Living on a space station, Jadzia has long since learned to appreciate the simple pleasures of being planetside. Fresh air on her face rather than air recycled through filters, sunlight beaming down on her rather than the harsh flourescent glare of artificial light, soft springy grass under her feet rather than cold unforgiving metal.
She's appreciating the simple pleasures a little differently today though.
Because today, the soft springy grass is not under her feet, rather under her back and the sunlight beams down on her as she throws her head back and gasps as fresh air moves not against her face but between her legs and the exposed flesh there. She bites her lip because while they're far from public view, there's still no sense in drawing attention to themselves, and Worf might see things differently because he nips at her inner thigh before lifting his head to meet her gaze.
What she sees there makes her breath catch, the way his eyes glisten with amusement, the way his lips glisten with evidence of her desire for him. His lips curl in a smile as he sees the effect he's having on her and he speaks two words - "Breathe, Jadzia," - before he lowers his head again.
It's easy for him to say that, she thinks, as he laps at her gently, tender teasing strokes expressly designed to drive her out of her mind. She reaches down, tangles her fingers in his hair, as much anchor as instruction but Worf will not be moved, will not be hurried. He'd said he wanted to take his time with her and he's true to his word, bringing her close to release but backing off each time until she's writhing against him, her gasps long since turned to pleas and moans of his name.
She has no idea how long they've been like that when he finally - finally!- lifts his head, meets her eyes once again and, without any warning, slides two fingers inside her. Her mouth opens in a silent scream and she never takes her eyes away from his as he establishes a steady rhythm, not having any difficulty breathing now, her breaths coming faster and faster as he pushes her inexorably towards the precipice.
"Come for me," he says, his voice lower than she's ever heard it, an unmistakable command and she follows it gladly, her back arching off the grass as she convulses around his fingers. She has to close her eyes then, has to, and the last thing she sees before she does is his smile, satisfied, proud almost as he mutters words that she can't make out over the pounding of her heartbeat.
When she returns to herself, he's still wearing the same smile. "Breathe," he tells her again, before adding, with a different kind of smile, "we are not finished yet."
Jadzia feels a smile stretch across her lips. "Promises promises," she murmurs as she draws his lips down to hers.
It turns out that Worf, being the most honourable of Klingons, always keeps his promises and Jadzia has no complaints about that.