The Longest Turbolift Journey... Ever

 

Swoosh.

The turbolift doors opened with a sigh and Lieutenant Tom Paris strode into the bright, confined space with a casual gait. He took his place beside Ensign Harry Kim on whose right side stood Captain Kathryn Janeway. As Starfleet decorum demanded in the presence of his commanding officer, Paris linked his hands behind his back.

"Lieutenant Paris," the Captain said in a crisp, formal tone. However, the affection she held for the helmsman was evident in her voice.

"Captain," Paris acknowledged with a nod and a brief smile. He flashed a grin at his closest friend Harry Kim. "Ensign." Harry smiled back, "Lieutenant." The three officers waited in companionable silence as the lift continued its ascent.

The lift soon came to a halt at Engineering and the doors opened to reveal Chief Engineer B’Elanna Torres. Her compact frame moved with graceful economy to stand adjacent to Paris. As they all exchanged greetings, Torres’s dark, dusky eyes lingered on Paris, roaming the uniform that contained the contours of his trim body. For a brief moment, her gaze rested on the bulge ill hidden by his trousers before trailing back up to meet his eyes.

The Captain was acutely aware of the tension that radiated between the two, which made the lift seem suddenly smaller and claustrophobic, and – dare she say it – raised the temperature a notch or two. She noticed, with a wry smile, how Tom’s eyes sparkled as he made his own brazen devouring of the Chief Engineer’s body. He could barely conceal that trademark boyish grin of his. They were a handsome couple, Janeway concluded with almost a sense of pride. And she was sure that, after duty, the couple would be relieving some of the tension building up right now.

Then, without a word, Torres turned abruptly to face Paris. There was a sensual, playful smile on her full lips. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed a handful of Tom’s uniform and pulled him towards her. For a moment he looked startled before his mouth was covered roughly by the half-Klingon in a feisty kiss. The Captain and Ensign Kim shrank back in mute surprise, blinking rapidly. Janeway opened and closed her mouth numerous times in a futile attempt at harnessing her powers of speech. As she finally regained her voice and was about to quote Starfleet protocol regarding interpersonal conduct while on duty, the turbolift stopped.

Swoosh.

Commander Chakotay promptly stepped into the already cramped space of the lift and squared his broad shoulders. It took a moment before the sight of Torres and Paris’s passionate clinch registered. He did a quick double take. After exchanging astonished glances with Janeway and Kim to confirm that this was actually happening before his eyes, he stood beside the frowning captain. He raised a contemplative eyebrow that wrinkled that tribal tattoo above his eye. To the Captain’s consternation her First Officer simply shrugged and watched the spectacle with subdued interest. The two rampant Lieutenants were running their hands over each other as they kissed and were in the awkward process of attempting to tear off each other’s uniforms.

As the Captain stared in stupefied silence, Ensign Kim caught Chakotay’s gaze. His eyes lingered over the First Officer’s handsome face and swept down the full length of his chunky body. There was a faint smirk playing on Harry’s generous lips, drawing the Commander’s attention. Unconsciously, Chakotay ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips in anticipation. He moved forward and found himself standing in front of the cute Ensign. He searched Harry’s eyes for a moment then captured his mouth, kissing him deeply as his tongue boldly sought out Harry’s own. The Ensign’s hands immediately went round to grasp and kneed Chakotay’s firm buttocks. The Commander moaned into Harry’s mouth and resumed the kiss with even greater fervour, running his hands though Kim’s luxuriously silky and tousled hair. Meanwhile beside them, Torres and Paris had slumped to the floor, their jackets and turtlenecks discarded in an ever-increasing pile of Starfleet uniforms. The Chief Engineer straddled the reclining Helmsman and was biting down hard on his left nipple as he fumbled with her Starfleet issue black bra.

The Captain was stunned to complete silence. Surely this wasn’t happening? Perhaps she had somehow encountered a temporal rift that had thrown her into an alternate universe? Or maybe it was something in Neelix’s latest concoction? Maybe she was dreaming – a sordid fantasy that she would awake from any moment now. But the grunts and moans coming from her lusty officers were very real indeed. And all she could do was stand by and watch in abject horror.

To her relief the turbolift once more came to a standstill and, as she prepared to make a hasty retreat, the imposing figure of Seven of Nine blocked her escape. In fact, the Captain walked straight into the path of Seven’s impressive bosom. "Mphemven," the Captain exclaimed in a somewhat muffled voice from between Seven’s breasts. Aghast and embarrassed the Captain jumped back with a steady blush rising on her cheeks.

The tall, slinky silver-suited Borg eyed the assembled throng of bodies now writhing on the floor and up against the wall in various states of undress. For a moment her analytical gaze observed Commander Chakotay biting the buttocks of Ensign Kim. Then her attention was diverted by Lieutenant Torres’s spirited bashing of Lieutenant’s Paris’s head off the turbolift floor as they were, apparently, copulating.

Only in the slightly widening of her perfectly blue eyes did her alarm show. She turned abruptly to face the now red-faced and flustered Captain Janeway. An expression of intrigued curiosity crossed Seven’s features. "Captain? You appear…unwell. Do you require assistance?"

The Captain’s mind suddenly cleared. She was beginning to see this situation in an entirely different light. Her eyes roamed speculatively over the barely concealed curves and valleys of Seven’s lithe Borg-enhanced body. She wondered, with a sly smirk, if those breasts were a Borg enhancement… Was Janeway unwell? Well, she certainly had a temperature. Oh yes, she was really burning up – perhaps it was time to get out of this stuffy Starfleet uniform. And Seven’s help would most definitely be appreciated. Noticing the Captain’s leery stare, Seven raised an eyebrow, her Borg eye implant moving accordingly. Her full lips formed an enticing pout. Was that an invitation? But she was Captain. She had responsibilities, personal limitations and duties…Oh, what the hell! Live a little, she told herself. All these millions of light years from Starfleet – who would reprimand them for giving in to desire?

The Captain’s voice became a low, gravely purr as she regarded the shapely Borg. "Care to join me in a little non-reproductive copulation?"

 

The End