Lost & Won: Go for Broke
by Shayney

Date Posted: 6 September 1999

Spoilers up to and including "Extreme Risk." This story takes place many months after "Lost and Won" and "Lost and Won: Push."

Characters and situations owned by Paramount/Viacom. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

Tom was drunk. . . but not so drunk he didn't hear the door chime. Again. It had been doing that off and on all night. Tom had ignored it, and it stopped. This time, though, it didn't stop. Then a voice came from his combadge. "Tom?"

Harry. As he'd expected. He wasn't sure he wanted to see even Harry.

"Come on, Tom. I know you're in there. Open up."

"What's the password?" Tom asked facetiously.

There was a pause. Then Harry replied, "Bakatare."

For a moment, Tom drew a blank. Then he remembered, and almost laughed despite his misery. It was from that old movie he'd made Harry watch with him after the Hirogen takeover. Go For Broke! Great flick. Grudgingly, he told the computer to open the door.

"What do you want?" Tom asked as Harry came in.

Harry folded his arms, looking thoughtfully at Tom where he sat on the couch. "I heard reports of a severe depression crossing Sandrine's and headed in this direction."

"B'Elanna dumped me," Tom said bluntly.

"Oh, no," Harry said. He looked so distressed that, bizarrely, Tom wanted to comfort him.

"Sit down. Have a drink." Harry sat beside him, still with that kicked-puppy look on his face. Tom was too tired to find another glass, so he offered Harry his. Harry took one sip and choked.

"Tom," he gasped. "You realize that it costs the same amount of rations to replicate 25-year-old single-malt whiskey as cheap rotgut?"

"I know," Tom replied. "But you don't drown your sorrows in the good stuff. It's just not done."

Harry grimaced and gave him the glass back. "What happened?" he asked.

Tom drained the glass and poured himself another. "You know, Har, I never imagined it would end like this. Hell, I never really imagined it would end at all. But if I did. . . I'd have thought it would involve at least a few broken bones. My battered body being shoved out an airlock, or tossed into the warp core. At the very least, a bloody nose, yelling and screaming, or some hurled household items."

Harry was eyeing him now, no doubt looking for bruises.

"She didn't lay a hand on me, Harry," Tom said sadly. "Throwing heavy objects comes at the beginning of a relationship, not the end of it."

"It's not the end, Tom," Harry protested. "You've fought before, and you always get back together."

"No, it's really over this time," Tom said. "We didn't even fight. It was all perfectly civilized. B'Elanna came here this evening and said, 'Tom, it's over.' Very quietly and politely. Then she left."

"But why?" Harry asked.

"That's what I said. But I was talking to a closed door. Notoriously uncommunicative, those things."

"Why didn't you follow her?"

"Because. . . I knew why. And she's right."

Harry didn't say anything, just reached out and put his arm around Tom's shoulders.

"You know B'Elanna's been on medical leave," Tom said.

Harry nodded.

"And you know why."

Again, Harry nodded. It was supposed to be confidential information, but very little remained secret for long on Voyager.

"Gods, Harry. She was hurting herself, running holosimulations with the safeties off. For months. And I never noticed. I'm the ship's medic, and I never noticed her injuries. I was her lover, and I never noticed how depressed she was. How she lost interest in good food and good wine, and stopped reading those awful Klingon romances that were her secret vice. How she spent less and less time with me and more and more time alone."

"Tom, don't blame yourself. B'Elanna can be very secretive when she wants to be. All those years as a Maquis, you know."

"You noticed," Tom said. "You noticed how withdrawn she'd become. And you noticed that I was underfoot a lot more. Bugging you instead of her. You asked me about it more than once. And I still didn't realize."

"You were just too close to the situation," Harry soothed. "And you never bug me."

"I failed her," Tom said. "I love her, but not enough. Not as much as she deserves. Don't you see, Harry? She's not even angry. She doesn't even care enough to be angry any more."

"B'Elanna's problems have nothing to do with you," Harry said firmly. "She's recovering. When she's better, she'll realize how much you mean to her."

"No. It's over. Forever."

"Oh, Tom." His arm tightened around Tom's shoulders. "It will be all right. Things will look better in the morning."

"No, they won't."

"Yes, they will. I promise." Harry's dark, serious gaze held his, full of kindness and concern. Tom had never seen him look so beautiful.

Tom knew it was a huge mistake. He knew he shouldn't do it. But he couldn't resist. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Harry's, kissing him with the pent-up ardor of five years.

He'd dreamed of this thousands of times. In his most nightmarish imaginings, Harry pulled away in shock and horror, slugged him, ran from the room. More realistically, he pictured Harry politely but uncomfortably evading the kiss, and their warm friendship fading to a polite but uncomfortable acquaintanceship. In the dreams dearest to his heart, Harry melted into Tom's arms, admitting that he secretly loved Tom, too. . .

In reality, none of these happened. Harry only blinked, quirking his left brow at Tom in that trademark perplexed look of his. Tom leaned in to kiss him some more. Harry didn't push him away; neither did he give Tom an iota of encouragement. "Whoa," he said. "You're drunker than I thought."

"No, I'm not," Tom said. "Harry, I love you. I've loved you for so long." He kissed those inviting lips again. "Gods, you're so beautiful. The most beautiful person on this entire ship."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know, Tom. Another drink or two, and I'll be the most beautiful person in the Delta Quadrant - maybe even the galaxy." He stood up, hauling Tom with him. "Come on. It's past your bedtime."

"I haven't finished my drink!"

"I think you've had enough."

Tom gave in, letting Harry guide him to the sleeping area. He lay on his bed, and let his friend undress him. He hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep tonight, but once he was lying on his soft bed, stripped to his undershirt and underwear in the cool darkness of the bedroom, he did start to feel drowsy. Harry got a blanket out of a drawer and spread it over him. "Good night, Tom."

Oh, no. Harry was going to leave now. He couldn't do that. Tom couldn't be alone tonight. "Harry," Tom whispered.

"What?" Harry asked, leaning down to hear him.

"I have something to tell you," Tom said, even more softly.

Harry leaned closer. "What is it?"

He grabbed Harry and jerked him down onto the bed, rolling on top of him.

"Tom!" Harry didn't put up any serious resistance, but he did sound rather exasperated.

"Don't go away, Harry. Stay with me."

"Okay, okay. Just get off me, all right?"

Tom eased away, leaving one arm thrown over Harry's chest. He thought about trying to kiss Harry again, but he was so tired. A warm hand enfolded his. "It's going to be all right, Tom," Harry said softly. "Go to sleep."

He did.

When Tom awoke the next morning, he was alone. And he felt pretty good - no hangover or anything. Harry must have given him something.

Harry had been right; things did look a little better in the light of day. Well, the virtual light of day. The shock had worn off a little. And it was mostly the shock he'd been reacting to last night. He cared about B'Elanna, and always would. They were together for two years, longer than he'd ever been with anyone, and he was used to having her in his life in a way he hadn't even realized until she told him it was over. And yet. . . under the genuine grief he felt at losing her, there was relief.

He went out into the living area, and found Harry there, prone on the couch, asleep. He should have known his friend wouldn't have gone far. Harry. He'd kissed him last night, and told him he loved him. And Harry hadn't taken him seriously. Tom felt oddly let down. He should be glad, he told himself firmly. Harry would dismiss it as drunken silliness. Which, in a way, it was. Tom would certainly never have gotten the nerve to say anything if he were sober.

He went to the replicator and got himself a mug of coffee. He'd never have left B'Elanna, never in a million years. From the beginning, he'd sensed that she was someone who needed promises. Even though they had never made any, he considered himself bound. But now. . .she'd left him. Released him. And Harry. . . Harry might not be as completely inaccessible as Tom had imagined.

Get a grip, Paris. Just because he didn't throw up or run away screaming when you kissed him doesn't mean he's ready to fall into your arms.

He heard a soft murmur behind him, and turned to see Harry stirring. "Coffee," he muttered. "I smell coffee."

Tom turned back the replicator and got another mug. He handed it to Harry, who had hauled himself upright, then sat beside him on the couch.

"Thanks." Harry sipped his coffee with sleepily sensuous pleasure. Gods. It should be illegal to look like that.

They drank their coffee in silence for awhile. Finally, Harry asked, "How are you?"

"Okay," Tom said. And it was true. "Thanks. . .for everything, Harry. And. . . I hope I wasn't too obnoxious last night."

"You weren't," Harry said. "Though you did get pretty frisky." His eyes glinted with mischief, and an elusive dimple flashed by the left corner of his mouth. Which meant he was trying not to laugh.

Tom cringed. No. Harry could not be teasing him about his behavior last night.

Harry noticed Tom's distress, and sobered immediately. "Hey, Tom, it's all right. I know you were just drunk."

Tom hesitated. He could agree, pretend it was just the booze, play it safe. It was tempting. His friendship with Harry was the high point of his life, especially now, and he hated to risk it.

But he'd once told Harry there should always be honesty between them. Maybe it was time to put his money where his mouth was. He wanted more than friendship from Harry, and had for some time. Sometimes you had to go for broke.

"Harry," Tom said. "Have you ever heard the expression in vino veritas?"

Harry's expressive face mirrored his emotions perfectly. Puzzlement, melting into surprised comprehension...and then doubt. "Tom, are you jerking my chain?"

"No, Harry. I'm perfectly serious."

Harry absorbed that for a moment. "Then I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said.

"Why?" Tom whispered. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't this.

"Tom. B'Elanna just dumped you last night. You're not thinking straight." He put a hand on Tom's shoulder. "And please, if you get the urge to declare your love for Jenny Delaney or Sue Nicoletti or Commander Chakotay, promise you'll talk to me first."

"Chakotay?!"

"I mean it, Tom. I don't want you to throw away what you have with B'Elanna on some self-destructive whim."

"I don't have anything with B'Elanna any more!" Tom was starting to get angry. . . but he reined in his temper, knowing Harry meant well. He hadn't really considered what it would look like from Harry's side of the scanner. Of course his friend assumed he was just on the rebound. Particularly considering the way he'd conducted his love life before B'Elanna. "Look, Har. . . I promise, I won't go after Jenny or Sue. And I especially won't go after Chakotay. I'm not planning on declaring my love for anyone else in the immediate future."

"Good." Harry smiled. "Go take a shower and I'll meet you for breakfast in the mess."

"Okay." He stood up.

"Wait." Harry stood up beside him. Tom's heart nearly stopped when he felt his undershirt being lifted, and warm fingers scraping along his back. Then Harry slid the shirt back down, and handed him a small square. Tom recognized it immediately: an adhesive patch, for delivering medication transdermally. An alcohol antidote, no doubt, applied after he'd fallen asleep last night. "I was afraid you'd try to peel it off, so I put it where you couldn't reach it," Harry said.

"Thanks," Tom said hoarsely. He went into his bathroom while Harry prepared to leave. If he needed proof that Harry did not take last night's declaration seriously, he'd just gotten it. Harry was neither insensitive, nor a tease. He would not have touched Tom so casually if he really believed Tom loved him.

"I'm replicating the popcorn this time," Harry said. "You always put too much butter on it."

"Popcorn is supposed to be a little greasy," Tom protested.

"Yes, but it's also supposed to be a little crunchy."

"Picky, picky."

Harry was here in Tom's quarters to watch a movie. Despite Tom's worst fears and fondest hopes, absolutely nothing had changed between them. It wasn't that Tom didn't enjoy the thrill of the chase, but this one was just plain weird. Usually he got some sense, after a few weeks, of whether he was making progress or should just give up. With Harry, he felt like he was in some kind of stasis field.

They settled on the couch to watch the movie. Tonight, it was Psycho. Both of them liked these old 20th century films. Holonovels were great, but there was something lovely and spare and pure about these antique, two-dimensional forms of entertainment, that you only watched, not participated in.

The shower scene was coming up. "Hold my hand," Tom said. "I'm scared."

"You are not," Harry said, laughing.

Tom reached out and took Harry's hand anyway. Harry pulled away. "Ugh. Your fingers are greasy."

"It's your fault," Tom said. "You put too much butter on the popcorn."

Harry threw a small handful at him, then went back to watching the movie.

Struck out again. Oh, well. At least he was having fun.

Tom entered Sandrine's and immediately looked around for Harry. There he was, sitting with B'Elanna. She leaned close, touching him on the shoulder. Then she stood up, walking away. . . hand in hand with Chakotay. The look on Harry's face as he stared after her near broke Tom's heart.

Tom went utterly cold. Oh, gods. He loves her. He went over to take a chair by Harry, his first impulse to comfort his friend despite the intense jealousy clawing at his guts.

"Buy you a drink, beautiful?" he said.

Harry turned to look at him. "No, thanks," he said.

"What's wrong?" Tom said.

"Nothing," Harry said.

Time for the shock treatment. "How long have you been in love with B'Elanna?"

"What?!" Harry looked genuinely startled.

"Harry. I saw the way you were looking at her just now. Like a lost puppy."

"I was not!" He paused. "Well, maybe a little, but only because. . . " Harry broke off, glancing toward the corner where B'Elanna and Chakotay were sitting, still holding hands.

"Because she and Chakotay are together now?"

"You knew?" Harry said.

"Old news, Harry. Happened awhile ago. You've got to pay more attention to shipboard gossip."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

Wait a minute. "Harry, don't tell me you're upset on my account!"

"But. . ." Harry glanced toward B'Elanna and Chakotay again. He looked at Tom. Then he stood up, and walked out of Sandrine's without another word.

Tom sat alone for a few minutes, thinking. Harry wasn't in love with B'Elanna after all. He could have fainted from relief. But geez, it had never occurred to him that Harry was still hoping for a Tom-B'Elanna reunion after all this time. Poor Harry.

He looked over at B'Elanna again. She was smiling up into Chakotay's eyes, and he felt a rush of fondness. He knew that gesture so well: the cant of her head, the curve of her cheek, all so familiar. And he realized he had no regrets. None for their two-year relationship, and none that it had ended. He'd had some good times with B'Elanna, and learned a lot from her. Like how to let someone else call the shots sometimes, he admitted ruefully. Before B'Elanna, he'd probably have stifled an impressionable kid like Harry. And he hoped B'Elanna had gotten something good out of their relationship, too. He rather thought she had. After all, she'd known Chakotay for years before she met Tom, and he knew she'd always been attracted to the man. But it wasn't until now that the two former Maquis had finally been able to make it work.

His mind turned back to Harry, and how distraught he'd seemed when he left. Tom supposed he should go check on him.


There was no answer at Harry's door. Tom considered for a moment, then keyed in an override and went in. It was immediately apparent why there had been no answer. Music was playing so loudly that it was unlikely a door chime would ever be heard. The kind of unmelodic, bass-heavy drivel that had been wildly popular when they left the Alpha Quadrant. Looking around, Tom spotted Harry in the sleeping area, lying on the bed, awake and fully clothed. He walked over, and was on the verge of saying, "You call this noise pollution music?" when he realized that if he did, he'd sound just like his father.

Harry read his expression, though, and gave a command to the computer. The music softened and changed to something far more to Tom's taste. Twentieth century and French. Ravel, he thought. Harry knew him so well.

Tom sat on the edge of the bed. "Har. . . I thought you understood. It's over between B'Elanna and me. Has been for a long time now. I'm glad she's found someone. I know Chakotay will treat her well, and I hope he can make her happier than I did."

Harry shut his eyes wearily. "You're both my friends. I wanted you to be together."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Har, but we decided we didn't want to be together any more. She wants to be with Chakotay now, and I. . . I want to be with you."

Harry's eyes flew open. "Tom. . ."

"Yes, I'm serious," Tom said, answering the unspoken question. "I've always been serious, but I couldn't seem to convince you."

"Sorry, Tom," Harry said. "I'm having a little trouble processing this."

"Is it so terrible?" Tom asked. "Hey, I've been pursuing you for months now, and you haven't objected. Much." He felt strangely fatalistic now. He wanted it settled, once and for all, even though it might not go the way he hoped.

"I thought if you were throwing yourself at someone, it was better me than someone who'd take you up on it."

"Ah. Leading me on, were you?"

Harry looked up sharply at that, then scowled, realized Tom was teasing.

"Harry. I'm not going to throw myself at anyone. Except you." Tom spoke slowly and clearly, and watched in delight as Harry blushed. At least he was finally taking Tom seriously.

Harry sat up. He met Tom's eyes with an odd shyness. He didn't say anything, but something in his face offered encouragement.

"Harry. . . I know you don't share my feelings. . . yet. But I'm hoping one day. . ." Tom leaned closer, touching his lips to Harry's, careful to be very gentle. To his surprise, Harry responded passionately, pressing his mouth hard against Tom's, tongue flicking out, tasting, invading. Tom moaned, and pushed Harry down on the bed. Or did Harry pull him? He wasn't sure, but somehow he ended up lying on top of Harry, kissing him as if their lives depended on it.

When they came up for air, Harry was smiling softly. "Still think I don't share your feelings, Tom?" he asked.

Tom could hardly believe this was happening. He was so elated couldn't speak. He leaned down to kiss Harry again, luxuriating the feel of that luscious mouth.

"Mmm," Harry said when they parted. "I never guessed you were such a good kisser." He sounded almost surprised.

"This isn't the first time I've kissed you," Tom reminded him.

"Yeah, but you were drunk the first time - kind of sloppy and slobbery." Harry said it matter-of-factly, with that natural honesty that made it impossible to take offense.

Tom silently promised himself that he'd give up alcohol forever if that's what it took to get Harry to kiss him. "Is that why it took so long to convince you?" he asked. "Because I'm a lousy kisser when I'm drunk?"

"No," Harry said, smiling. "You've been my closest friend since I met you, Tom, but. . . I never thought of you as a possible lover until a few weeks ago." His smile widened. "You've been all over me the past few weeks. How could I not think about it?"

"But?"

"But I didn't think you were serious. And I just knew you and B'Elanna belonged together. I felt awful when I realized I was falling for you. Like I was betraying you both."

"Harry. What am I going to do with you?"

"I have some ideas." Harry's grin was deliciously wicked.

"Oh, you do?" Tom wanted nothing more than to ravish Harry where he lay, but decided, very reluctantly, that it was probably best that they go slowly. He planted one last, chaste kiss on Harry's lips, then moved away to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Tom -" Harry protested.

"I know, Har, but I have to get out of here before I do something I'll regret." Tom held up one hand, cutting off Harry's objections. "You only just realized tonight that I don't have a virtual 'Property of B'Elanna Torres' sign hanging over my head. I want you to be sure of what you want before we. . . do anything drastic."

"But, Tom -"

"Harry, it won't hurt to wait a little bit, will it? Just to be sure?"

"All right," Harry said sullenly. He had the most seductive pout Tom had ever seen.

"This is for the best, Har."

"If you say so." Harry watched Tom through his dark lashes, his mouth still sweetly sulky.

"Don't look at me like that!" Tom said loudly.

Harry was so startled it was obvious he had no idea how he looked. And damn if he didn't look even more appealing startled than he did sulky.

"Look, I really should go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Harry repeated. His expression was longing and wistful now.

"Well, good night." Tom moved a little towards the door. He found himself half-hoping Harry would try to come after him, but the younger man didn't move from the bed. Good. This truly was for the best. . .

"Good night," Harry said, just as Tom reached the door.

Tom looked back. Harry met his gaze and smiled at him, a smile so sweet and warm and full of love it went to straight to Tom's heart. And other portions of his anatomy. He groaned. There were limits to any man's strength. And it seemed he had reached his. He couldn't get his feet to carry him out the door.

"The hell with it," Tom said, leaping onto the bed, into Harry's arms. He rained little kisses down on Harry's face. "We probably should wait, but you're too damned irresistible."

They rolled across the bed, panting with eagerness. "Clothes," Tom finally gasped. "We've got to get rid of these blasted clothes." He pulled away, stripping as fast as he could. Which was, admittedly, very fast. Tom was stark naked when Harry had barely gotten his boots off. Good. Now Tom got to help him undress. He pulled the uniform jacket off Harry's shoulders, then pulled Harry back to lie on the bed. "Let me." Tom had always liked undressing his lovers, especially for the first time. It was like unwrapping a present. He leaned down and kissed Harry breathless, then ran a hand up his chest, feeling for the invisible catch on the turtleneck. He found it, and slowly unsealed the garment, pushing it off to reveal those strong, beautiful shoulders. There was an undershirt beneath; Tom pulled the straps of that down over Harry's shoulders, too, baring his lover to the waist.

"Oh, Harry, look at you," he said, admiring the smoothly muscled torso and creamy, flawless skin. Like a young god carved of ivory.

"What? You've seen me naked before," Harry said. He was combing his fingers through the curls on Tom's chest.

"It's different this time," Tom said. And Harry seemed to understand.

Tom continued the unveiling, unsealing Harry's pants. He tugged everything down, until Harry was left only in his underwear and socks. Oh, he looked cute like that. Especially since he was so aroused that the head of his cock was protruding above the waistband of the underwear, glistening and swollen. It invited a kiss, and Tom obliged, making Harry jump. Then Tom stripped off the briefs, too. Yes, he'd seen Harry naked before, but never in this condition. What a lovely cock he had, so thick and straight and solid.

That left only the socks. He pulled those off one by one. "Nice feet," Tom said. They were sleek and narrow and long-toed. He tickled them, eliciting a yelp from Harry.

"You've got to be kidding. My cousins used to tell me I had monkey feet, because my toes are so long," Harry said.

"Nonsense. They match your long-fingered musician's hands." Harry was now completely naked, and Tom sat back to appreciate the view.

The man was so beautiful. Those solid shoulders, tapering to surprisingly narrow hips. The almost delicate hands and feet. That fine, luminous skin. Next to Harry's neatly-proportioned, elegant perfection, Tom felt awkward and rawboned and coarse.

Luckily, Harry didn't seem to share that opinion. He grabbed Tom, pulling him down and embracing him. "You're so gorgeous it hurts to look at you," Harry said. He began nibbling at Tom's shoulders. "Such adorable little freckles. I want to kiss each one."

"We'll be back in the Alpha Quadrant before you finish," Tom protested. "There are things I'd rather we do." He lifted Harry's head and claimed his mouth again. Definitely a mouth made for kisses. He felt a warm hand stroking his cock, and returned the caress. Harry moaned, arching into the touch. Pleased at his responsiveness, Tom continued touching him. Before long, Harry was whimpering and gasping. Then he shuddered, and Tom felt hot semen splatter between them. "Oh," Harry said in a surprised tone.

"And you're supposed to be the patient one," Tom teased.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, deeply embarrassed.

Tom smiled in amusement. His hand was still around Harry's cock, and he could feel it already hardening again. Ah, youth. "Harry," he said. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."

Harry gave Tom a grateful kiss, then asked, "What do you want me to do for you?"

"I want you to screw me to the mattress."

Harry was definitely interested, judging from the way his erection had jerked in Tom's hand. But he said, "Tom. . . are you sure? That seems sort of strenuous for a first encounter. And I. . . well, you know I've never done it before."

"Yes, I'm sure," Tom said. He'd been in an exclusive relationship with a woman for two years. This was something he'd really missed. "Don't worry. A guy who aced fourth-level Quantum Chemistry should be able to figure this out."

Harry laughed. "Well, maybe if you show me. . ."

"We need some kind of lubricant. Do you have any hand lotion or anything like that?"

Harry thought a moment, then turned and leaned over the edge of the bed. Tom heard him pull out one of the underbed drawers and rummage around in it. A moment later, he handed Tom a small black case. "What is it?" Tom asked.

"My clarinet maintenance kit," Harry replied. He touched a button on the top of the case, and it slid open, revealing an assortment of mysterious items. Harry pointed out two. "This tube is grease for the tenons, and that bottle is oil for the keys."

"Oh, no."

"What?" Harry said. "It's very high quality lubricant."

"The tenon grease will be perfect," Tom said. "But watching you play clarinet gives me a hard-on as it is. This isn't going to help."

Harry snorted, picking up the tube of grease and setting the rest of the kit aside. "Don't say it, Tom," he warned.

Tom said it anyway. "Want me to lubricate your instrument?"

Harry handed him the tube. "Yes, actually. I'm not sure how much to use."

Tom smoothed the thick grease over Harry's cock, then handed the tube back to Harry. "Put some in me." He rolled onto his stomach. He felt slim fingers spreading the lubricant between his buttocks, then gently pushing in. It was wonderful. "Deeper," he ordered.

Harry obeyed, working with his characteristic thoroughness. Eventually, it dawned on Tom that he might be at it all night. "Harry. Get on with it."

He did, and Tom sighed as Harry filled him. "Are you all right, Tom?" he whispered.

"Never better," Tom answered.

Slowly, Harry began to thrust. "Harder," Tom demanded. Oh, it felt good. Each stroke pounded him into the bed, and the delicious friction of the sheets against his cock was going to make him come soon. Harry's hand entwined with his, fingers interlacing, squeezing tightly. Harry was close, too, he could tell from the ferocious grip on his hand, and the other man's increasingly frantic little gasps. Tom wanted it to last forever, but of course, it couldn't. The tension mounted unbearably, until he was trembling on the brink, shaking with incipient ecstasy. Then Harry cried out, thrusting deep, and they were both spasming in helpless pleasure.

As soon as he could move, he turned and took his lover into his arms. Harry clung weakly to him, looking exhausted and splendidly satiated and oh so beautiful. Everything Tom had dreamed of, for so long.

"Tom," Harry said, sounding stricken. "Tom, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, of course not."

"You're crying."

So he was. "I'm just happy," he said. Happiness? Was that what this strange, bright, buoyant sensation was? He felt a brief moment of panic, knowing happiness never lasted, not for him. But then he met Harry's tender gaze, his warm, sweet smile, and relaxed. If he only had two weeks of this, it would be the happiest two weeks of his life. A payoff well worth the risks.

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