The BLTS Archive -  Lizard Babies. . .
(And Other Hazards of Transwarp Sex)
by monkee (wiecek@earthlink.net)

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Archive: ASC, BLTS, or JuPiter

Date Posted: November 11, 1999

Disclaimers: Paramount owns Star Trek Voyager and all of its
characters, including the poor abandoned lizard babies. . .

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Kathryn Janeway sighed and sat up in the biobed.  It was no use – she
couldn't sleep.  The doctor had given her a mild sedative, but it
wasn't working.  She just couldn't seem to shut her mind down long
enough to drift off – not surprising really, all things considered.
After all, she'd had a busy couple of days.  She'd been attacked and
hauled onto a shuttle, where, after traveling at transwarp velocities,
she'd evolved into a giant lizard and mated with her helmsman, who was
also a giant lizard.  Nope, not a typical week – even in the Delta
quadrant.

Her memories from the transwarp incident were fading by the minute,
and it was frustrating.  Like trying to remember a word, or the name
of a song, and having it just out of your mind's grasp.  She only
vaguely remembered the exhilaration, the sharpness, the acute
understanding that she'd experienced when she'd regained consciousness
and the shuttle had reached transwarp. She hated losing all of that,
but it seemed there was nothing she could do about it.

Ironically, the only sensations she did remember were the ones she
definitely shouldn't be thinking of.  Disjointed sensual images and
memories – of cool skin, hot breath, movement, slickness, and
penetration. Joining.  And to be associating these feelings with Tom
Paris, of all people. . . It wasn't that he was unattractive, or
somehow
unworthy – not at all. But he was just so. . . young.  So. . . Paris.

She wondered for about the dozenth time if she'd been a random
selection. Had the mutated Paris just happened upon her, or had he
sought her out specifically?  The implications were troubling, and
were part of what was keeping her awake.

Only a handful of people knew about the offspring she and Paris had
spawned, and they could all be counted on for discretion, but she knew
the rest of the crew had undoubtedly pieced a lot of the rest of it
together.  She sighed, again.  Good Captains did not have sex with
young men under their command, even if both parties were consenting
lizards.  So much for protocol.

Well, it hadn't been her fault.  It hadn't been anyone's fault.  It
had just happened and they would all have to deal with it as best they
could.  This was Starfleet, after all, and weird was part of the job.

Giving up on the notion of sleep for the time being, she slid herself
off the bed and stretched.  Maybe it would help if she walked around a
little bit.  Inwardly, she cursed the doctor again for holding her
here in sickbay when she'd be much happier in the privacy of her own
quarters.  She understood – he wanted to be sure their genetic codes
had stabilized – but she didn't have to like it.  She'd agreed to try
to sleep and ordered him to shut himself down for a few hours.
According to Kes, he'd been operating continuously since this whole
fiasco began.

It was the middle of ship's night, and sickbay was quiet, the lights
dimmed. She padded silently past Paris' darkened alcove and, glancing
in, noticed that he wasn't in his biobed either.  She heard him
rustling around in the doctor's office and went over to investigate.

Standing at the door, she saw that he was sitting at the doctor's
desk, his back towards her, staring at an image on the computer
screen.  She recognized the image – she'd spent quite a bit of time
staring at it too. It was a close up shot of three young lizards
sunning themselves on a rock in a swamp.

She spoke, and her words sounded loud in the silence of the room.  He
didn't flinch – didn't seem surprised that she was there.  "The one in
the middle looks just like you," she told him, forcing a lightness
into her voice that she didn't feel.  She knew he still felt as
awkward as she did about all of this.

He didn't turn around, but he started to laugh.  His shoulders shook
and he ran his hand distractedly through his hair, mussing it.  "The
doctor told me that one was the girl," he replied.  She chuckled and
stepped up behind him to get a closer look.

"Well," she had to admit, "it's awfully hard to tell, isn't it?"

They both laughed, then grew silent, both of them looking at the
image.  She looked down to see Paris sighing and shaking his head.

"I feel a little guilty," he confessed, when he noticed her watching
him. "I don't feel anything at all for them.  And I'm relieved that
they couldn't be transformed into humans.  What kind of an attitude is
that to have about your own offspring?"

"I feel the same way," she confessed.  "But remember, lizard's don't
care for their young the way human's do. And they're self-sufficient
from birth. They don't need us. It's probably normal for us to feel
this way." Listening to her own words, she had to laugh.  "Well," she
snorted, "as normal as possible under the circumstances."

"Yeah, they'll be fine there," he agreed, nodding. "And a starship is
no place to raise lizard children. . . "

She grinned as he shut off the image and turned to face her. But he
still couldn't really face her, she noticed.  His expression was still
tinged with embarrassment and uncertainty.  He took a breath, but
didn't say anything, just snorted softly to himself.  Finally he
forced himself to make eye contact.

"How are you doing?" he asked, quietly.

She leaned back against the doctor's desk and folded her arms across
her chest.  "Oh," she said, with a tired sigh, "I'm alright, I
suppose.  I just feel. . . odd, you know? And I wish I could remember
more
about the way I felt and what I knew.  It's a little troubling, not
being able to remember.  But I'm starting to wish I could just forget
it completely. I'm exhausted, yet I can't sleep. How about you?"

"About the same, I guess," he said.  He stood and moved beside her,
mirroring her stance – leaning against the desk with his arms folded
over his chest.  Their arms were nearly touching - she could feel his
shoulder brushing against hers through the light material of the
medical gowns. He didn't look at her.  "It was almost like being
omnipotent.  My mind felt so unencumbered.  Everything seemed so
simple.  Now, I feel so. . . slow."

She nodded soberly in agreement.

"But a whole lot more attractive," he added, poking her with his
elbow.  She laughed at his effort to lighten things up.  She looked
him over with mock appraisal.

"I have to agree," she smiled.

Tom chuckled, and she saw his gaze drift up to her hair, which was
loose. There was the briefest flash of appreciation in his eyes, then
he looked down at the floor, uncomfortable again, and preoccupied.  He
glanced up, but when he found her watching him, he looked quickly
away.

"What is it?" she asked, although she wasn't really sure she wanted to
know. His close proximity was distracting to her – she was remembering
things she shouldn't be again.

With some effort, he forced himself to look directly at her.  He bit
his lip, then took a deep breath.  "I wasn't entirely honest with
you," he admitted, quietly.

"Oh?"

"About. . . not remembering. . . you know," he added.

"Oh. Well. . . " It was her turn to look down at the floor.  She
smiled,
then laughed a little, embarrassed.  She hazarded a glance over at him
and was touched to see him blushing.  He was usually so confident and
cocky – to see him genuinely troubled by all of this was endearing,
somehow.  "It's all right," she told him, hoping that she wasn't
blushing herself.  "I. . . remember some of it too."

He relaxed, a little, at her confession, then looked directly at her
face, smiling.  But when their eyes met, his smile faded, as did hers.
She almost gasped at the sudden surge of attraction that passed
between them.  She found herself very much aware of his physical
presence beside her – his height, his warmth, his darkening eyes.  He
moved slowly away from the desk and faced her, then raised his hand
toward her face.  He stopped when she jerked back and closed her eyes.

"I remember," he said, his voice husky in the quiet room.  She opened
her eyes and was overwhelmed by the expression of desire on his face,
and how drawn toward him she felt.  He reached for her again, and she
didn't flinch. He touched her lips with his fingertips, and she turned
slightly, not certain if she was trying to pull away, or extending the
caress.  He pulled his hand back like he'd been burned, clenching it
into a fist. What was happening to them?  "I remember. . . images
mostly,"
he continued. His voice wavered, but he went on.  He spoke softly, and
brought his head down so that their foreheads were nearly touching.
She knew she should step away from him, but she just couldn't bring
herself to move.  "Random sensations. I remember your eyes. They were
different but still the same.  I remember the way your breath felt on
my skin, I remember how you seemed to need me as much as I needed
you. . . "

Need. That's what she had felt.  An intense, primal need to join with
him – she remembered it, and she was feeling it again.  "Oh God," she
whispered as he slowly tilted in toward her.  She meant to pull back,
but found herself meeting him halfway. They didn't kiss.  Their lips
were touching, barely, but they were just exchanging breath. They
stayed like that for a moment, and then she began to move her mouth
slowly, nuzzling his face, trailing her lips and her tongue over his
skin. He groaned and moved his mouth down to her neck – occasionally
flicking his tongue out or nipping her with his teeth.  Both of them
still had their hands awkwardly at their sides, but then their lower
bodies melded together and she reached up to grasp a fistful of his
tunic and pull him even closer. His hands moved to her hips. She was
beyond reason, and so aroused – she was grinding up against him and
she felt like she would explode if he so much as touched her.  They
were moving across the floor and it was difficult to say who was
controlling that – she was tugging at him, but he was also using the
weight of his body to propel her backwards. She didn't even know where
they were going – they seemed to be moving instinctively, blindly.

He moved his hands, now, from her hips to her waist, her arms, her
breasts, her neck, her hair. . . That was a new sensation, she
realized.
When they'd done this before, they hadn't been able to touch like
that, and she was mad with the desire to feel his hands on her skin.
She moved her own hand around to the back of his neck and into his
hair, bringing his mouth back to hers, still just breathing – the air
between them hot and moist. Pressing against him, pulling him, feeling
him press against her, pushing her back toward. . . the Doctor's lab.
That
was their destination. It had a door that could close behind them.
Rational thought had left her completely – she was driven by a
powerful urge to consummate. . . whatever the hell this was. Her face
was
burning. She was on fire. She wanted him inside her. Now.

"Tom," she moaned, bringing her hand down to firmly rub his erection
through the loose medical pants, "I want you. . . I need to be with
you. . . "

"God!" His reply exploded from his lips loudly.  They reached the
doorway and he rammed her up against the frame. "You are incredible.
You're beautiful.  Captain. . . "

It was her title that did it.  It was good, she realized later, that
he'd never called her anything else, because if he hadn't called her
'Captain', they would never have stopped.  But he did, and the results
were instantaneous.  She gasped and stiffened, and he wrenched himself
away from her and across the room.  He backed himself up against the
far wall, and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, his head
buried in his arms, breathing hard.  She leaned her forehead up
against the doorframe – letting the cool metal sooth her burning face.
She struggled to catch her breath.

"Captain," he groaned, "God, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

"Tom," she managed to say, "We absolutely can't do this. There are a
hundred reasons why we can't do this."

In order to focus, she reviewed some of those reasons: She was his
commanding officer and it was against protocol.  He was ten years
younger than she was.  His father would kill her.  She didn't love him
– she was fond of him, but she didn't love him.  She couldn't afford
to get distracted – she was the CAPTAIN, Dammit!  And even if she
weren't his Captain, he wasn't her type. She would cramp his style.
And he would drive her crazy. A hundred reasons. At least.

Oh, and she was engaged. Right? It was still conceivable that Mark had
not given her up for dead.  She felt a pang of guilt whenever she
thought of Mark, lately. And sometimes days went by when she did not
think of him at all.

Sighing, she walked across the room and knelt down across from him –
but not too close.  "Tom," she said,  "you don't have to apologize. It
wasn't your fault. Obviously we're still being affected by what
happened. I'm sure whatever that was will pass."

He looked up at her, calmer now.  "I don't know," he said,
uncertainly. "Maybe we don't have a choice. Maybe we're bonded for
life, now, or something."

"Lizards don't mate for life," she argued.

"Well, we weren't really lizards.  We were evolved humans. Maybe
evolved humans mate for life," he countered.

"No," she said, firmly. "It will pass, like the rest of it.  And even
if it doesn't, we can't do this."

He sighed, and smiled.  "I know," he said, resigned.   He reached over
and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.  She stiffened, but
didn't pull away. They were both in control now, but she still felt
drawn to him.

"I want you to know," he added, "that I meant what I said. You are
incredible. And you're beautiful."

He spoke so sincerely that tears came to her eyes.  It had been a
long, long time since anyone had said something like that to her, and
she missed it. And she was flattered.  "Thank you," she said, after
drawing a wavering breath.  She reached out and brushed her fingers
over his cheek, affectionately.

He caught her hand, and pressed a kiss into her palm.  She felt
herself tremble.  He didn't let go.  It was going to happen again if
they weren't careful here.  He whispered, "I wanted. . . I wanted to.
. . "

"Never mind!" she said, pulling away, but trying to temper it with a
smile. "I'm going to bed now. Alone. Over there."

Chuckling, he relinquished her hand.  And then it was all right. The
moment had passed.  She stood up and headed for the door.  "All
right," he said. "But you just let me know if you change your mind. .
. "

"Good night, Tom."

"I'll be right next door, you know, if you want me. . . "

"Good night, Tom."

"Just one biobed away. . . "

"Will you be quiet?" she laughed.  "I think I liked you better without
a tongue!"  She turned as she reached the door and said, firmly, "Good
NIGHT, Tom."

He nodded, but as she left the Doctor's office and entered the
darkened sickbay, she heard him say, softly, "You could learn to
appreciate my tongue. . . "

She laughed out loud, went back to the doorway, and scowled at him,
good-naturedly.  "I heard that," she said.

He chuckled, then stopped joking around.  His smile faded from his
lips, but did not leave his eyes. He nodded, and said, "Good night,
Captain.  Sleep well."

She smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.  "You too," she replied.
Then she turned and headed back to her certain that she would NOT
sleep well at all.

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The End