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“Ah!" The Doctor said, a smile blossoming on his face. “Well, if you want to skip ahead in your social lessons, I would be happy to accommodate you!" He cleared his throat and his eyes narrowed half a millimeter. “Would you like to join me for dinner on holodeck two this evening? We can begin with lesson one: the first date."

Seven shifted, turning to look to the left slightly, a delaying tactic she found most useful as she formulated an appropriate response. “Actually, I plan to study this topic alone. I merely came to ask you to transfer the relevant data to this padd." She put her right hand forward from where it had been politely clasping the padd behind her back. “Enquiries made to the ship's computer yielded results that… overwhelmed me."

The creases flattening out along his cheeks and eyes alerted her to the disappointment he felt. He was nothing but photons and forcefields, but he displayed the same visual cues as the rest of the crew.

“Oh," he said, his brow quirking ever so lightly. “I see." He turned and tapped on the console in the middle of sickbay in silence for a half a second. “I've transferred data pertaining to courtship rituals and the ideas of romance from every species of Voyager's crew. Human. Bolian. B'joran. Even Vulcan, but take my advice: don't waste your time."

Seven glanced down at her padd to verify the data had in fact been transferred then gave a curt nod. “Thank you," she said, remembering the Doctor's lessons about etiquette and other niceties. She spun on her boot heel and made her way to the door.

As it hissed open, the Doctor called out “Ah, if any of that information is too confusing, or if you think it needs a hologram's touch, you know where to find me!"

She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. She felt her brow not covered by her ocular implant raise a little and gave a small nod of acknowledgement. She'd found that if she processed what somebody was telling her without giving a visual sign that she had heard them, they would repeat it again until she did, or pester her for a response of some kind.

The Doctor's hopeful stare softened a little at her lack of response or reconsideration, but she had work to do. There was almost two terraquads of data on courtship alone. She resumed her course out of sickbay and down the corridor toward the turbolift.

She didn't watch where she was going. She could navigate the ship blindfolded, as she'd heard Ensign Kim comment in the past. Why she would ever need such a skill as navigation with a blindfold was beyond her. Perhaps she would find pertinent data on that in these files.

“Seven!"

The word alone made Seven's heart skip a beat. She lifted her head, sucking a quick breath past her suddenly very dry lips. She moistened them with a subtle stroke of her tongue and turned to look at the half-klingon jogging down a side corridor to join her.

“Lieutenant Torres," she said simply, another acknowledgement she had learned was a necessary act when addressed by another member of the crew.

“The captain asked me to give this to you," B'elanna said, holding out another small padd. “It's the data Tom and Harry brought back on the Delta Flyer about those anonymous tetryon readings. She thinks there might be a wormhole there, but its sporadic. We were wondering if you could take a look."

Seven took the padd and glanced at the information displayed. Any other time, her curiosity would have been piqued and she would have gone to the astrometrics lab immediately to begin her analysis. But now, she had other… interests.

“What have you got there?" B'elanna asked, as if reading her mind. “Courtship and Romance?" she asked, staring up at Seven with both brows raised lightly.

“The doctor has included these in my social lessons," she said simply, looking down at the padd for a moment before she stacked the newly acquired astrometrics data on top. “He has expressed interest in helping me develop skills in all aspects of interaction with members of this crew," she said. It wasn't a lie.

“Well, don't take this as a slight against you, but he has his work cut out for him." The Klingon engineer shrugged and let her eyes drift down along the silver cat-suit covering Seven's shapely body. “At least you've got the whole eye-candy thing going for you."

Seven struggled to control her breathing. Her body quivered beneath the silver polymer weave as if reacting directly to the touch of B'elanna's eyes along her form. Eye-candy? Candy was sweet, enjoyable to consume. Perhaps B'elanna was saying that her body was enjoyable to look at. The idea that the chief engineer found her body enjoyable sent jolt rippling through her core.

Without a sufficient response, Seven quirked her brow and gave a short nod. “The Doctor has expressed interest in romantic outings with me," she said, looking forward again at the turbolift doors they approached. “I feel most of the rest of the crew of Voyager regards me with some manner of fear or resentment. The Borg are responsible for the deaths and suffering of many people in the Alpha Quadrant, many of whom are directly connected to members of the crew. I am the personification of their nightmares and an enemy of Starfleet."

“True," Lieutenant Torres said, perhaps a little too quickly for Seven's liking. “But not all of us feel that way. Sure, you can be a little hard to work with. A little standoffish at times. But you're one of us now, Seven. You're not a drone anymore." B'elanna smiled and her voice softened, making Seven's knees weaken for a reason she could not understand. “Some of us even think of you as a friend."

Seven didn't know what to say. She stopped at the intersection directly opposite the turbolift. She stared at the smiling Klingon for a moment, unsure where to go with that. It was a direct contradiction to what she assumed, and threw a new variable into her research. “Thank you," she croaked, the strength of her voice waning for a moment. “I have come to see many of you in a similar light. As friends."

B'elanna's lips curled into a jovial smirk and she winked. “We'll make you a full-blown individual yet!" Without another word, the chief engineer turned and strode down the corridor toward another turbolift. Or a Jeffrey's Tube. Or perhaps some other assignment Seven was not privy to. She was unsure, but her eyes lingered on Lieutenant Torres's swaying hips and rump.

After one more shaky breath, Seven turned and made her way to the turbolift. As the doors hissed shut behind her, she cleared her throat and called out “Cargo Bay Two." Once the lift whirred into motion, Seven cast her eyes on the padds in her hand. She shuffled the astrometric data onto the bottom of her small stack and started to read over the introduction on the courtship files.

It was basic biology, things she was already well aware of from her time with the Borg. Unlike most people, she was spared a lesson in school about sexuality, or a talk from parents. She had learned everything via assimilation of species. The physiologies of every individual were catalogued when they were assimilated and turned into a drone. The Doctor's notes on compatibility and injected humor on the subject were unnecessary. Insert tab A into slot B, as he put it, was an innate knowledge that came with physiological analysis that came with assimilation.

She skipped to the next session listed on the padd as the doors opened. Once again focusing on the words on the screen rather than her surroundings, Seven navigated effortlessly through the corridors toward her regeneration alcove in the cargo bay, the closest thing to quarters that she had on the ship. Not that she required quarters. She didn't sleep. Her physiology was still too Borg. Regeneration for several hours equated to a good night's rest.

There was so much data on species she didn't care about. Humans alone had hundreds of pages about how each terran culture viewed romance and courted one another. Vulcan was short. To the point. Admirable. Seven could relate to Vulcans much more easily than anyone else on Voyager's crew. They were logical, calculating, efficient in everything they did, including courtship. Mating, while a biological imperative, was still done almost solely for procreation and less for pleasure or bonding as it was with most other species.

By the time the door to the cargo bay whirred open to admit her, Seven had found the pertinent data. She set her padd down on the console near her regeneration alcove and transferred the data to the station there. The larger screen was not only easier on her eyes and ocular implants, but it displayed nearly three times as much data than the tiny screen on the hand-held padd did.

She was instantly repulsed. Klingons regarded courtship with as much ceremony as everything else. Every different house had a different way to initiate the courtship ritual and had a different view on how much estates and honor were shared or divvied between either party. Romance, however, was universally given as much honor and attention as fighting and battles. One entry noted that “It is among the Klingons that love poetry achieves its fullest flower. Men do not roar. Women roar. Then they hurl heavy objects and claw at you." Sometimes, Seven mused, battles and romance could be seen as one and the same to Klingons. In fact, it probably was all the time, she surmised.

When Seven knew it was time for her to regenerate, she ignored the fatigue and strain her muscles were on trying to hold her standing. She could not stop reading. The sheer ceremony involved was staggering, as well as cultural taboos. Same-sex relationships were frowned upon. While an archaic belief, it made sense for Klingons still living in what humans refer to as a dark-ages way of thinking.

This both saddened and intrigued Seven of Nine. It meant whatever feelings she may have had for B'elanna Torres were most likely going to be rebuffed. However, she was also half-human. Humans praised themselves as an evolved species. Homosexuality was a common practice on Earth and Starfleet vessels and B'elanna had demonstrated her evolved way of thinking on multiple occasions.

Still, Seven mused, it may do well to err on the side of caution. Many humans appreciated compromise. While Klingons were an absolutist society, she hoped Lieutenant Torres would favor the human side of her genealogy.

Modifications would need to be made. Seven extracted several of her nanoprobes and began to reprogram them. Her heart pounded as she poured over the modifications. A fire burned in her groin that she could not explain, but she ignored it. Best to focus on her work. When they were done, the new nanoprobes would replicate themselves and travel to her groin. When activated, they would form a temporary artificial phallus, one she hoped would be appropriate to and enjoyable by a half human, half Klingon woman. Both species, after all, regarded sexual intercourse with a desire and need for enjoyment over anything else, contrary to what she had just read about Vulcan views.

One hypospray of modified nanoprobes later, Seven stepped up into her alcove and unconsciousness took her.

What felt like a moment later, her eyes opened and she took a deep breath. She felt refreshed and rejuvenated. But her heart was pounding. In the brief time she had regained her faculties during her regeneration process, she had come to a decision. Today, she was going to court B'elanna Torres.

Before she left, Seven of Nine snatched her padds from where she had left them on the computer console. On the way to her duty station in the astrometrics lab, she reviewed what she had learned about Klingon mating, reminding herself what to expect if her advances were not instantly rebuffed.

When the doors to her lab opened, she was met with a momentary sense of disappointment. As unrealistic an expectation as it was, Seven had almost expected to see Lieutenant Torres standing in front of the consoles with her uniform unzipped, exposing only enough of the swell of her breast and bare belly to tease. Of course that was never going to happen.

Setting her personal padd aside, Seven uploaded the data from the Delta Flyer into the astrometrics computers and began pouring over the data. It truly amazed Seven how much time seemed to pass when one was engrossed in their work. After analyzing, re-analyzing, then analyzing the analysis of the data, she came to the conclusion that there was a micro-wormhole at the center of a neutron star and that it was somehow fueling the star's existence. Part of her felt a growing disdain at all of these false-prophets, as she'd heard them referred as.

Part of her dreaded returning to Earth. She would be shunned. The Borg, as she had told Lieutenant Torres, were a hated enemy of the Federation and she was a personification of that. If and when they returned to Sector zero-zero-one, she would try to get an assignment on the first deep space vessel she could.

She set her palms flat on the sides of her console and rolled her neck, working the stiff muscles back into their usual limber fibers. “Computer, what is the time?"

The computer answered with a two-toned beep and the same emotionless voice saying “The time is thirteen-thirty-hours."

That took much less time than she had anticipated. She drummed her fingers against the sides of the station as she contemplated her free time. Then it hit her all at once. Her decision had been made. It would be an inefficient use of her time if she did not use it to accomplish her goals.

Seven reached for her padd again then stopped and dropped her hands to her sides. She knew what it said by heart. She could recite the entire file if she needed to. Reviewing was a delaying tactic that betrayed the nervousness she felt. An inefficient response.

She reached up and tapped her commbadge over her left breast. “Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres," she said in as close an approximation to her usual firm demand. “Report to Astrometrics."

“Something wrong, Seven?" Torres's voice asked over the comm channel.

She cursed herself. Her anxiety must have come through her voice regardless of how much she tried to hide it. “I have reviewed the data you requested." Perhaps she would want to take it straight to the captain, or even have Janeway accompany her to the lab to review Seven's findings together. Seven's eyes darted about as if searching for an answer. “There is something I require your aid with." While not untrue, it was certainly not relevant to the data from the Delta Flyer.

“I'll be right there."

Seven closed the channel and started to pace slowly in front of her console. It usually took Lieutenant Torres three minutes and fort-five seconds to get to the astrometrics lab from main engineering. Was there something she needed to do before B'elanna got there? Undress? Perhaps she could unzip her suit and leave it hanging open enough to entice Lieutenant Torres the way she had expected to be enticed when she arrived?

An absurd idea. Her suit unzipped from the back. Even partially unzipped, it would reveal nothing. Her spine, of course, but nothing B'elanna would see. However, it would make it easier to remove when the ritual began. The last thing she needed was for Lieutenant Torres to rip the uniform up once she began 'clawing' at her.

She reached back and pulled the zipper down to her tailbone with some effort. No sooner did she drop her hands back to her side once again than the door whirred open and B'elanna stepped in. Seven's heart thundered in her chest. Act fast. Do not hesitate. It could be construed as weakness.

“Computer, seal the room," Seven called out authoritatively. “Disable all communications in or out."

The computer replied with an affirmative beep and Seven strode confidently toward the confused looking Klingon.

“What's going on?" Lieutenant Torres asked, spreading her hands to either side slightly.

When she was within arm's reach of B'elanna, Seven reached up and pulled her suite away from her body. With a little wiggle and a push, she revealed her ample, firm breast and toned belly. She quickly pushed the polymer weave down her wide hips and thighs to the ground, revealing her hairless body in full to the chief engineer whose eyes were wide and jaw slack.

“If there's something wrong with your implants, I think the Doctor is much better suited to-…"

Seven cut her off. She stepped forward and grabbed handfuls of her soft, flowing hair. Forcibly, she turned B'elanna's head to the side and leaned forward. Her jaws opened wide and she bared her teeth. When she felt the warm, smooth flesh of the half klingon's cheek, she clamped down until she tasted the copper of blood splash across her tongue.

Two hands on her bare chest shoved her back. She nearly tripped over her discarded boots and uniform. An act of aggression typical of Klingons. “jIH dok!" she said, reciting the appropriate words as she'd read in the datafile.

“What the hell are you doing!?" B'elanna roared. She knelt down and picked up one of Seven's discarded boots with one hand while the other touched her cheek. As she stood back up, her eyes widened even more, if that were possible. “Did you bite me!?"

Seven quirked a brow, perplexed by the question. What else could have created that wound and made her bleed? “Yes," she said simply with a curt nod.

“What has gotten into you!?" Lieutenant Torres drew back and hurled the boot at her.

Seven caught it with ease and dropped it to the floor. “I have reviewed the pertinent data and-…" she stopped long enough to catch the other boot.

“And you think you're going to test out the doctor's social lessons on me!?" B'elanna howled, pointing a finger at her. “I don't know what wires got crossed in that Borg head of yours, but you need to think about what you're doing!"

“On the contrary," Seven said as she closed the distance between them. She curled her digits around B'elanna's throat just beneath her jaw. She held on tight enough that she had full control of the woman's head, but loose enough that B'elanna could still breathe. “I've been unable to think of anything else."

She leaned forward and clamped her jaws against B'elanna's exposed neck, biting down and dragging her teeth over the soft, chocolate skin enough to leave little marks.

B'elanna's hands were at her breast, groping, squeezing, pushing, violent in their affections. Seven felt a moan rumble deep in her throat and closed her eyes. “jIH dok!" she hissed again, still waiting for the appropriate response as her free hand worked at B'elanna's uniform. It was simply enough to unzip the jacket. Getting it off would be trickier, but she had an idea.

Seven swiftly spun, shoving B'elanna toward the nearest console with one hand while the other grabbed the collar of her jacket, pulling it off as the engineer stumbled forward. She was not about to let up. She reminded herself to show strength and dominance. B'elanna was more prone to her Klingon tendencies, after all.

As B'elanna braced herself against the console, Seven stepped up behind her and forced her forward, effectively bending the Klingon over the console. B'elanna gasped and glared over her shoulder, snarling in an animalistic way as she struggled to push herself up away from the station.

Seven didn't let her. She held a firm grip on the engineer with a hand firmly planted against the grey shirt between her shoulder blades. The other tugged at the elastic band of the woman's trousers, pulling, pushing, and yanking the fabric down over B'elanna's thighs.

Once enough of the other woman's firm backside was revealed, Seven leaned forward and clamped her jaws over B'elanna's shoulder, holding on tight as the woman struggled beneath her.

“You miserable-…." B'elanna tried to say. Seven cut her off swiftly by pressing their lips tightly together.

The feeling of Torres's soft, wet lips against her own made her moan again. Between them, she felt the nanoprobes assembling, replicating a stiff, warm facsimile of a half-klingon penis.

“My blood," she said a third time, forgetting the Klingon words for the moment. She stared into B'elanna's wide brown eyes as she rocked her hips against her half Klingon lover's backside. The smooth metal rubbed between the cheeks of B'elanna's rump for several moments, stunning the smaller woman into still silence.

Seven almost wanted to explain where the phallus came from. The shock and confusion were nearly palpable. Instead, she elected to explain later. She drew her hips back until she felt the stiff appendage shift and aim itself. Once its movements ceased, she pushed forward until she felt the warm wetness of B'elanna's labia spread around her. Being Borg for so long, Seven didn't bat an eye at feeling the physical sensations pressing against the metal appendage. It was made up of her nanoprobes which were an extension of her body.

“Wait, you can't!" B'elanna called at last. “I haven't-… I've never done this!"

Seven paused, staring down at the Klingon bracing herself against the console. While she expected nothing different, putting to words that she would be Lieutenant Torres's first time made her breast swell with pride. “Neither have I," she said simply. After another moment's pause, she drove her hips forward, slamming her bare hips against B'elanna's rump and rocking the small woman against the console.

B'elanna shrieked, clutching at the station until her knuckles were white. She swore in Klingon, promising violence and pain to Seven of Nine for the pain she caused. Satisfied with how by-the-book this was going so far, the former Borg drone drew her hips back and slammed them forward again.

More curses erupted from B'elanna's mouth, but what translated roughly into “I'll rip out your heart and show it to your dying eyes" gradually changed. The Klingon still swore up and down, but soon enough they were promises of “I'm going to ride you until you're dry!" or “Fuck me harder if you want to see the sunrise!"

Seven of Nine was happy to oblige! She moaned deeply, staring down at B'elanna's backside recoiling from every hard impact of Seven's hips. Every brief glimpse of the klingon's body stretched obscenely around Seven's sizable steel-gray phallus send another surge of excitement running through the former drone.

B'elanna pushed against the console again, but satisfied in her dominance, Seven allowed it. Torres lifted her torso up away from the station only enough to pull her gray uniform from her body, leaving her chest and back bare.

A new desire filled Seven's mind. She wanted to feel B'elanna's soft flesh beneath her fingertips. She leaned forward, setting her hands against B'elanna's bare back, then slid them down to the woman's rocking hips. She gripped tightly, pulling back with every thrust forward before she felt the hunger for more.

Her digits slid upward, gliding along B'elanna's belly and up to the swell of her breast. She cupped the half klingon's tits against her palms, moaning from the feeling of the soft swells against her hands. B'elanna pressed her hands over Seven's owns, swearing at her in Klingon again. Or was it begging? B'elanna was demanding Seven honor her. She pondered for a moment before the meaning sank in.

Grinning to herself, Seven leaned forward and bit at B'lanna's ear. “Resistance is futile," she said, verbalizing her dominance over the smaller half-klingon.

It seemed to be exactly what B'elanna needed to hear. Seven felt her body suddenly convulse as the Klingon howled again. The hot, wet walls of Torres's pussy gripped at Seven's Borg phallus, trying desperately to pull it deeper. Not it, Seven realized.

The own fire growing in her belly swelled, growing into a raging inferno as the realization of what was happening finally sunk in. It took B'elanna's body squeezing her artificial dick for it to click, but knowing this was all real sent Seven rocketing toward her own orgasm. Her hips drove faster against B'elanna's rump and colors began to swirl in her vision.

At first she thought her ocular implant might have malfunctioned or overloaded, but she discounted that theory as soon as she felt her nanoprobes in her groin replicating at an alarming rate to coincide with her own dripping nethers spasming in orgasm.

She drove herself as deep into B'elanna as she could and moaned deeply. She leaned forward, pressing her ample breast against Torres's bare back. Her hands clutched at B'elanna's boobs, hugging the engineer tightly against herself as her orgasm rushed into the waiting canal. Millions of nanoprobes rushed into B'elanna's belly, filling her with warmth and the orgasmic fluid that carried the nanoprobes.

As her vision began to return, she was acutely aware of the woman snarling beneath her. “Damn it Seven!" B'elanna spat, “Get the hell off of me!"

Was that it? B'elanna had been influenced by the moment alone and hadn't wanted it after all? Reluctantly, Seven stood up and pulled her sensitive appendage out of B'elanna's quivering body.

As she stepped back, Seven saw B'elanna's knees buckle. Her weight sagged against the station for a moment, then she stood up and faced Seven of Nine.

Seven's breath caught in her throat when B'elanna bent down to remove her uniform pants entirely. Once she was naked, Lieutenant Torres pointed firmly at the blue circle on the upraised platform just in front of the view screen. “Sit down," she said firmly.

Ready for a scolding Seven knew she deserved, she turned and made her way up onto the platform. She watched the angry Klingon for a moment more then lowered herself to sit on the floor.

B'elanna strode quickly around the station and ascended the steps onto the platform. She bent down and roughly forced Seven onto her back. The former drone's heart pounded in fear as she felt her back pressed against the cold deck plate.

Then B'elanna was straddling her waist. Seven blinked away the confusion as if it had been physically obscuring her vision. She stared down through the valley between her breasts in time to see her phallus disappear into B'elanna's waiting canal again. Tight, wet heat enveloped her again and a moan rumbled deep in her chest.

The chief engineer leaned forward and pressed their lips tightly together. Seven was powerless against the onslaught, but only momentarily. Her hands soon lifted, resting against B'elanna's hips as they grinded against her own.

As their lips parted and they each gasped for air, B'elanna dragged her teeth over Seven's cheek, then bit down. Pain lanced through Seven's face and a droplet of blood trickled down along her cheek.

B'elanna lifted her torso up so she was seated squarely on Seven's artificial phallus. She smiled down at her, her pointed Klingon teeth stained with Seven's blood. “Maj Dok," she said then started to bounce on Seven's hips.

Seven of Nine arched her back, moaning deeply as B'elanna made good on her promise to ride her until she was dry.

* * * * *

With a high pitched tone, Seven's regeneration cycle abruptly ceased. Earlier than she had scheduled it. Her eyes opened and she glanced around. The ship was not at alert. There was no danger. And yet her regeneration was incomplete.

“Good morning," a small, soft voice called nearby.

Seven turned toward the source and quirked a brow. Standing near one of the stacks of cargo containers, B'elanna Torres smiled up at her with one hand resting on the container where a large stack of steaming waffles waited. The other hand gently glided back and forth over the sheer black fabric of her sundress covering the swell of her gravid belly.

“I thought you might want to eat something before you went on duty," she said, turning her attention to the plate on the container beside her. “How does waffles sound?"

Seven quirked a brow and stepped away from her alcove. Wordlessly, she approached B'elanna and set her palms gentle on either side of the globe of the klingon's belly. “Waffles sounds adequate."

B'elanna smiled and set her hands over top of Seven's own. “You should have felt it earlier," she said. “They were doing somersaults all morning."

Seven of Nine smiled in wonder she had never before felt in her life. As a Borg, she had never been curious about anything. She had seen the universe as a set of variables or problems to overcome. She had knowledge of how other species procreated, but feeling life move and grow in her lover's belly had been an experience she would never forget. Only recently did she understand how other species could describe such events as 'magical'.