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Day 29 Fic: "Dance Me to the End of Love," ST:TNG, Troi/Crusher
Title: Dance Me to the End of Love
Author: geonncannon
Pairing: Crusher/Troi
Fandom: Star Trek: TNG
Words: 461
Notes: Requested by eclecticfan. Title is from the Leonard Cohen song of the same name.
Deanna had practically begged Beverly to help her, going so far as to set up a fictitious appointment so they wouldn't be disturbed. Instead of psychoanalysis, they slipped off their shoes and danced in Deanna's quarters. Deanna smiled, watching their bare feet turn circles around the carpet, feeling Beverly's hand warm against her hip.
Every now and then, Beverly would whisper and instruction or guide Deanna one way or another. She laughed, she slid her hand a little higher on Deanna's side, she stepped a little closer.
When they were dancing close, Beverly put her hand between Deanna's shoulder blades and rested her head on the counselor's shoulder. Deanna would bury her face in Beverly's hair and close her eyes, memorizing the texture of the strands against her lips.
The dance lessons always ended the same way. Beverly telling Deanna she was making progress and threatening to reprogram all the replicators to forget what chocolate was if she mentioned their lessons to anyone.
But in private, the lessons always ended different. Deanna lay in bed in her nightgown, eyes closed, hands in the air in front of her as if still embracing Beverly. She tried to keep her guard up while they danced, but sometimes images began to flow. Sensations, like a radio searching for a signal through the static.
Deanna danced with Beverly at her wedding reception, felt the waves of love Beverly had felt for her husband. She danced with Beverly at a Starfleet Academy ball, felt her sweaty palms and her nervous anxiety about where the night would lead.
The night Beverly danced on the porch in her nightgown, with no partner... in her mind, Deanna was the partner.
In her mind, their dances always concluded with a kiss. Lingering, slow, two tongues lightly touching as Deanna cupped Beverly's breast through whatever thin material she was wearing. Deanna touched herself lightly, feeling herself already wet from the memories.
---
Beverly Crusher lay on her side, hand between her legs, eyes closed as she recalled how it felt to dance with Deanna Troi.
Their first few sessions had been normal, ordinary dances. But then, Deanna got sloppy.
Not in her dancing, but in her preparations. Emotions began to seep through. Love, desire, want, pain, longing. More than once, Beverly had seen flashes of herself kissing Deanna's lips.
She came with a sigh, eyebrows arching as she bucked against her hand. What Deanna didn't know was that the images went both ways... and Beverly couldn't wait to see what came up next.
---
Deanna arched her back and came, bringing her free hand up to her mouth and brushing her fingertips over her lips like a kiss. What Beverly didn't know was that Deanna was already a very accomplished dancer...
Author: geonncannon
Pairing: Crusher/Troi
Fandom: Star Trek: TNG
Words: 461
Notes: Requested by eclecticfan. Title is from the Leonard Cohen song of the same name.
Deanna had practically begged Beverly to help her, going so far as to set up a fictitious appointment so they wouldn't be disturbed. Instead of psychoanalysis, they slipped off their shoes and danced in Deanna's quarters. Deanna smiled, watching their bare feet turn circles around the carpet, feeling Beverly's hand warm against her hip.
Every now and then, Beverly would whisper and instruction or guide Deanna one way or another. She laughed, she slid her hand a little higher on Deanna's side, she stepped a little closer.
When they were dancing close, Beverly put her hand between Deanna's shoulder blades and rested her head on the counselor's shoulder. Deanna would bury her face in Beverly's hair and close her eyes, memorizing the texture of the strands against her lips.
The dance lessons always ended the same way. Beverly telling Deanna she was making progress and threatening to reprogram all the replicators to forget what chocolate was if she mentioned their lessons to anyone.
But in private, the lessons always ended different. Deanna lay in bed in her nightgown, eyes closed, hands in the air in front of her as if still embracing Beverly. She tried to keep her guard up while they danced, but sometimes images began to flow. Sensations, like a radio searching for a signal through the static.
Deanna danced with Beverly at her wedding reception, felt the waves of love Beverly had felt for her husband. She danced with Beverly at a Starfleet Academy ball, felt her sweaty palms and her nervous anxiety about where the night would lead.
The night Beverly danced on the porch in her nightgown, with no partner... in her mind, Deanna was the partner.
In her mind, their dances always concluded with a kiss. Lingering, slow, two tongues lightly touching as Deanna cupped Beverly's breast through whatever thin material she was wearing. Deanna touched herself lightly, feeling herself already wet from the memories.
---
Beverly Crusher lay on her side, hand between her legs, eyes closed as she recalled how it felt to dance with Deanna Troi.
Their first few sessions had been normal, ordinary dances. But then, Deanna got sloppy.
Not in her dancing, but in her preparations. Emotions began to seep through. Love, desire, want, pain, longing. More than once, Beverly had seen flashes of herself kissing Deanna's lips.
She came with a sigh, eyebrows arching as she bucked against her hand. What Deanna didn't know was that the images went both ways... and Beverly couldn't wait to see what came up next.
---
Deanna arched her back and came, bringing her free hand up to her mouth and brushing her fingertips over her lips like a kiss. What Beverly didn't know was that Deanna was already a very accomplished dancer...