
                                by Palindrome
                        (Comments are welcome and Encouraged)


Liasions
     Deanna entered the room. It was private, in a short corridor inside sick-
bay, often used as an isolation chamber but more often as a convalescent
room. Worf slept, his back healed under him.
     It was nearly dark, the indistinct lights came softly from a diagnostic
panel on the wall which lighted half the room. When she bent to bicycle her
legs from her tights the small light dimmed even more. She smiled, the
directional display wasn't visible from the bed so the occupants couldn't
stare at it and work themselves into a worry. Deanna disrobed and looked at
herself, subconsciously asking how she looked. She did have big feet,
well, large feet. She stacked her clothes on the visitor's chair.
     Worf slept, breathing deeply. Such a frightful pleasure, sneaking up on a
Klingon. Of course, much of the warrior reputation was cultural boasting;
the warrior caste had been in control of the Klingon Empire for nearly one
hundred years, and kept their position in the time-honoured tradition
of murdering moderates and peace-makers. But still, sneaking up on a
Klingon, hmmmm. Of course, she had seen him early on some days,
scratching his chest and asking what time it was as he re-adjusted to ship
time after having acclimated to a local time on one planet or another.
     She touched the blankets over his centre, scraping her fingernails over
the cloth. Again and again. He was dead to the world. The great warrior
snored lightly. Deanna momentarily thought better of this and withdrew
her hand. She stared at his indistinct face, but it was too dark to see so
stepped lightly to one side, bending close, allowing more reflected light
to touch on the bed. Deanna began breathing as deeply as Worf; she tried
timing her breaths with his, but soon became distracted by her voyeuristic
stare. Bent over, her knuckled fists pressed between her hips. How tall was
he, anyway? Her fists lingered as she straightened her back.
     Taking the blanket from two corners she raised it upwards like a jewel
thief. He wore an ugly-striped thick wool pyjamy. She remembered first seeing
sleeping clothes when her father and mother took her to Earth for the first
time and they stayed at an uncle's house. Even her mother, who dressed for
everything, never understood the principle: 'Earth people dress so
they can be unconscious, why not wear knee-pads in case you fall out of bed
while going so far?' On Betazed one wore a house robe before going to sleep 
and again at breakfast. Deanna bent over Worf, dragging the blanket on the 
floor; shadows traced over her as she circled the bed to drape the cooling 
covering over the chair. One more use for the chair: she picked it up a 
centimeter over the floor, bringing it closer to the bed accidentally knocking 
over one of her shoes. The counsellor untied the string at Worf's waist and 
opened the button fly. The trapped air escaped, releasing hot air made humid 
held close to his skin.
     She touched him again, slowly drawing her fingertips over him. It felt
like skin, what had she expected?
     Slowly he filled out, and the skin began tightening. Deanna put one foot 
on the chair, stood in the air and set one hand and knee down aside him. The 
chair skidded a little, but she didn't drop onto the bed suddenly, waking him. 
She tugged at the trousers, whispering, 'Slowly,' once to herself, there was 
plenty of time. He was half-erect, she traced him again, slightly fearful: 
what would this do to them--that they'd navigate later. She wanted to touch 
herself, she started at the amount of noise she was making. How best to waken 
him? Not by the grunt she made by clearing her throat just now. Deanna kept 
one hand on her mons and one on his; she touched the crown lightly with taps 
while stroking herself with comparative force.
      Deanna inched forward on her knees and bent her wrist to angle his
 penis upward; she leaned her hips forward and took the tip inside.
     She relaxed her legs, settling her weight on him.
     In the darkness she drew herself up, exhaling, she took in a sharp 
breath, and exhaled lowering again; she felt him glowing at peace. Deanna
shook one hand into her hair, and set the other next to his  head to lean 
over him. She nuzzled his hair. He smelled wonderfully, even the sick-bay soap 
smelled good on him.  She didn't want to touch him anywhere so that he awoke 
feeling only their juncture. Cat-like, she licked his eyelid, breaking her 
promise immediately. As her breasts, brushing against his top and her vulva 
pushing against his pelvis sent a roar of pleasure through her, she broke 
her promise again in spirit by baring her teeth to breathe a hot sigh onto his 
face. Again she felt a slight fear as his penis grew: the knot was forming 
as he built toward climax. Deanna moved forward and back over him, one hand on
her breast. Soon her movements grew shorter as the swelling knot
captured her; she pressed herself against him with the slight self-
indulgence of anyone nearing climax. She started at Worf's cough.
Parallel with him, she raised her head, sighing an open-mouthed
smile. Hmmm.
     Laying on his trunk, pulling futilely at his open pants, she
tensed; her eyes fluttered, her breathing ragged. Now.
     Deanna rocked over him, smiling. He groaned and arched beneath her.
The Betazoid felt him grow focused, swimming toward consciousness.
She lay still as Worf ejaculated, pinching herself. His penis would slowly
contract, until then they were joined. The swollen knot on his penis was
so extended that, while a long way from painful, she moved only slowly
and slightly. Pressed against him, she rocked gently, building upwards
once more.
     Deanna gave his flat cheek a loud, open-palmed slap. Nothing wrong 
with _his_ nerves.
 

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