AN: Yes, the Vulcans and candles reference makes another appearance here. I now decree that each chapter must have at least one::grins:: And it is because of wee-me that the second half of this chapter is written from Vorik's POV— an astonishing shift—I wish I had tried it sooner. ::bows to wee-me:: Okay, okay. Without further ado…
It was a curiously subdued Vorik that met B'Elanna in her quarters the next evening. They had foregone their morning workout and had skirted each other delicately in Engineering, only speaking in single syllables, and then only when syllables were actually required. When B'Elanna's watch-shift began, she was unaccountably relieved to get away, until she saw Tuvok on the bridge, and then had to deal with odd feelings of guilt at her clandestine Vulcan-compromising activities. So she had escaped with relief to her quarters, energy high and unrelieved, and Vorik's restrained presence only made her edgier.
"Having second thoughts?" The question seemed perfectly legitimate, but he fixed her with a mildly insulted eyebrow, and instead of replying, undid the closure on his uniform jacket, and then tugged his grey undershirt over his head. B'Elanna briefly wished she had lit some candles, and then shook her head at the treacherous thought. His finely delineated muscles threw soft patterns across each other in rippling dunes of shadow. Gone was the smooth abdomen and uninteresting muscle structure of several months before. She had to close her mouth twice before she remembered to look up at his eyes. "Guess not." Her mouth was dry, and she tried to swallow unobtrusively. He watched her in steady silence.
"You are familiar with the carotid sinus?" His voice was as quiet as his presence, and her brow creased in concern, but she nodded. "You must apply pressure to the exact point of the carotid sinus, effectively shutting off all nerve communication to the brain." She nodded, focusing on the hollow of his collarbone, willing herself against distraction. But his body radiated heat, and was it even warmer in her quarters than she had realized?
His unnerving quiet stretched longer, until she could no longer ignore it, despite her newfound fascination with his body, which she had never seen uncovered for longer than a few carefully guarded moments. "Vorik, what's wrong?"
His dark eyes were expressionless. She recognized this mask. It was the one he used when he simply was not going to talk about it. He again did not answer her, instead taking her hand in his and lifting it up to his shoulder. His skin was feverish to her fingertips, but she told herself this was normal for Vulcans. Focus on the task at hand. He was taller, and exerting that sort of pressure at such an awkward angle would be very difficult. It would be simpler to come from behind him, so she did so. His head turned slightly to follow her, but otherwise he didn't move. B'Elanna closed her eyes, and slid her hands across his shoulders, allowing herself the luxury of this gentle, intimate contact, just for a moment. How often had she touched him, and yet what touch had been tender? She couldn't think of a single one. Under her hands, she felt him flex and tremble slightly, and a thrill ran through her, her blood stirring at the point of a remembered kiss. And then her fingers found the contact point, and she instinctively pressed down. He instantly fought back, flexing his shoulder muscle taut, until she could have been squeezing tritanium. But still she pressed, her biceps cording, shaking with the effort.
How long it might have gone on, she didn't know. Their endless battles had honed them both so hard that they might have stood until the next morning, shaking and cursing, locked in a silent struggle for control. But B'Elanna's blood was already up, and Vorik's trembling strain under her hands was too much for her to ignore. Something primal and searing came roaring up into her mind, blanking out her peripheral vision, honing her world down to scent and touch, and the blazing heat of his skin, and the blood throbbing underneath it; blood that she suddenly, desperately had to know. Longing pervaded her entire being. The ancient blood lust of her birthright took over, and she bit hard into his shoulder, his coppery blood bursting dusky and hot against her lips. A guttural cry escaped him, and even her hazed mind registered that it wasn't a cry of pain. His shoulder untensed for an instant. And then his knees buckled, and he crumpled senseless to the floor.
For a moment, her sluggish mind couldn't process what had happened, as the jewel-bright green life-blood of her desire trembled on her tongue. And then, slowly, it penetrated. She had done it. The nerve pinch had worked.
"Ghay'cha'! Damn it!" B'Elanna fell to her knees, her trembling hand over her mouth. Vorik lay in a twisted heap, his eyes closed, his exposed shoulder bleeding. She cursed again and jogged to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and a medkit, and sat down next to him, cleaning and dressing the small wound, her thoughts roiling. Timing had always been her finest talent, but this was a shuddering disaster by any standard. She wondered how long he would be unconscious, and distractedly brushed back his slightly untidy bangs from his sweat-damp forehead, her hand still shaking. Well, it was no good to leave him in a heap on the floor.
With a grunt, she lifted him to her shoulder in a graceless soldier's carry and hefted him over to her bed. He was a damn sight heavier than he looked, for certain. She fell against his senseless body and just lay there for a moment, listening to his thrumming heart, deep welling frustration and confusion blinding her by turns. Realizing he was still twisted up, she sat up and straightened him into a comfortable position, tucking a pillow under his head and covering him with a blanket, since his uniform jacket and shirt were still on the other side of the room. Then, deciding she had already crossed the major incident line tonight, she slid her body underneath the blanket and up against his. He could kick her out when he emerged into consciousness. Exhaustion took her before she could think too much more about anything but the flush of velvet heat under her hands as she stroked across the sensual curve of his abdomen with sleepily reckless abandon.
Vorik awoke to a wash of heat and sensation that he was wholly unprepared to deal with. B'Elanna lay sprawled against him, her jacket long abandoned and her bare arms and hands pressed against his skin in the most intimate possible manner. Her mouth was pursed against his throat, and he could feel the heat of her breath like a blossom against the thin skin under his jaw. He was paralyzed, unable to tear himself away from her, and unable to bear one more moment of such intense intimacy. His heart thudded in his chest. This he could not battle—lying in this bed next to her there was nowhere for his untamable, shameful, painful desire to go. Horrified, he felt the overflow of his emotion leak out of his eyes in tears, and he struggled with everything he had to draw himself back in and under control. Mantras that Tuvok had taught him flew through his mind like birds, rushed out with the trembling breaths of the woman in his arms. B'Elanna, whom he prized above all others, whom he would have walked away from had she simply asked, and who he kept coming back to because she had simply asked… he could no longer bear the strain.
His hand trembled as he reached up to stroke her hair, as his need for control fought with his desire to know what she felt like in a moment of tenderness. He knew he was only betraying himself, that the memory would simply heap more pain on top of what already needed to be forgotten, but he couldn't stop himself. His fingers threaded through her dark hair, and it was a texture somewhere between silk and wool, both soft and strong; appropriate to her. He pulled her closer, heedless now of the damage he was doing to his shattered mantras, and kissed her forehead, breathing in the heady, familiar scent that he recognized in his dreams. A brush of her eyelashes against his cheek made him aware that she was awake, and he closed his eyes, wishing to delay what had to come.
But she had made her wishes irrevocably clear.
"Vorik…" she breathed.
He gently disengaged himself from her, and rose from the bed, not trusting himself to speak until he was no longer touching her. Reaching for his uniform gave him a thread of stability, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "This relationship has caused us both too much pain, B'Elanna. It violates the very precepts of Surak that I honor. I have done you harm, and you…" He turned to face her, as the very hurt he spoke of flooded across her face. "Being near you has rendered me less than proficient." Cold words. He couldn't think clearly. She rose from the bed, too beautiful for reason, and his throat closed up.
"What are you saying, Vorik?" Her voice was low, dangerous. He swallowed, his trembling fingers reaching for his uniform jacket.
"You will not bond with me." It was a statement of fact. And she did not deny it now, but simply stared at him, confusion and incomprehension widening her dark, expressive eyes. He pulled on his jacket, nerveless fingers finding the fastenings by rote, and then he turned to face her one last time. It took all of his courage. "I love you, B'Elanna. I can bear this no longer." And without waiting for a reply, he turned gracefully on his heel and walked out of her life.