feeling those beginning tremors inside her, around me--
It's sudden and sharp--her back arches, I cover her mouth so no sound escapes, feeling her bite into my lip, lifting her again, then bringing her down, hard--all those little tremors all around me as she comes, riding her out on it, shaking--just keep moving steadily, forcing her a little farther, a little higher, her whole body pressed against mine so I can feel it all, know everything she feels--
And that's when I let go. Pressing her flat against the wall, knowing I'll leave bruises on her sweat-slicked hips from my grip, three last thrusts into her, taking in her gasps--somewhere in the back of my mind knowing we shouldn't make any sound--stop caring as the world condenses down to the look in her wide open eyes, the taste of her skin between my teeth--
God, B'Elanna. Yes.
Slowly, we both slide down to the floor, turning so I can cradle her, still softening inside her, she buries her head in my shoulder, panting against my neck.
I own her. But only then.
Like she owns me.