Fandom: Star Trek Voyager
Sequel: Good Vibrations.
Rating: NC-17. Contains coarse language and scenes involving sex between two women.
Summary: Stuck in a turbolift, B’Elanna and Seven must escape with the help of some lubricant.
Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. Star Trek: Voyager, and its characters are the property of Paramount and Viacom.
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Thank you to all members of Voq Je Bang who beta-ed this for me. May you never be stuck in a lift except with a beautiful Borg.
‘I am lying on my back,’ the ex-drone thought, analysing her circumstances with clinical efficiency. ‘Lieutenant Torres is on top of me. The lights are out. I am wet.’ With the aid of her cortical processor she added up these facts with lightening speed and extrapolated two possible explanations. She chose the second as most likely. “Lieutenant Torres. It appears there has been an accident with the turbolift.”
The only reply was an incoherent groan. Placing her hands on Torres’ shoulders, Seven gently eased the engineer off her, propping her up against the side of the lift. She ran her fingers over the woman’s body, checking by touch for broken bones and other injuries. The lubricant dripping from the ceiling and soaking into their clothes did not make this easy. Seven had to slip her hands under Torres’ uniform and touch the bare skin in order to be sure she wasn’t bleeding. The lieutenant kept trying to push her away, murmuring, “Oh not now Tom, I’m completely buggered.”
“Lieutenant Torres?” Seven shook her, but got no response. Knowing that the breasts were a sensitive area on humanoid females, Seven located Torres’ nipples pressing against her thin tank top. She rolled them between her fingers and pinched hard. B’Elanna woke up with an angry growl, grabbing hold of the Borg’s wrists. She froze when she felt the exoskeleton covering the left hand.
“Seven?” B’Elanna couldn’t see anything; it was pitch dark.
“There has been an accident with the turbolift. Are you damaged?”
“Accident?” B’Elanna frowned. She remembered riding the turbolift with the Borg, doing her best to avoid speaking with her. There’d been an almighty screech and she’d been thrown against Seven and everything had gone black. The power must have cut out automatically. She could smell the sickly sweet odor of TB-38 fluid, the acrid stench of burnt-out power conduits. Lubricant was running down the wall, soaking her back. There was a dull pain in her hip, the feeling of Seven’s fingers still gripping her nipples...B’Elanna shoved the Borg off her and stood up, tapping her combadge. “Torres to Engineering.”
“Seven of Nine to the Captain.”
B’Elanna muttered a Klingon epithet. “The turbolift comm relay must be out,” she said, a distinct tone of worry in her voice. “What do you think happened?” If this was just a turbolift accident, fine; they weren’t injured. But if it was just one part of a larger disaster…
“Speculation is irrelevant.” Seven’s haughty reply came out of the darkness, setting B’Elanna’s teeth on edge. “We must concentrate on removing ourselves from the turbolift. The crew may well be ignorant of our situation.”
B’Elanna couldn’t argue with that, so they set to the task of freeing themselves. However the turbolift doors wouldn’t budge even for Seven’s Borg-enhanced strength.
The Chief Engineer ran her fingers down the edge of the door. “It feels like it’s buckled in its’ tracks. We won’t get out this way, not without phaser cutters.” She turned around and spoke to where she knew Seven was standing. “Give me a leg up will you? I want to try the roof.”
“A ‘leg up’?”
“Here.” B’Elanna reached out for Seven and found herself grabbing the Borg’s ample breasts.
She slid her hands onto Seven’s shoulders and pulled her down into a crouch. Finding Seven’s hands B’Elanna showed her how to link them together into an improvised stirrup. She placed a boot in it and Seven boosted her up to the roof.
B’Elanna’s fingers moved along the top of the turbolift, feeling the overhead lights, ventilation ducts, fire suppressant system; eventually finding a breach where the lift wall should have joined the ceiling. Apparently an L-join seal had fractured under the impact. “There’s a gap here, but it’s very small. We could force it open enough to slide through. It’ll be a tight fit, but if we can get onto the top of the turbolift we can reach the doors for the deck above.”
“I will do it. My exoskeleton gives me superior strength and grip.”
B’Elanna dropped to the floor in front of Seven and formed her own ‘stirrup’. Her arms trembled as she took the weight of Seven’s body. The Borg was heavier than she’d expected.‘Must be the weight of those humongous tits’, B’Elanna thought sardonically.
There was the sound of metal alloys creaking under pressure, plastics breaking, then a quietly muttered, “Shit.”
B’Elanna blinked in surprise. Had the Doctor included swear words as part of Seven’s social training?
The strain came off her arms as Seven stepped down. “I am unable to enlarge the gap any further. However it is large enough to negotiate provided we remove our clothes.”
“Our clothes,” stated the Borg, as if discussing a recalibration of the EPS manifolds. “The gap is too small for us to move through dressed as we are now. Removing our garments and covering our bodies with the spilt lubricant will greatly ease our passage.” There was only silence from the half-Klingon woman. “Unless you would prefer to remain here?”
“Fine!” came B’Elanna’s acid retort. “Though I’m surprised you have to remove your clothes. With that tight-ass biosuit it hardly makes any difference!”
For the next few moments the only sound in the lift was the rustle of clothing and click of fasteners being released. There wasn’t anywhere to hang their uniforms, so they let them drop onto the oil-soaked floor. Boots followed with a slight thump. B’Elanna felt strange standing naked in the dark, knowing Seven was there as well. She reached out blindly for the wall and ran her hands down it, scooping up the slippery lubricant, letting it collect in her palms.
Seven’s hands touched her back and she spun round. “What the hell are you doing!”
“It would be more efficient if we assist each other in this task,” was Seven’s calm response. To B’Elanna’s shock the Borg placed her oil-coated palms directly on the lieutenant’s petite breasts. B’Elanna instinctively slapped her hands away.
“Is there a problem?” asked Seven, her voice puzzled.
“No!...well yes...I mean,” B’Elanna took a deep breath. “Look, why don’t I do...that part of my body. You can cover my back, OK?”
“That would be acceptable, Lieutenant.”
The Klingon turned around; offering her back to Seven’s questing hands. As B’Elanna rubbed the viscous fluid onto her shoulders and upper arms, she felt the former drone’s palms sliding over her body. Her strokes were smooth and efficient, just enough to apply the lubricant before moving on. The lightness of her touch made B’Elanna shiver, especially when Seven’s fingers began to trace the path of her spine, moving gradually lower, until they were sliding over the twin cheeks of her derriere. B’Elanna leaned forward to scoop up more lubricant from the walls and a single digit accidentally slid down the cleft of her ass. Her buttocks clenched and an involuntary shiver ran throughout B’Elanna’s body. Quietly abandoning her efforts to lubricate herself, B’Elanna slipped a hand between her legs, fingers seeking out her clitoris as Seven worked the oil over her well-toned thighs.
To Seven of Nine, the experience of touching a person in this manner felt unusually soothing. Her reactions were of course irrelevant in the present situation, but she made a mental note to discuss it during her next session with the Doctor. Task completed, she abruptly removed her hands from Torres’ body. “I have finished. Now you will assist me.”
She got no response, though she could clearly hear the sound of Lieutenant Torres’ breathing. It sounded much louder than before. Seven turned her back, sensed Torres stepping up close behind her, felt hands slip around her body and up over her breasts.
Seven of Nine was completely unprepared for the intensity of the pleasure she received as those oil-coated palms slid over the surface of her breasts. She gave a sharp, explosive cry and her body jerked convulsively in the Klingon’s hands. Instinctively she seized hold of B’Elanna’s arms, gripping them so tightly she snarled in pain. Seven quickly released her, ashamed at her human reaction.
'The breasts. Erogenous zone on humanoid females. Fondling of the breasts is used in mating rituals to create pleasurable sensations.'
‘Pleasure is irrelevant!’ Seven thought, trying to detach her mind from the erotic stimulation her body was receiving. B’Elanna’s fingers were gently caressing her voluptuous bosom, massaging the oil deep into the flesh. Thumbs stroked nipples that had grown fully erect. An uncontrollable moan escaped Seven’s lips and she felt a surge of anger at her weakness. “Lieutenant Torres!” she said, her voice cracking. “I think you have paid enough attention to that area!”
“Well you do have rather LARGE breasts Seven,” replied B’Elanna, not pausing in her activities for one second. “I’m just trying to do my job…efficiently.”
In a supreme effort of will, Seven forcefully removed B’Elanna’s hands. “I suggest you move on to the rest of my body!”
It didn’t change matters. While the erotic sensations were reduced, the emotional impact was still the same. Seven found herself enjoying B’Elanna’s touch, luxuriating in the contact of flesh on flesh and craving it when the engineer removed her hands to gather up more lubricant. Her shoulders, her ribs, the small of the back were all lovingly explored, stroked, caressed. She felt strong hands gripping her buttocks and squeezing hard, then Lieutenant Torres pressed her entire body up against hers, crushing her breasts against Seven’s back. A frisson of pleasure, like a mild electric shock, ran through them both. A smooth leg slipped between Seven’s thighs…
Seven reached behind her and pushed Torres away. Even with her enhanced strength it took some effort. She spun around. “Lieutenant we do not have time for this!”
B’Elanna’s response was a low, barely human growl and for an instant Seven thought that she’d be physically attacked. Instead she felt a hand sliding down her pelvis, searching for her cunt. Seven grabbed hold of the intruder. “It is not necessary to lubricate that part of my body,” the tall blonde said, trying hard to manage her usual irritated tone.
“I think it’s already lubricated,” replied B’Elanna, giving a throaty chortle.
“I will attempt to negotiate the gap in the turbolift roof. Assist me!” Seven responded, far too shaken to remember any of the Doctor’s lessons in politeness.
Seven of Nine waited until the engineer formed another stirrup and then boosted herself up. Trying to ignore the distracting sensation of the Klingon’s hot breath on her inner thigh, she quickly found the breach. Her fingers touched the sharp edges of fractured alloys. She would have to flatten them if they wished to avoid injury.
But the ex-drone quickly found that the lubrication fluid greatly compromised her efficiency. It interfered both with her grip and Torres’ ability to hold onto her. Seven dug the fingers of her exoskeleton into the metal but her foot slipped out of Torres’ hands and she found herself hanging, legs flailing desperately for a purchase. Torres grabbed her wildly swinging legs and the Borg promptly hooked them over the lieutenant’s shoulders. Seven of Nine sighed in relief, mentally reprimanding herself for not thinking of this sooner. This position was much more stable.
B’Elanna on the other hand was experiencing complete astonishment as she found Seven’s thighs wrapped around her head and Seven’s moist sex pressed hard against her mouth. She had an insane urge to laugh; she would have if her mouth hadn’t been full. I mean, what was a girl to do?
Seven’s renewed efforts to smooth the gap were interrupted by the feeling of eager lips sucking on her most intimate regions. The younger woman tightened her grip, refusing to allow the amorous half-Klingon to distract her this time. But her poise was severely disturbed when she felt a hot tongue slipping inside her, stroking the velvet walls of her vagina. “Lieutenant Torres, you will terminate your activities!”
“Mmmm, mmm, mmm,” replied B’Elanna, digging her strong fingers into Seven’s thighs. The fiery engineer continued her assault, seeking out the small bud of flesh that she knew rested at the top of those sweet-tasting folds.
‘I am Borg,’ thought Seven with determination. ‘Pleasure is irr –’
B’Elanna’s tongue brushed against her clit.
Seven’s universe was destroyed in a blinding flash of ecstasy, her designation, her newfound individually swept away in an instant. All thought ended, existence was futile, perfection achieved.
Awareness returned: of her racing heartbeat, the way her hips were pumping of their own accord against B’Elanna’s face until the half-Klingon buckled from lack of oxygen and they both fell to the floor.
It took Seven one minute fifty-four point eight seconds before she could regain enough breath to complain.
“Our ship is in possible danger!” Seven shouted, taking out her anger at her lapse on Torres. “It is inefficient for us to engage in sexual activity at this time!” In the inky blackness it was as if Seven was scolding herself.
B’Elanna snorted. “For your information Seven, I was just trying to TALK to you. But it’s a bit difficult when you insist on pushing your pussy into my face!”
Seven of Nine was thankful that Lieutenant Torres could not see her expression. Shame at her loss of control overwhelmed her; it felt as if she was blushing all the way down to her feet. “W-What did you wish to communicate?”
“I just wanted to tell you...that your pussy tastes very good.”
Seven glared at the patch of darkness from which she could hear chuckling laughter. “I am glad to see you find this amusing, Lieutenant Torres!”
“Call me B’Elanna, seeing as you’ve come...to know me so well. Give me a leg up will you?”
Within seconds B’Elanna’s fingers were gripping the edge of the gap…and her thighs were wrapped tightly around Seven’s face. The Borg kept her mouth stubbornly shut, realising that Lieutenant Torres was not even trying to climb through the hole. B’Elanna jerked her hips impatiently against Seven’s lips, but got no response.
“Ghuy'cha',”B’Elanna swore, lifting her pelvis up so she sat higher on the Borg’s face. To her surprise Seven felt her nose slipping in between the folds of Torres’ labia, a strong hand gripped the back of her head, and with savage growls B’Elanna began to aggressively fuck her face. Bracing her heels against Seven’s back, the half-Klingon woman ground her pussy hard against the Borg’s nose. Her arms were killing her but she was going to get an orgasm from this stuck-up ice queen one way or another!
‘Lieutenant Torres is…copulating with my olfactory organ!’ Seven thought incredulously. In all her extensive research of human mating behaviour she had never encountered this technique. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of cunt and B’Elanna’s wetness flooded down her cheeks. ‘Resistance,’ Seven realised with sinking resignation, ‘…is clearly futile.’ She tilted her head up, hearing a triumphant laugh as her lips meshed with B’Elanna’s luscious sex.
* * * *
Ensign Vorik’s emotional stability was severely tested when a turbolift door slid open in front of him and two naked women, their bodies glistening with oily lubricant, clambered out.
“Vorik!” snapped one of them, and he recognised his superior Lieutenant Torres. “The ship, what’s happening? Are we under attack?”
Vorik would have raised an eyebrow if they hadn’t already been at their highest point. “That is incorrect. There has been an accident involving turbolift Beta-05, though we were unaware that anyone was inside. I was just fetching a phaser cutter for Lieutenant Carey.” His gaze moved between B’Elanna and Seven of Nine. Dirt and oil smeared the former drone’s usually immaculate features. Her bun had come loose and clumpy strands of hair were stuck to her face. Yet she stood in the corridor quite calmly, hands clasped behind her back, completely indifferent to her nakedness. B’Elanna however was using her hands to cover her more personal regions. She glared at Vorik, dark eyes promising fatal injury if the ensign dared smirk.
“The situation is under control,” continued Vorik, who fortunately as a Vulcan was not the smirking type. “May I suggest you both retire to your quarters and make use of a sonic shower?”
Seven of Nine frowned. “I do not have a sonic shower in my cargo bay.”
“That’s OK, Seven,” said B’Elanna, speaking with deliberate casualness. “There’s one in my quarters. You can use it...if you like.”
Seven of Nine raised her ocular implant. The faintest twinge of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “That would be acceptable...B’Elanna.”