DISCLAIMER: Paramount and Viacom own  em, I just play with
 em.  Yada, yada, yada.  Don't hurt me, I'm a fan!  Comments to
AnnitaS@aol.com.

Just a little something that occurred to me I thought I'd share.  This
little piece is rated NC-17.  Hope you like it.

PORTRAIT
by Neetz

     For one brief moment as she shed the robe, she felt her
stomach tighten with fear.  She watched him standing before her,
his eyes scanning her body slowly, almost as if he were in a trance,
drinking in every inch of her.  She held her breath for what seemed
hours as his gaze lingered, then moved down to linger again and
again.  Finally, his eyes rose to meet hers once more and the fear
melted away at the look of warmth and... hunger in his gaze.
     Pulling himself from the trance with obvious difficulty, his
soft voice entreated her to lie down on the sofa.  She felt awkward
as she reclined against the cool, soft pillows, unsure what to do
with her arms until he carefully instructed her where to place first
the left - stretch over her head -  then the right - just touching her
cheek.  He asked her to lower her face and she complied, licking
her lips which suddenly seemed so dry.
     She watched as he lifted the pad of paper and sat down in
the chair opposite her, his eyes never leaving her.  For another
eternal second, he observed her, then he raised the pad and began
his work.  All she could see were his eyes, flicking back and forth
between her body and the paper before him.  She watched as he
worked, his gaze intent first upon her, then upon his work, then
back to her.
     She still couldn't believe this was happening.  Never before
could she have imagined she would do such a thing - lying docile
and naked before the staring eyes of a man.  And never could she
have imagined how much she would want it.  And with this man...
     Her mind traveled back to the moment they had met, when
he'd rescued her from death.  Even in that moment, she'd known
they were from different worlds, polar opposites, as different as
night and day.  Yet, there was a kinship that defied all logic.  From
that first moment, she knew there could be nothing between
someone like him and someone like her, and from that instant she
knew there was.
     She fought him, degraded him, tried to despise him, yet all
the while, she had been drawn to him.  He wasn't like anyone she'd
ever known.  From all outward appearances, he was a rouge, but
his manner toward her had been pure.  She'd always seen truth in
his eyes.  It was that clear blue truth that had captured her heart and
soul.
     No one else had ever seen her as he did.  While other men
tried to extinguish the fire that raged within her, he encouraged it,
welcomed it, desired it.  Others had tried to mold her into an image
they deemed acceptable, but he fought, even against her, to rescue
that wild spirit and set it free, not only to save her from death, but
to bring her to life.  The struggle had been intense.  She had tried so
hard not to let him win.  
     It seemed she'd been fighting this battle all her life.  Even
against her own mother, whose passion and fire had turned cold
when she had been abandoned by the man she loved.  They too had
been from different worlds... too different in the end.  It was a
lesson she had taught her daughter well, shifting the weight of her
pain onto her daughter and burdening her with the responsibility not
to fall victim as she had.  Not to lose her heart.
     The real struggle had been with herself.  The pain she had
learned so well from her mother, had planted the fear deep within
her.  It was a fear of the very self that existed somewhere within
her.  All her life she had been terrified of setting that person free,
knowing it would cause her destruction.
     Strange, and ironic, she thought as she lay still on the sofa,
that once she had finally unlocked her soul and surrendered that
heart, she had truly won.
     She watched him as his hand moved the pencil.  It had been
only yesterday as they had walked together on the decks of this
great ship that she had learned of his artistic ability.  Almost
reluctantly he had shown her his sketches and she had marveled at
how perfectly he seemed to be able to catch the very souls of his
subjects in the charcoal lines of his drawings.  The naked forms
represented on paper held no hint of vulgarity or crudeness.  There
was only beauty in their shape and curve, pure life in their planes
and textures.  And the truth of each person's inner being seemed to
shine clearly from their eyes as they looked up at the man capturing
them on plain paper.  Capturing and setting them free at the same
time.
     She looked into those studying eyes now, just as she'd
known she must from the moment she'd seen the sketches.  More
than anything, she wanted him to see into her soul as he had those
women he had drawn in Marseilles.  She wanted to lie here before
him, exposing to him all that she was, body and spirit, and see it
reflected in those pure blue eyes.
     As she watched now, his glance moved back and forth from
her to the drawing, occasionally to hold on her form, as if the trance
of before had caught him again.  Then his work would irresistibly
draw his gaze one more.  Every time he looked back at her, she felt
her body tingle, as if he were actually touching her face, the curve
of her breast, the flatness of her stomach.  She could feel his gaze
feather soft against her arms, her legs.  She felt those blue orbs kiss
her throat, oh, so gently.  His eyes had always touched her, she
realized.  It was just that now, with the rest of his face obscured
behind the drawing pad, they seemed more intent and intense. 
Their color looked to her like a blue flame, and it aroused her like
nothing she had ever known before to know that it was her, not just
her physical image, but her entire being, that had ignited that fire.
     The only sound in the room had been the sound of their
breathing and the scratch of the charcoal against rough paper. 
Now, the beating of her heart began to pound ever stronger, ever
louder in her ears, until it masked all else.  There was only the fire
in his eyes and the beat of her heart.
     She realized he was staring at her, his pencil poised
forgotten above the paper.  She fixed her gaze upon the mirror of
his eyes and almost forgot to breathe as she saw something so
beautiful there it made her want to cry.
     This was what is was like to be seen through the eyes of one
who sought the truth and found it, eyes that saw past the hurt and
fear and pain to the woman that she was.  And they rejoiced in the
knowing.
     Her heart rejoice with them.
     This was what it was like to be loved.
     She smiled at him, and the expression seemed to break his
trance.  With infinite reluctance, he drew his gaze back to his work,
the pencil in his hand making the final sweeping marks and fine lines
that completed the portrait.  He leaned back and held the pad away
from himself for a final appraisal.
     "It's finished," he said quietly, a smile playing on his lips as
he looked at it with satisfaction.  Then he looked up from his
creation to his inspiration, and the smile became a little wary. 
"Want to see?"
     She nodded, unable to find her voice and barely able to
force her body to move from its pose.
     He rose from the chair and sat next to her.  With difficulty
she drew her eyes from his to the portrait he offered her.  She
already knew what she'd see reflected there.  She'd already seen his
portrait of her floating in a blue deeper than any ocean.
     "It's beautiful, Tom," she whispered, looking back into that
mirror now.
     "You're beautiful, B'Elanna," he replied.  His hand reached
for her face as he brought his lips to her throat.  She tilted her head
back and closed her eyes as she felt his touch once more moving
down her body.  This time it was his hands, and his lips that
caressed her, but she already knew the touch by heart.  She allowed
the sensations to wash over her for what seemed like an eternity
before she felt his breath once again warm against her face.
     Once more, she looked into his eyes, and she felt her soul
drowning in an azure sea.
     Tom was wrong, the portrait wasn't finished.  It had only
begun.


Author's Note: Unless you've been on another planet, you probably
recognize this scene as belonging to a couple other than Tom Paris
and B'Elanna Torres.  And yes, I know, Tom's never been seen on
the show as a sketch artist.  But I just bought the video of Titanic
and the scene was so beautiful and sensual.  And I couldn't help but
compare the fiery spirit of Rose and with B'Elanna's and see a
parallel between Jack's desire to free that spirit and Tom's.  And
once I started thinking about seeing Robbie's blue eyes over that
drawing pad instead of Leo's... well, let's just say, I too was lost!

Let me know what you think.
Neetz