The Liaisons cycle, done in the autumn of 1994 lasts for six
vignettes, well, sketches, really. They were . These are the
final pair.


Liasons Vl

Lt. Worf's feet stuck out of the shower-bath. Worf could stand
on his own, even walk faltering steps, but needed help standing once
he fell.

Dr. Crusher dropped her medical tote and stepped over him.
A major segment of his spine had been replaced. Not unusual surgery
in humans and vulcans, but the first time neural surgery this complex was
ever attempted on his race. He swore in Klingon. When she asked what it
meant he gave a faltering reply and lastly shrugged.

'You don't have any,' he said.

His pain had been unbearable just after he slipped and fell,
so he'd been scalded slightly before managing to order the water off.
Naturally he hadn't called for help. She managed to pull him to his
feet and walk him out of the booth with her arms under his, her knees
pushing his legs forward.

He tried standing straight, but the lieutenant's muscles were so
tense he kept over-balancing and Dr. Crusher had to keep returning to
him so he wouldn't tip over. He leaned his shoulders against a wall,
tying on a terrycloth as the doctor scooped up her case.

She soothed his skin, purpled by the hot water, with a mist that
settled and tickled. She took a glinting pin from her hair and asked him
to close his eyes, asking him to reply 'sharp' or 'dull' each time she
touched him with the pin. She began at his feet: he still had control,
but no sensation in his left foot. Each day, the numb patches grew
smaller, but his left quadriped remained distressingly-weak and numb.
He would never regain full functionality, but she hoped for a ninety-five
per cent recovery overall.

His penis rose slowly behind the dampening towel. Worf looked at
the carpet, the walls, the incomprehensible painting Commander Data had
given him and had begun his times-tables when its head pushed past the
fold. She stood before him, tapping her pin over his chest and shoulder.
Finally she noticed him, and looked away. Assertive by temprement and
training, Worf took the initiative.

She felt thick between her legs.

He expected her to have stepped back immediately, pretending she
hadn't noticed, rather, she hesitated. Worf rocked back on his heels,
resting against the wall. He lifted his hand to Beverly's neck, the
counter-balance he had to make in raising his arm made the small of his
back hurt; he let his arm's full weight sit on her shoulder and neck and
tug her coat off. He looked at her face, not moving his eyes, waiting
for her to relax; yet, she stood reed-still, looking past his ear as he
took the zipper on her uniform's back between his fingers and slackened
his arm, letting its weight open the fastener. He was a half-head taller
than she but his leaning evened them.

Beverly disrobed matter-of-factly. Looking down, she evened both
sets of toes then put her feet beside Worf's. The forward bumps on his
hips were lovely--undoubtedly a man's sexiest part; she put her fingers
on his hips and rolled her thumbs in circles against them. She stared at
the veins in his neck as she transferred her weight to her right leg. He
had the most lovely hair, outside the focus of her vision she noticed
him tilt, trying to meet her eyes.

They pressed pelvis-to-pelvis, his penis pressed against her
belly. Worf tried reaching between them but Beverly pressed further,
enjoying the heat and resistance against her abdomen and delighting in
the different hardnesses.

Beverly tensed her right thigh, taking her left heel from the
carpet, then her foot. She bent the knee outwards and pointed her toes.
Her big toe bumped against the Klingon's foot. Beverly rubbed the top of
her left foot up his right shin, then, touching him with her toenails,
scraped down the skin. Then she stood on the ball of her right foot,
they each put a fumbling hand between them. She lowered her right heel
to the carpet, sinking onto him.

He snorted, smacking the back of his head against the wall. The
velvet heat of her swollen insides made him salivate, he couldn't
believe how wonderfully she felt. The pleasure of her womanhood was so
intense he thought he was going to see faint; he wanted to glide to and
fro inside her, but only pushed his pelvis gently, fearful of
aggrivating his condition. He moaned at the intensity.

'So, everything works?' Worf realized later this was the first
time he'd heard her joke.

Beverly leaned her left knee against the wall, too, making herself
comfortable. She didn't rock her hips, only pressed against him.

Worf looked at Beverly staring at the wall behind him and traced
the inside of her right thigh, taut for supporting her. She was split
into two: still as a rose from the naval down, however, her ribs swelled
like bellows. Beverly breathed through her nose only, despite inhaling
hard enough to flatten her nostrils. Moisture collected under her arms,
pressed tightly against her sides. She didn't move her legs or hips, but
stood quietly with her genitals around his, and that was all. Her leg
began cramping. Soon it started showed hints of the burning sensation
accompanying muscle fatigue.

Worf bobbed his head up and down, breathing open-mouthed and
violently. He tensed and shivered with pleasure as her heat alone
caressed him. Worf stroked her hair from the temple to crown once, then
repeatedly, nearing violence. His humid breath was sweet. Their faces
were centimeters from each other, but didn't touch. He took her face in
both hands and nearly bruised her trying to twist her close for a kiss,
but she stiffened her neck to resist and stared at the lightswitch a
pace to his left. Her eyes ignored him as he straightened slightly and
ejaculated. Worf's head sagged as his blood pressure dipped and he bit
her collar bone.

Beverly nearly reached her climax. Feeling him spurt, she pressed
against him more, sliding her hands from his hips to his buttocks and
thighs. She caressed his scrotum gently and surged within. The sinews in
her neck stood out as she grimaced and coughed saliva into his eye.

The quality of her touch changed. Her skin temperature seemed to
drop six degrees; he noticed the ventilator grille blowing a draft
between them.

They hadn't kissed. And wouldn't. After she put him into bed, he'd
tried pulling her down with him but she stiffened and waited from his
touch to lighten. There was a long, unpleasent pause as seeping mosture
grew clammy and foul down her thighs. When he lastly let go Beverly
sponged mechanically and dressed in the lavatory then left.


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