by Lizzie
---

DISCLAIMER: Tom and Harry belong to me, Voyager belongs to me, la di da di da. (ominous silence) Hmm. Where are Paramount's little trained -- oh no, Paramount, I didn't mean it! NO! No, stop! (screams of anguished pain) I'm sorry, I'll never infringe on your copyright again, never, never!!! (broken sobbing)

The story's rated R for m/m sex that isn't described in any detail whatsoever, but that's okay, because your imaginations can produce scenes that are a lot better than anything I could ever write.

I hope you had as much fun with this as I did. Comments are much appreciated, criticism is a necessary evil (necessary if you harbor any hope of my improving), and flames. . . Well, you know better. And thank you for reading to the end!

But enough with the intro! On with the story!

---

'A hideous beep disturbed the quiet room. "This is your requested wake up call. The time is now 0800 hours. Have a nice day." The computer beeped again, stridently. Only one of the figures in the rumpled bed stirred, but as his response was simply to bury his face under his pillow, the wake up call couldn't possibly be considered successful.

". . . hate mornings," grumbled the other pile of blankets.

The person whose head had been pushed under the pillow moments earlier was silent for almost three seconds, processing the fact that he wasn't alone in his bed. When it finally hit him, he sat straight up in bed, shocked, before the remains of last night made him groan out loud and grab for his head. He missed. "Oh, hell."

The second pile of blankets twisted around so quickly you couldn't but fear for his back. "Oh, hell."

The two stared at each other in complete silence, both too stunned to do anything more than gape foolishly.

"There's a reason for this," the first man said, finally gathering together enough sense to assemble a complete sentence. "There's a reason I'm in bed naked with my best friend."

"Besides the obvious?" the second asked, giving way to his sense of the ridiculous.

"Oh, hell." With that, Harry (for Harry it was) gave up and slid back down the headboard, drawing the blankets up to his chin and trying to avoid touching Tom.

"Hey!" Tom exclaimed, yanking back his share of the blankets. "Do you always steal all the covers?"

"Only when I don't have any clothes on," Harry responded, pulling at the blanket.

"Yeah, well, neither do I."

"What?" Harry's blush revealed that he had heard his friend perfectly well, but was hoping against hope that he hadn't.

"I don't have any clothes on," Tom said. "But someone's underwear is on the lamp by your side of the bed. Yours or mine?"

"I don't want to know."

"Coward."

"Yes."

"Whose bed is this, anyway?"

"Mine."

"Liar. You have no clue."

"No, I don't," Harry agreed. "But if it's mine, it means I don't have to check out the underwear on the lamp."

Tom sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, and said, "Computer, whose quarters are these?"

"These quarters belong to Ensigns Megan and Jenny Delaney," the computer responded mechanically.

"What?" Tom and Harry exclaimed together.

"What happened last night?" demanded Tom.

"Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell," chanted Harry softly.

He carried on while Tom tried to think back on the events of the night before.

"Harry?" Tom interrupted suddenly, breaking Harry's stream of mild profanity.

"Yeah, Tom?"

"Can you remember what happened yesterday?"

Harry's brow furrowed momentarily, before his dark eyes met Tom's, wide with sudden fear. "No," he whispered.

"Then it's safe to assume that we did sleep together?" Tom asked, trying to be calm and rational about the whole thing.

"I guess so. Oh--"

Before Harry could continue, Tom cut him off with, "You say 'Oh hell.' one more time and I swear I'm going to hit you."

"What if you already have?" asked Harry.

"Did I?" Tom asked, surprise (and intrigue) evident in his voice.

"Don't sound so lecherous!" Harry protested. "I have no idea."

"Yeah, you only wish," Tom replied flippantly.

Harry blushed yet again and tried to change the subject. "But why the Delaneys' room? Why not one of ours?"

"Better question: where are Megan and Jenny, and do they know we're in one of their beds?"

"I don't want to find out. Let's just get dressed and scram."

Tom sat up and glanced around the dimly lighted room. "That's not going to be so easy," he warned.

"Why?" Harry asked, pushing himself up. "Oh--oh my."

Clothing had been scattered haphazardly about the small bedroom, on top of the dresser and on the floor, on the nightstand and in the garbage can. Most of it looked to be in shreds, as if the wearer (or wearers) hadn't had the patience to bother with niceties like fastenings but had just yanked, and hoped that their partner's eye wouldn't be put out by a flying button.

"Those are our clothes," Harry observed intelligently.

"Yes, they are," agreed Tom.

"They look like chimpanzees have been at them!"

"Oh? And tell me, what would you know about a chimpanzee's fashion sense?"

"No, please don't start. Let's just try get out of here quickly," begged Harry.

"In what, though? None of our clothes are wearable." Tom leaned over and snagged an unravelling sweater. "I almost thought this was indestructible." Flashing a quick grin at Harry, he added, "Thank you for proving me wrong."

"What makes you think I tore it?" Harry asked, playing along. His insides were rapidly melting, though, as a direct result of that suggestive grin.

Tom shrugged. "Well, I don't see anyone else here who could have done it."

"You might have torn it yourself, in your hurry to get into the bed."

Tom swallowed a gulp at the enticing picture this conjured up, imagining himself tearing at his clothing in order to join Harry, stretched naked upon the bed, his arms (and legs, if you're going to be crude about it) open and accepting.

He said nothing more, however, than, "I've got more self-control than that."

Harry raised his eyebrows and remained silent.

"What?" demanded Tom. "Do you think that I would really be so lost to all sense as to do something like that to my best friend?" //Do you really think that our first time would be accompanied by the sound of tearing cloth and animalistic grunts, rather than candlelight and music?// Tom flushed at this unspoken thought and looked away from Harry's candid gaze.

"Do something like what, Tom?" asked Harry, momentarily confused by the softness in Tom's eyes before he had turned away.

"I don't know," Tom said sharply. "Seduce you, maybe."

"But even if you did seduce me, I could always have turned you down," Harry reminded Tom.

"What if you did?" Tom snapped back.

"What if I couldn't?" challenged Harry.

"Couldn't?" Tom repeated, thrown off.

"Do you think I'd be able to deny myself something that I'd wanted since we first met, especially if you seemed to want it too?"

Tom blinked, once again surprised by his normally reserved friend.

Neither said anything for a few long moments, each waiting for the other to break the silence. Harry finally shifted uncomfortably and said, "Maybe we'd better not discuss this in Megan and Jenny Delaney's quarters."

"Is that another way of saying, 'We'll talk about this later'?"

"Do you want to talk about this later?" Harry countered.

"Will you quit asking me questions I can't answer?" Tom exclaimed. "No, I don't want to talk about this later. I don't want to talk about this at all! We did something stupid. We should have known better, but we didn't, and now there's nothing left to do but pick up our clothes and depart before anyone finds out."

"Is that our only option? Why don't you want anyone to find out?"

"Stop it, Harry! I just don't, okay? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my room." Tom grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around his waist, stalking out of the bedroom.

Harry stared after him. His response hadn't made any sense. They'd obviously done something, and from the look of the clothes on the floor, it was something they had both wanted. So why would Tom be so eager to deny it? Harry had tried, admittedly indirectly, to confess that this was something he had wanted for a while. And he thought Tom had understood that. A sudden thought occurred to the ensign. "Did he think I coerced him?" he whispered out loud, dismayed. "Did I take advantage of him when we were both drunk? Would I do that to him?" He slumped forward until his head rested on his knees. "Oh dear God, what if I did?"

---

Meanwhile, Tom was striding across the spacious living room to the replicator on the wall, feeling furious and frustrated and. . . and frightened. That brought him up short. Why on earth was he scared? What possible reason could he have to be scared? He'd just shared a night of incredible sex (well, he was just guessing; he couldn't remember a moment of it) with his best friend. And the two of them had even been able to talk about it after. They'd kidded each other about waking up together. It wasn't a big deal.

But then, Harry had to go and take it to the next level. Harry had to go and suggest that they had wanted it, that it wasn't some freak occurrence they could set aside and ignore. He wouldn't let it remain just a one night stand. Damn him for making it so difficult.

"Damn him," Tom repeated aloud, his brow creasing in distress.

He truly wished he could remember something of the events of the night before. How on earth had he and Harry wound up in Megan (or Jenny) Delaney's bed? The last he could recall from the night before was the twins' birthday party in holodeck two. Megan and Jenny had been sitting on the floor across from Tom and Harry, carrying on a long and rambling discussion about birthdays past, when someone, Tom couldn't remember who, had loudly barged in on the conversation to toast "the birthday girls", prompting Jenny to nudge Megan and whisper, "Let's get out of here." Megan had agreed that the party would continue very well without the guests of honor, and had graciously invited Tom and Harry to join them in the real celebration. And so all four of them had landed up here, in the Delaneys' quarters. He still didn't know, however, why he and Harry had slept together.

Tom shrugged. That didn't matter. All that mattered was getting out of here as fast as possible. He quickly replicated a uniform from the replicator, charging it to his account, and tugged it on hurriedly. He wasn't particularly comfortable with wandering around someone else's quarters half naked. And Harry was still in the bedroom. Tom headed for the exit, watching it glide open as he approached. Just before he left, however, he turned around and studied the layout of the small suite. "So Megan's room's on the left, and Jenny's is on the right," he mused aloud. His eyebrows raised. "I just spent the night in Megan Delaney's bed -- without Megan. Wonder how many people can say that." With that insightful observation, he turned and left.

---

Inside Megan's bedroom, Harry looked up as he heard the outside door close. Tom was gone. His best friend, who he'd worshiped from afar for so very long, was gone. Oh, not literally, of course. It wasn't as if he'd never see Tom again. But it didn't seem as though their friendship would ever be the same. In fact, he wasn't even sure that their friendship still existed. Harry's conviction that he'd coerced his best friend into bed while they were both drunk was enough to assure him that Tom wouldn't ever want to speak to him again.

Harry bit his lip, hard, hoping the physical pain would distract him from the hurt inside, and slid out of bed, wrapping the blanket around his waist. Whether they were still friends or not, there was still the mess they'd made last night to clean up. Harry began gathering up armfuls of torn, mangled clothing from the dresser and night table, trying to ignore the way Tom's scent still clung to most of the clothes. He thought he was doing a good job of it until he realized that he was crying so hard he could barely see.

---

Tom proceeded down the hall to his own quarters. He'd asked for this morning off a couple of days ago -- and gotten it -- anticipating that, due to the Delaneys' party, he would probably be unwilling (or unable) to pilot the ship. And he was right; had he tried to fly the ship in the condition he was in, he would probably have crashed it into an asteroid by now. He couldn't stop wondering what had happened last night. He knew better than to sleep with a friend. Nothing could ruin a relationship like sex. //Nothing can enhance a relationship like sex,// his brain piped up. Dammit. He didn't want that kind of relationship with Harry. Did he? He didn't know. It didn't feel like he knew very much of anything this morning. He should have known better than to toy with Harry. He should have known that the ensign wouldn't have been satisfied with a one night stand, and it wasn't fair of Tom to expect him to be. The loyalty Harry had shown to Libby -- it demonstrated that when Harry gave of himself, he gave for keeps. //But am I ready for such a commitment?//

Tom was saved from having to answer this question by his arrival at his quarters. He keyed in his entry code and walked in, fumbling his way to the couch in the dark so he could sit down. He knew Harry. He liked Harry. He thought he could love Harry. And from what Harry had said, it was clear that Harry thought he could love Tom in return. So, really, what was the problem? Tom puzzled over the question, sorting through the assorted responses that came to mind. 'It's a mistake.' 'Neither of us know what we're getting into.' 'It wouldn't work.' But the real answer, Tom realized, was much simpler than any of those. He was scared.

There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ifs and buts and maybes. And for such an uncertain prize, too. What if Harry changed his mind? What if, when Tom finally got up the courage to admit his feelings to Harry, Harry decided that things were better off the way they were before? Was it worth it? Was having his best friend, even for a few short hours, worth the pain of losing him?

---

Meanwhile, Harry, still in Megan Delaney's room, sat sobbing, convinced that he had already lost Tom. //If only I knew what had happened. If only I knew how to fix it,// echoed through Harry's head. He leaned forward and buried his face in the pile of clothes he had collected. He wanted to stop crying. It wasn't at all dignified, crying into a bundle of ripped clothing, wearing nothing more than a blue and yellow striped blanket. But the thought of the picture he made only forced more tears to the surface. At least no one could see what a fool he was making of himself.

"I take it last night wasn't a success," a voice quietly interrupted.

Harry's head jerked up, and he almost squeaked in surprise. Megan (or Jenny--his sight was too blurred to distinguish) was right there in front of him, and, judging from the expression of sympathy on her face, she'd been there for a while.

"I don't remember any of last night," Harry confessed miserably.

"I suppose that's a good thing." The Delaney -- Harry realized it was Jenny; Megan would have been yelling at him by now -- came closer and sat down beside him.

"Tell me what happened last night," requested Harry urgently.

"What do you remember?"

"Everything, I think, up until we came here. Megan got out a bottle of something, and after that, everything is blank."

"I told her it would be too strong," Jenny commented. "You don't remember anything?"

"Nothing," confirmed Harry. "I woke up in bed with Tom this morning. I expect you know that?"

"Yeah, we knew," Jenny said. "I guess it didn't work out."

"It didn't," Harry admitted, looking so unhappy that Jenny was moved to give him a hug.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I do hate to disillusion you. . ."

"What?" Harry's head jerked up, and he pulled away from her light embrace. "What are you talking about?"

"Megan and I. . . well, we realized the two of you would never come around on your own. So we played matchmaker."

"You what?" demanded Harry. "Why?"

"You and Tom, you're so obviously meant for each other. But neither of you seemed to realize it. So we figured a little nudge in the right direction would go a long way."

"You planned this?"

"Well, I don't think either of us said, 'Tonight's the night.' about last night. But hey, when opportunity knocks. . ." Jenny drifted into silence. "We never thought it would be so disastrous."

"Disastrous? Tom's not speaking to me because I forced him into bed with me. That's slightly more than disastrous."

"You didn't force him into bed," Jenny said, puzzled. "If anything, he initiated it."

"No, you initiated it," Harry replied.

"Please believe me when I say I'm sorry. We didn't mean to hurt either of you."

"It's a bit late for that now," Harry murmured, but seeing the hurt look on Jenny's face, he relented. She really had thought she was helping. "So tell me, what did you and Megan do?"

"Repah." In response to Harry's questioning frown, she clarified, "It's a drink. An aphrodisiac."

"You plied us with an aphrodisiac and waited to see what would happen?"

"Well, yeah," Jenny began reluctantly.

Harry glared at her.

"It was actually rather cute," Jenny hastened to inform him. "You and Tom kept feeding each other grapes and cooing over each other until we suggested you continue this in the bedroom."

"You do realize that, no matter how cute we were last night, Tom still hates me now?" Harry reminded her.

"No, I'm sure he doesn't. He may be angry or resentful, but he doesn't hate you. He loves you too much to ever hate you."

"Shows what you know," replied Harry.

"What do you want to bet that I'm right?" challenged Jenny.

Harry blinked, then frowned. "I don't. When you have that look on your face, it means you have something up your sleeve."

"I do."

"Really? What is it?"

"Megan's talking to Tom right now."

"Oh, great. So now the two of you are arranging a shotgun wedding between us."

---

Tom was still pondering in his darkened room when the doorchime rang. He didn't want to answer the door. He didn't want to face Harry, and he couldn't think of anyone else who would come see him, so he stayed silent. The door chimed once more. He hadn't thought Harry would be so persistent.

"Come on, Tom, I know you're in there! Open up, or I'll make a scene!"

Now that wasn't Harry. In fact, it sounded very much like Megan Delaney. He knew she wouldn't hesitate to embarrass him if she felt it necessary. "Come in," he called.

The door glided open, and Megan Delaney appeared silhouetted against the light from the hall. "Lights," she demanded, entering.

The computer, like nearly everyone on Voyager, immediately obeyed.

"That's better," she said. "Goodness, Tom, you look a mess."

"Thank you, Megan."

"You're welcome," said Megan, completely oblivious to any sarcasm. "Why aren't you with Harry?"

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"You know. Harry. Your best friend and current lover?"

If Tom had had a drink, he would have spit it out at this comment. As it was, he managed to choke on the air he was breathing, inducing Megan to come over and pound him on the back.

"Well, you aren't very subtle," said Tom when he could finally breathe normally again.

"If I was subtle, I'd never get a straight answer. Now why aren't you with Harry?"

Tom sighed. "I don't know. I got scared."

"Do you want to be with Harry?" asked Megan.

"Yes, but --"

"No, no buts. You want him, he wants you, and that's all that matters. The two of you were all over each other last night!"

Tom blushed.

"Oh, that looks cute. You turn that on when you're with Harry, he won't be able to resist you."

"Please Megan, listen to me," began Tom.

"No, you listen to me. Right now your best friend is crying his heart out in my bedroom. I don't know why, but I'm inclined to think it's because of something you did. So tell me, Tom, do you love Harry?"

"Yes, dammit!" Tom shouted back. "Yes, I --"

"Good. Now you go over and tell him so," Megan said, neatly cutting Tom off in mid-spiel.

Tom gaped at her for a moment before finally shaking his head and laughing out loud. "How did you just do that?"

"You're so used to tiptoeing around the subject that you expect everyone else will too," Megan explained. "But I won't." She shrugged. "It's just the way I am."

Tom smiled back at her. Maybe she was right. Maybe subtlety was overrated. "Thank you, Megan."

"The only thanks I need is to see you and Harry happy. Together. Now go!" And she shooed Tom out of his living room.

Tom walked through the gray halls of the ship, strangely reluctant to see Harry. Of course, Megan would probably hurt him if he didn't, and what she had said did seem to ring true. Was Harry really crying because of him? He felt guilty and unhappy for having hurt his friend. But he'd make up for it now. He stopped in front of the Delaneys' quarters and rang the chime. He hoped Harry would answer the door. If Jenny was in there, he'd probably lose all his courage.

The door slid open slowly. Maybe it just seemed slow because of his desperation to see what was behind it. And then suddenly it was open, and there was Harry, still clad in nothing more than a brightly striped blanket.

Neither said anything for a few moments, both drinking in the sight of the other. Harry finally stepped back and gestured for Tom to enter. "Don't worry, Jenny's already left."

A grin crossed Tom's face. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry --"

"No, I'm sorry --"

And it wasn't at all graceful, but all of a sudden they'd both stepped forward and they were all over each other, just touching and stroking and holding. As the door to the Delaneys' quarters slid closed, they kissed.

It wasn't an earthshaking kiss -- quite the opposite in fact; it was tender and sweet and oh so gentle. As they parted for air, their mouths separating and their eyes opening, Tom spoke.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

The two were speaking in whispers, but they were standing so close to each other that their words were perfectly audible.

"What now?" Tom murmured.

"I wish I knew."

"Do we hop into bed again?"

"Let's have a go at Jenny's room this time," Harry suggested. "It's only fair."

Tom let out a quick burst of surprised laughter and leaned down to kiss the tip of Harry's nose. "It's a date."

The two stood still for a moment, each treasuring the feel of the other's arms wrapped around him, before Harry pointed out, "We're not getting any closer to Jenny's bed."

"Don't you want to talk about this any more?"

"I thought you said you didn't want to talk about this at all," Harry reminded Tom.

Tom paused, recalling his rash comments earlier. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath warm against Harry's ear. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"No, you shouldn't have," Harry agreed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. What can I say?" Tom asked.

"Rather, what can you do?"

"What?" Tom asked, his confusion evident in his voice.

"Are we going to Jenny's bedroom or not?" Harry said by way of explanation.

Tom stared at Harry, completely surprised, and grinned appreciatively. "I'd never have thought it."

"You don't need to think," Harry replied, and the way his hands were caressing Tom seemed to support that general idea.

"Oh, no, slow down," Tom gasped, catching both Harry's wrists in his hands. "You keep that up, and we'll never make it to the bedroom."

"Who needs a bedroom? I've no objection to the floor."

Tom's eyebrows raised. "Is that an order? I do outrank you, you know."

"Oh no, that was a request." Harry looked up at Tom, and a challenge glowed in his dark eyes. "An order would be, 'Take me hard, take me fast, take me now.'"

Tom's eyes slid closed, and a deep groan shook his body. "Yes, sir."

And he proceeded to do exactly that.

---

End