Title: Parterre Chapter Eleven – Intermission
Author: Psycha (psycha underscore fairy at yahoo dot co dot uk)
Series: TNG
Chapter rating: M
Codes: C, T
Chapter summary: All those pent-up emotions aren't going to be denied forever…

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Chapter Eleven: Intermission
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A persistent chime disturbed Beverly in her sleep, penetrating through the haze of utter exhaustion to wake her from a much-needed rest. Groggily she made her way to the doors, bringing up the lights to avoid tripping over any furniture and cursing her visitor for waking her up.

When the doors opened, the curse died on her lips. "Deanna."

"Can I come in?"

She studied the woman for a second, noting the rings of exhaustion around her eyes. Was she suffering from side effects of her contact with the aliens? Worried, she stepped back. Deanna walked past her, blue skirt swishing around her legs. For a second Beverly was distracted by her friend's shapely figure. She swallowed and forced her thoughts back on neutral territory. "Are you all right?"

Troi halted and turned to face her, her sudden stop putting them close together. "No."

Anxiety rising, Beverly reached for her tricorder and pulled the device from the pocket of her nightclothes. Before she could open it, Deanna's fingers closed around her wrist and the device disappeared. "I'm not sick Beverly."

"Oh." She'd gazed into the empath's deep black eyes by accident and now found herself unable to look away. Deanna's fingers held her lightly, but nonetheless felt like steel chains. "What's wrong?" And why was her mouth suddenly so dry?

"This is." With her free hand Troi gestured at the two of them. "I don't want this awkward friendship."

Beverly straightened her back, anxiety blossoming in her belly to the point of making her nauseous. She tried to hide it, putting on a disinterested front. "What do you want?"

Never in a million years would she'd have seen it coming. It just wasn't like Deanna. Deanna was sweet, patient, almost passive. But not so now. Now the younger woman used the grip on her wrist to pull her closer. Now she pressed soft lips against Beverly's before Crusher had a chance to object or even realize what was happening. Now hands let go of her wrist and instead locked around her neck, pulling her closer against Deanna's mouth for a moment. "I know you want me," Deanna announced plainly, "I want you too."

She couldn't deny Deanna's accusation, and it was not because of the feverish kiss the woman assaulted her with, or because of her own reaction to it, but simply because it was the truth. Though one she hadn't meant to acknowledge.

Her body, on the other hand, was all too eager for what her mind had been fighting. It responded to the empath with an urgency, an electricity she'd never experienced before. Need clouded her thoughts, blurred everything but the warmth of Troi's body against hers.

She couldn't get enough of the way Deanna tasted. Lips crushed together, tongues dancing in her mouth, then in Troi's. Hands raked across her back and lower. She let her own run over slender arms and full breasts, exploring the hidden pleasures of the younger woman's body.

She shuddered when Deanna found her way under her clothes, sneaking up under the hem of her shirt to drag sharp nails across her belly. Her body pulsed beneath the touch, already aching for more.

Their kiss broke and she whimpered of loss, breath halting when that hot mouth lavished her throat with kisses and sucked on the sensitive skin just below her ear. "Dea…" In the dark of her quarters she couldn't make out the Betazoid's face, only those dark eyes, gleaming in the starlight.

Eager for another taste, Beverly tangled her fingers in dark curls and tried to pull Deanna's mouth to hers, muttering in frustration when the empath resisted. "Deanna, please."

Fingers found her face, trailing paths of fire along her cheek before teasingly rubbing across her bottom lip. In a flash of playfulness she closed her mouth around them, the slightly salty taste enticing, but still a poor substitute for what she really wanted.

Apparently sensing this, Deanna rose and kissed her with a passion that threatened to consume her. So caught up in their kiss, Beverly didn't notice fingers taking hold of her wrists and pinning them against the wall above her head until Deanna broke the contact once more. "Patience, love." She heard the smile, saw the glint in Troi's eyes and suppressed a moan. A burst of anticipation accompanied a shiver of anxiety.

What was the Betazoid planning?

They stood flush together now. Her back against the wall, her front basking in the heat of Deanna's body. One hand held her wrists; another traced the neckline of her shirt and teased the curves of her breasts. The ache in her belly spread and she arched into the touch. Her eyes fell shut when fingers found the sensitive peaks and teased. This was pure torture. She needed so much more.

The other hand, the one that had held her wrists, played with the waistband of her pants, but still she couldn't move her arms. Her mouth was dry, lips parched with arousal. Other parts of her flushed and wet with desire. She wanted to touch, but couldn't. She could only stand there and let Deanna's ministrations wash over her.

Cool air rushed over her heated flesh when her shirt fell away, a gasp rising from her throat but swallowed with surprise when hot, wet lips found her nipple and lavished it with kisses and little sucks. She whimpered instead, straining against whatever held her pinned in place, then froze.

A long fingered hand – Deanna's hand – snuck below the waistband of her pants.

Her whole body was on edge. Muscles tense, vibrating with the wicked pulse of desire, beating to the drums of Deanna's touches. Beverly released a tremulous breath. Waiting, but unwillingly so. After a pause that might as well have lasted years, the almost ghostly fingers inched lower. All her attention was focused on the small areas of contact between her own skin and the tips of those torturous fingers. Everything else became an afterthought.

Beverly held her breath and closed her eyes, tried to relax into the intimate touch. Deanna radiated confidence, love, desire that warmed her, enveloped her in a protective shell while further feeding her arousal. The drum slowed to a deep thud, its enslavement of her complete. She felt its pulse everywhere and all she wanted, needed was release. "Please Dea," her voice was barely a whisper, if even that, "please…" but it was heard nonetheless.

She heard Deanna's guttural moan before she felt the intrusion. Her breath caught, then flowed from her with a throaty growl when the drum became an orchestra, playing her body like a violin, each string vibrating, trembling with the strokes of impossibly long fingers.

Teeth nipped her ear sharply, breaking through the eager tension. A voice whispered, fingers stroked, possessed and glowing black eyes watched as she lost control and screamed.

Beverly sat up straight, her body clammy with sweat, tense with unfulfilled desire. What the hell?! The presence lingered and when she turned she fully expected to see Deanna. Instead there was only emptiness and the embarrassing realization that she'd been dreaming. Again. Dropping back onto the pillows she was only too aware of her body, not as convinced it had been a dream as her mind was. Trembling still, she eased her hands across her skin in an effort to do away with the maddening sensitivity. Time for a shower.