There were two main reasons I wrote this. First off, the glee is tangible when I think of Seven or Janeway having a potty mouth. Second, I was listening to Frank Zappa's Inca Roads, and I wanted to see if I could actually use a specific lyric in a Voyager fic.
This story is total nonsense. Silly, vulgar nonsense. You shouldn't be surprised.
Seven of Nine waltzed purposefully into Engineering, her head held high and her face void of any emotion. She stopped several feet before a console where the plump, round derriere of her favourite engineer was poking out of. She blinked slowly and observed the other woman, who appeared to be toiling with an assortment of wires.
Controlling the smirk that threatened to consume her face, she lifted her right leg and in one swift motion, drove it straight into the stocky woman's ass.
"OW!" screeched the engineer as she shot upwards, driving the top of her skull into the console above her. She flopped backwards onto the floor, groaning a few choice words as she attempted to cradle both injured areas As her vision came back into focus, she couldn't control the growl that rippled from her chest at the sight of Seven of Nine looking contentedly down at her.
"Laying down on the job, Lieutenant? This won't look good on the annual ship-wide efficiency report.
"Stuff it," said B'Elanna groggily, sitting up. "What the fuck was that for, Borg?"
"I needed your attention," she stated with a quirk of her brow.
"So you kicked me in the ass?"
"Did it not efficiently garner your attention?"
"Yes but…never mind." The engineer stood to face the other woman, and as of recent, her very close friend and companion.
"I wish you to aide me in my quest to further my familiarity with human customs. As we near the Alpha Quadrant I find myself becoming…nervous." She faltered slightly, and B'Elanna controlled the urge to wrap her arms around the other woman.
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Teach me to use profanity properly. My research indicates that it is a necessary human custom."
B'Elanna blinked stupidly.
"To swear…" Seven clarified.
"Yeah, I got that. Um…why me?"
"Well, you have flaunted your mastery of multilingual cussing on numerous occasions, and I naturally assumed you would be the best choice." she stated. "Unless, of course, you refuse. In that case, I will ask the Captain, as she is the only other candidate who rivals you."
"No-no, I'll do it." She knew that Janeway was just as infatuated with the supple ex-Borg as she was, and the thought of losing her to the Captain made her blood boil.
"Very well…Cargo Bay Two,1900 hours, then?"
Seven stood in her signature stance, nodding slowly, her eyes wide at attention. Her chest heaved, her enormous endowments thrusting upwards in a manner that made the lieutenant twitch involuntarily, as she took a deep breath and steadied herself.
"Fuck you," the Nordic ex-Borg repeated, contemplating each syllable as it formed on her full lips.
"Come on. Say it like you mean it."
Seven flicked her gaze away from the bulkhead to the stocky Klingon before her.
"F-," she began, but looked highly unsure of herself. Somehow managing to adopt and even more rigid posture, she swallowed air and started again. "Fuck you," she stated again, her inflection only mildly more assured than before.
"Seven," said B'Elanna, "if you're not going to try, why'd you ask me here? Get angry. GRRRRRR"
"Grr?" repeated Seven, her left brow peaking towards her hairline.
"GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR" growled the Klingon, pushing the pristine woman crudely.
"Come on, growl!" B'Elanna grabbed Seven's elbows and shook her, "Get angry!"
"Cease." Seven backed away from B'Elanna, clenching her jaw tightly.
"God dammit, Seven!" she shouted, "You wanted me to teach you to swear, so do it right! Harness the ANGER!" She grabbed the other woman and yanked her close, knowing that it would irk the other woman.
"Fuck you." Seven shouted half-heartedly.
At this the bold engineer pushed the ex-Borg against the bulkhead. She pressed her against the steel with her left arm and used her free hand to mercilessly tickle her stomach.
"Eeep!" Seven squealed, wriggling beneath the Klingon's grasp. "Desist! Desist! Fuck! Shit!"
"That's better, but not good enough!" B'Elanna continued her assault, her lips twisted into a feral grin.
"I'm g-gonna fucking beat the shit out of you, you d-dirty mother fucker!"
"Better!" she said, "Think of someone who makes you really fucking mad. Someone who you just want to take a phaser rifle to, someone who you could just shove out the air lock and drive the ship into. Chaoktay! Think of Chakotay!"
Seven pushed the other woman off of her and stood a moment, poised for deep thought. She took a deep breath and began to speak, but paused and reconsidered her words. Several more moments passed before she took another gulp of air and continued.
"Fuck you, you fucking dingo shit Guacamole Queen," shouted Seven, her eyes bright with excitement, her lips quirked into a foreign smile. "You mother-fucking, snow-balling, scrotum-sucking, Episcopal church goer! You irradiated, piss guzzling, tit nuzzling, cunt rubbing cum guzzling two-dollar whore! Fart sucking, armadillo shaped, ant-riddled plank of petrified fucking maple! Dickless, ass-brained, Mexican-American retard of immense proportions!"
B'Elanna was motionless, struck still in the midst of Seven's words. The Borg's cold, unaffected demeanor was absent now, replaced by frantic, hyperactive gesticulating and overly excited screaming. The other woman's cheeks were flushed and her chest was heaving with each laboured breath as she continued ripping off random, horribly offensive and illicit insults that would make even the hard-tongued sailor of a Captain blush.
She frowned as she felt a familiar flutter grace her loins, a hot heat creeping up her spine and wrapping around her neck. Seven was still going, saying things that she would have never dreamed of, things that would cause Kahless whimper and turn to his feminine side to seek less violent, more intuitive solutions.
Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all…
But know what is a good idea?
Leaving a review!