by Lizzie
---

DISCLAIMER: Paramount's bigger than me, smarter than me, stronger than me. . . but in my universe Tom and Harry have a great deal of mad passionate sex together. So really, where do you want to hang out?

(cowering Please don't hurt me, Paramount, you can have them back if you want them. . . (cowering)

Rated NC-17 for actual m/m sex (but there's no swearing! yes!) and mild humor.

Enjoy! Comments, praise, flames (nearly anything save junk mail, really) are gratefully accepted. Hope you enjoyed.

---

"Honey! I'm home!" called Tom Paris as the door to his quarters closed behind him.

Harry Kim, his lover and the above-mentioned "honey", looked up from the PADD he was poring over. "I'd never have guessed," he responded dryly.

Tom settled onto the couch beside Harry. "So tell me, love, what are you looking at?"

"Oh, it's my little black book," replied Harry airily. "Checking to see if I have a date for tonight."

"Do you?"

"Don't know. What's on the agenda for tonight?" Harry asked, leaning his head on Tom's shoulder.

"Oh, nothing special."

"Sandrine's again, then? Or do you want to go to the resort?"

"But we always do that," whined Tom.

Harry laughed at the pout on his friend's face. "Then what?"

Tom's eyebrows rose momentarily, and he leaned over to kiss Harry.

"Oh my," whispered Harry when they broke for air. Seconds later, he added, "But we always do that."

Tom laughed. "You're right. Can't go to the holodeck, can't stay in and fuck 'til we drop -- I guess we'll just have to play a game of cards."

"Cards? The two of us?"

"I don't see anyone else around," Tom replied. "Unless one of the people from your little black book is hiding in the bedroom waiting for me to leave."

"Of course not!" protested Harry. Turning to face the bedroom, he hissed loudly to the supposed old flame, "Okay, he's on to you; you'll have to make a run for it!"

When the two were done laughing, Tom somehow had an unopened deck of cards in his hand.

"Have you been planning this?" demanded Harry.

"What makes you think that? Just because I choreographed the evening right down to that person in the bedroom doesn't mean I planned this."

"All right, so what do you want to play?"

Tom's eyebrows rose yet again.

"Card game, Tom! What card game do you want to play?" corrected Harry, laughing.

"Five card stud."

"For what?" Harry asked warily, beginning to get an inkling of the kind of card game Tom had in mind.

"Oh, you know, clothing," said Tom lightly.

"Oh dear."

"Come on, it'll be fun," insisted Tom.

"Playing strip five card stud with you will not be fun," replied Harry.

"Hey, if you want, we can get a few more people," Tom offered. "Strip poker would be even more interesting, hmm?"

"You'll have to find four more people, because I don't want to play. And you're not doing it in here."

"Don't be a spoilsport, love," Tom pleaded. "A quick game of cards will be a fun way to spend the evening."

Harry glanced over at Tom.

"Please?" Tom looked beseechingly at his lover.

"Okay, fine," Harry conceded finally.

"Great!"

"I'm just going to go put some more clothes on."

"No can do, Harry. You've got to play with what you have on."

"But Tom! What happens if I run out of clothes?"

"Then you bet favors," said Tom smugly.

"I don't want to owe you sexual favors!" exclaimed Harry.

"What makes you think they're sexual favors?" asked Tom.

"Would you have suggested we play if they weren't sexual?"

"Yes!" responded Tom instantly.

Harry looked at him.

"Okay, maybe."

Harry still said nothing.

"All right, no."

Harry still stared silently at Tom.

"Fine, okay, never in a million years! Are you satisfied?"

"That comes later in the evening."

---

After dinner in the mess hall, and many lies to their friends about their plans for the night, the two of them returned to the quarters they shared,each looking forward to the game that was awaiting them.

"Now how do you play this again?" asked Harry, as they both settled down on the floor.

"You know what beats what, right? I don't have to go over that?"

"You don't have to go over that. We each get a face down card, and then four face up, right?"

"And we bet between deals."

"All right, then. Your deal."

Tom's quick hands shuffled the pack. He presented the deck to Harry, who cut, and then he dealt a card to each.

"Your bid," Tom told Harry.

"Yeah, I know. What's the minimum?"

"One item of clothing. One favor is equal to three items of clothing."

"Uh huh. And do you specify the clothes, or does your opponent?"

"You do." "Okay, well, I bet. . . a shoe."

"That's half a bet. Shoes and socks each count as an article of clothing."

"That's not fair!"

"Those are the rules. Live with it."

"Okay, fine. My shoes."

"I see your shoes," said Tom, pulling off his own, "and I raise you my sweater."

"I call. My socks." Harry's socks joined the small pile of clothing in between them.

"Okay." Tom dealt out a face up card to each. "Two of diamonds for you, and the seven of spades for me."

"You realize how few layers we're wearing, right?" Harry asked.

"You're wearing," corrected Tom. "I came prepared."

"What?!"

"You should have dressed accordingly," sighed Tom.

"But I didn't know!"

"Too late now," Tom said. "You just hope that you win."

Harry glared at him, but rather than stalking off to the bedroom as Tom thought he would, he peeked at his hidden card once more and said, "My shirt."

"You've got to deliver now," Tom reminded him.

"Okay, okay, I will," Harry responded. His hands made swift work of the buttons on his white shirt, and it too landed on the messy pile.

"My socks, and I raise you my pants." Both the items came off, revealing bare feet and lime green surf shorts.

"I'm glad you don't wear those in public," Harry observed.

"Enough griping about my fashion sense, it's your turn."

"I call."

"With what?" Tom asked, surveying Harry from head to toe.

He blushed. "I still have my pants."

"Not for much longer, if they're what you call with."

Harry sighed and removed his pants. "Oh, very nice," replied Tom. "I like the hearts; they add just the right touch."

"Quiet, you."

Tom dealt again. "Two of hearts for you, queen of clubs for me. Your bid."

"Yeah."

"You haven't got many options there," teased Tom. "You can either lose the boxers, or. . . well, I don't know what you could do."

"One favor."

"Raising the stakes, are we? I call, and raise you two: my shirt and my shorts." The blue button-down shirt came off to reveal a plain black T-shirt, and underneath the lime green shorts, Tom wore a pair of yellow and white striped boxers.

"Another favor."

"So you call, and then one more, hmm? Well, I don't know. . . One favor."

"I can't call that! I only have one more item of clothing, and if I call in a favor, you'll just raise it once more!"

"What a predicament," sighed Tom, not looking at all unhappy about this turn of events.

"Fine. Another favor."

"You must be confident about those cards," marvelled Tom. At the murderous look he received from Harry, he shrugged and said, "All right, I call. My shirt."

"Thank you."

"For the view?" Tom grinned, tugging his T-shirt over his head.

"Quiet, you."

Tom laughed. "Four of clubs to you, and the six of clubs to me."

"I've got a dreadful hand. I don't want to play anymore."

"You can't do that!" Tom protested.

"Then I fold."

"Giving up so easily?"

"Yup."

"I win, then."

"I guess so," said Harry.

"So I suppose you owe me three favors?"

"Yeah."

"I'm calling in my first favor now," said Tom.

"First? Now? Aren't you going to call them all in at once?" demanded Harry, flustered.

"Would I do that? Now come over here."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Harry warily, still staying on his side of the small mountain of clothes.

"You're going to masturbate me to orgasm," announced Tom.

"I am?"

"Yes, you are. Now get over here."

Harry edged past the pile of clothes and sat on the floor beside Tom. "You don't have to look so nervous! I'm not going to bite," protested Tom.

"Unless I want it," finished Harry, at the same time Tom added, "Unless you want it."

"You say that every time, my love, and you bite regardless," Harry reminded Tom.

"Yeah, but you like it."

"Yeah."

"Now come on," insisted Tom.

"Fine, if you insist," sighed Harry theatrically. "Computer, reduce lights to twenty-five percent."

The lights dimmed accordingly, and Harry pulled Tom toward him. Their mouths met, softly, gently, in a chaste closemouthed kiss that quickly deepened into something more. The only sound either could hear was the insistent drumming of a heartbeat. . . their own or their partner's, neither could tell. Harry's tongue was dancing attendance on Tom's, their mouths seemingly fused together, open and warm, each feeling the pressure of an erection pressed against his hip, and a hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer until he felt he'd drown in the heat of the other.

Harry finally broke the kiss, pulling away from Tom. Tom's eyes blinked open in disoriented surprise, and his mouth opened to protest.

"Shhh," cautioned Harry, a finger laid on Tom's lips. "I've a favor to carry out, you know." And he smiled teasingly as his other hand trailed over Tom's bare chest, tweaked a nipple (the first time he'd tried that, he'd been startled at how sensitive Tom was there), and slid lower, down to the waistband of the shorts Tom still wore.

Tom's mouth widened to suck in the finger Harry had left there (he should have been paying attention; he shouldn't have been watching his other hand tormenting Tom) and it was Harry's turn to whimper at the feel of the soft wet heat that enveloped his finger. His eyes raised to meet his lover's, and it was a challenge now, to see if Tom could possibly distract Harry from the task that had been set for him. Harry's hand withdrew from Tom's mouth slowly, so slowly, and Tom's hands were fully occupied with the task of keeping himself sitting up that even if he wanted to, he could do nothing about it. As Harry's finger emerged, when the warm suction of Tom's lips held no more than the tip inside his mouth, Harry's ignored other hand carefully grasped the base of Tom's erection. Tom's hips bucked involuntarily. He'd forgotten about Harry's right hand; all his attention had been focused on that one finger. But there was no use now; Harry's hand was pumping rhythmically, and there was nothing more he could do, all he could see were Harry's eyes and all he could feel was Harry's hand, and even that was too much for him and with that, he came.

Harry's arms cradled his lover as he writhed in the throes of orgasm. "One down," he whispered in Tom's ear.

"Two to go," replied Tom when he could finally breathe again. "Come on, love, let's go to bed."

---

Breakfast the next morning was an odd affair. Tom and Harry were all over each other the same way they'd been in the first few weeks of their relationship, alternately amusing and annoying the other people in the mess hall.

"What's with the two of you today?" B'Elanna demanded after Tom dropped his fork for the third time and he and Harry both leaned over to get it--taking the opportunity to sneak a kiss while they were at it. "You're acting like a couple of teenagers!"

"I don't know," replied Tom, his hand sliding over Harry's thigh. "I rather like it, myself."

Harry laughed. "Don't worry about us. We'll be back to normal in no time."

"Or as soon as you clear up that little matter of the 'debt' you owe me," Tom said.

At B'Elanna's confused look, Tom hastened to assure her, "Inside joke."

"It's not very funny," she told them, getting up with her empty plate. "I hope you recover soon."

Neither of them heard her; they were too busy kissing.

---

In the turbolift fifteen minutes later, on their way to the bridge, Tom leaned over to Harry and whispered, "Favor two."

"Here? Now?" responded Harry.

"Halt turbolift," was all Tom said.

"We'll be late," protested Harry.

"The faster you accomplish this favor, the faster we'll be on the bridge," Tom explained reasonably.

"Oh, very well."

"Oh, come on, Harry, have some fun with it! It's not every day you get to give me a blow job in the turbolift."

"Is that what I'm doing now?"

"It sure is," replied Tom brightly.

Harry laughed reluctantly. "Well, you certainly have guts, love."

"I most certainly do. Now come on. I don't want to be late."

Harry knelt carefully, quickly, on the dirty gray carpeting of the 'lift. He fumbled with the opening to Tom's uniform and manged to extract Tom's rapidly hardening cock. Tom's hand descended, lightly stroking the top of Harry's head, and one of Harry's hands rose to grasp it. The other found its way to Tom's hip and held on for dear life as Harry took most of Tom inside his mouth.

"Oh yeah. . . " The words came out in a harsh moan, and Tom's hand squeezed Harry's in a desperate attempt to convey his love for him, for his mouth, soft and yielding, and for that tongue that did things no human tongue should ever have been able to to.

Harry worked Tom quickly; there was little time for finesse, but at least Tom would enjoy it. Tom was thrusting now, doing some of the work himself as he approached his climax, and then he did climax and it seemed as if it would never end, the sticky salty spray that Harry swallowed as fast as he could. It did end, of course, and Harry finally stopped swallowing to tongue his lover clean. He stood, dusting off his knees.

"These places are filthy," he muttered aloud. He glanced up at Tom and added teasingly, "As are you."

In response, Tom pulled Harry to him and kissed him thoroughly, tasting himself in his lover's mouth and trying to express his appreciation for that fact. "What do you think now?" challenged Tom.

"I think we ought to resume turbolift," replied Harry, not pulling away from Tom's arms. The computer heard and obeyed, and the two felt the movement as it started up again.

"We'd better separate before we get to the bridge," Tom said.

"You think?" Harry asked, snuggling closer.

"Yes, I think."

But neither of them moved, and when the turbolift opened onto the bridge, the entire bridge crew got a good look at the sight of the ship's pilot and the ship's Op's officer cuddling in a turbolift.

---

Back in their quarters after their shift was over, the two sat rehashing their conversation of last night.

"So what will we do tonight?" asked Harry.

"I don't know what could top last night," Tom said.

"That's because you won!" exclaimed Harry.

"Ah, you're so right. And I still have a favor left to call in."

"Last one," warned Harry. "Better make it a good one."

"You're right. Let's go to the holodeck tonight, whichever's on."

"Sure."

So they did. Sandrine's was running, cozy and dark and cheerful, and it seemed as if nearly everyone was there that night. Harry and Tom wound up squeezed into a booth with a bunch of people because it was too crowded to find an empty table for themselves. About three different conversations were going on around them, but the two were too engrossed in each other to participate or even notice.

"Favor three," Tom murmured to Harry.

"What? Now?" asked Harry, surprised.

"Sure."

"In public?"

"As good a place as any."

"What kind of favor is this?" Harry asked suspiciously, beginning to wish that they had thought to set some parameters for the favors when playing the game.

"Marry me."

"What?" He hadn't expected that, not at all.

"Marry me."

"That's your third favor?"

"Yeah."

"I can't say no to a favor," Harry pointed out.

"Do you want to say no?"

"No."

"So your answer is yes?"

"I don't know. What does yes mean?"

"It means you'll marry me."

"Oh, then yes. Yes, a thousand times over. I want to marry you."

"I'm glad you're so enthusiastic about it."

"Oh, I am, my love. And even better, now that you've used up your third favor, the game is over."

"For now."

And the two turned to break the good news to everyone else at their table.

---

End