Merri Todd Webster
THE OVERTURE: Paramount is like the demiurge in Gnostic mythology, see:
They created all this, but now they don't know what to do with it,
because they're stupid. . . No, sorry, don't know what came over
me. Roddenberry started Trek, now Paramount owns it. I just play with it.
This little tale is all Amirin's fault. It has nothing to do with my
previous P/K or P/K/T stories; I wrote it because of a conversation with
Amirin on the phone in which she was talking about Tom whining to Harry
when B'ela axes him, going on about how nobody could be as
passionate as she is. . . And I wondered what would happen if Harry set out
to prove that assumption wrong. To my surprise, and perhaps yours, too,
there is mild B/D in this story, quite consensual, involving the sleeves of a
white cotton shirt; Harry mentioned it, and Tom asked for it, but if you
don't like B/D, or slash, or romance, or harsh words about Klingon
aggressiveness (sorry, 'Lann, we're still friends, right?),
Thanks to Amirin for inspiration, beta, encouragement, etc.
"I just can't believe she dumped me," Tom said mournfully.
He was sitting on Harry's couch at 2200 hours, elbows on knees,
watching steam rise from a teapot instead of having wild Klingon sex with
his lover. His erstwhile lover. The teapot was a very handsome one,
handmade in the old style and glazed in a rich jade green, but at the
moment he couldn't have cared less.
"And for another woman, too." He landed a half-hearted punch on
the embroidered throw pillow at his side. "For Wildman, for
godssakes. Not only is she married--blatantly married--she even has a
kid. I can't see B'Elanna as a stepmom, can you?"
Harry sipped his tea. Tom snorted. "Ktarians don't practice
same-sex marriage, but they don't consider it infidelity for married
people to take lovers of their own sex. Sammie can get off with B'Elanna
for the next fifty years, and her husband will still welcome her back with open
Outraged at the unfairness of the whole thing, Tom jumped to his feet. He
paced Harry's small living room, looking like he wanted to punch or
kick something, preferably something that wouldn't strike back. Harry
watched him silently and poured more tea from the jade green pot into the
little matching cup.
"She's always so--aggressive," Tom said irritably.
"She could never just lie back, relax, let me do the work. She always
had to tear my clothes off, bite me into submission, get on top, and ride me
until we both collapsed." Harry gazed into the depths of his tea.
"B'Elanna was all over me, every time, like she wanted to eat me
alive." Tom stopped pacing, turned to Harry, and grinned sheepishly.
"And you know what? I loved it. Every wild, bloody minute of it. We
fought a lot, and sometimes I thought I'd never understand her,
but she was so passionate, so wild, so completely uninhibited, and
I've never known anyone else like that. I probably never will
again." Tom ran his hands through his hair. "Hell, nobody on
Voyager can compete with her."
"How do you know?"
Harry had been listening quietly while Tom ranted, as he always did, as
he'd listened for months while Tom raved about how great it was
between him and B'Elanna. Now he put down his empty cup, got to his
feet, and approached his friend.
"I said, how do you know nobody on Voyager can compete with
B'Elanna as a lover? Have you gone through the whole crew?"
"No," Tom said, a little flustered. Harry came a little closer.
"I mean, have you slept with all the women, just to make sure? Kes?
Seven? The Captain?"
"No!" Tom snapped, beginning to wonder what was going on. He
stepped away from Harry and Harry stepped closer.
"What about the men?" Harry pursued, tilting his head
inquisitively. "Have you been through all of them? Tuvok? Chakotay?
"Harry, I haven't even looked at the men on this ship," Tom
replied, wondering why the hell he was defending himself.
"You certainly haven't," Harry agreed. He was right in front
of Tom now, and Tom was right in front of the coffee table and had no
desire to look like he was running away from his best friend, even though
he was starting to want to. "Maybe that's your problem, Paris.
You haven't really considered all your options." Harry reached
out and, almost too quickly for Tom to be surprised, flicked open the top
button of Tom's white shirt. "After all, you haven't had sex
with me, have you?"
<Ulp> Whatever Tom might have said in response to that question was
smothered by Harry's kiss. <Harry is kissing me.> Those
lush lips were soft as satin, yet firm, and exquisitely sensitive to every
movement of Tom's own. <I'm kissing Harry back. Gods-- what
is happening here?> Tom opened his mouth, maybe to protest,
to draw away, but instead Harry's tongue glided gently in and took
<I have Harry Kim's tongue in my mouth. And his hands on my neck
and my chest. He's so close to me I can feel the heat of his body, and
that's happened dozens of times before, yet it's never been like
this. And can this guy kiss--> Tom became aware that his cock
was pressing eagerly against the buttons of his jeans, not buffered by any
underwear. He'd anticipated B'Elanna Torres's strong and
clever fingers undoing those buttons one by one, gradually setting his
cock free, stroking him and taking him in her mouth, but if this kiss went
any further, it was going to be Harry Kim doing all those things. <Is
that what I want?>
Now Tom did pull away. He started to say something, but the sight of
Harry's face distracted him: the heat in those gorgeous dark eyes, the
moist, swollen mouth, that indefinable something in a man's face that
says he's aroused, his cock is erect and lubricating. <He's as
turned on as I am. I'm turned on? Yeah, you bet I am.>
Harry traced Tom's mouth with one fingertip. "I want you, Tom. I
want to go on kissing you. I want to hold you. I want to unbutton those
tight jeans and let out your hard cock. I know you dress to show off your
looks. You never thought I was looking, did you?" Not taking
his eyes from Tom's, Harry opened the top button of Tom's fly.
"I've been watching you ever since we met. And you've been
watching me, too, though you might try to deny it. I want to see what
I've been missing, and not just see it, but touch it and taste it,
too. Actually, I want to fuck you senseless. So what do you say, Paris?
Are you man enough for it, or are you going to walk out on me yet again
and find some pretty woman to take your best friend's place?"
Tom stared at Harry, at the challenging expression on the younger
man's face. He looked down and saw Harry's fingers poised above
the next button of his fly, saw the bulge he had already suspected beneath
Harry's loose black pants. He looked up again and met Harry's
eyes, searched the emotions there: challenge, desire, fondness, sorrow--
love? Tom cocked his head and rolled his shoulders back provocatively.
"Show me what you can do," he whispered.
Harry grasped the ends of Tom's fly and headed for the bedroom,
hauling Tom after him. Tom grinned at the determination in Harry's
stance, but there was nothing humorous about the way the other man shut
the door and called for the privacy lock. With hands on shoulders, Harry
steered Tom to the foot of the bed and pushed him backward. Tom fell
lightly onto the mattress and Harry came after him, pulling off his black
shirt to reveal an elegantly muscled torso, free of body hair but heavier
than Tom's own. Working with his usual steady patience, Harry
unbuttoned Tom's jeans the rest of the way, tugged them down the
man's long legs, and tossed them aside. Tom started to unbutton his
shirt, but Harry stopped with one hand. "No. You don't do
anything unless I tell you to. I'm in command of this mission."
Tom started to laugh, but thought better of it when Harry pinned his hands
to the bed and kissed him again. Harry kissed in a way that was simply
overwhelming, so intense that it was impossible to think of anything but
the sensations of heat, friction, pressure, wetness, motion, flavor. When
Harry let go, Tom practically whimpered, suddenly aware again of the
aching hardness of his cock.
Harry smiled, a wicked smile Tom had never seen on his face before.
"So are you going to behave, or am I going to have to tie you
Tom sucked in a sharp breath as his cock hardened yet more at that image.
"Oh, Harry," he breathed. "Would you tie me up even if I
The smile widened yet softened at the same time. "So that's what
you want." Harry began unbuttoning the white cotton shirt, pushing
the folds aside and baring the lean, lightly hairy chest underneath.
"I'm willing to bet you've always been the dominant one in
your relationships, the one who makes things happen, who calls the shots
sexually, who comes up with new ideas." He slid the shirt up
Tom's arms, Tom watching him raptly. "And it wasn't that
way with B'Elanna, but you loved it. You said so yourself." Harry
pulled off the shirt, held it up for a moment. "That's what you
crave, isn't it, Paris? Not to be the one in charge." He looked
at Tom, his face demanding an answer.
"Yes," Tom said softly. Harry stroked his chest.
"No problem." Whistling under his breath, Harry proceeded to tie
Tom's wrists to the headboard, using the sleeves of Tom's shirt.
Tom was kind of relieved Harry hadn't pulled out old-fashioned metal
handcuffs, but on the other hand, he was kind of disappointed, too.
Harry sat back on his heels and regarded Tom. Tied to the bed, erect,
flushed all over, his chest rising and falling with the quick, shallow
breaths of excitement. His throat and chest were marked, especially around
the nipples, with reddish-purple crescents that could only have come from
an aroused half-Klingon's teeth. Beautiful. And for the moment, at
least, all Harry's.
"Looks like she bit you a lot." Tom nodded, not sure whether
Harry wanted him to speak. "Did you like it?" Another nod.
"I'll bear that in mind."
Harry stretched out on top of Tom and took his mouth in another kiss. Tom
writhed beneath Harry's hot weight, wishing he could wrap his arms
around Harry, yet enjoying the fact that he couldn't. Harry raised his
head. "Hold still, Paris," he warned, "or I'll tie your
ankles, too." Tom obeyed while Harry kissed him some more, sweetly,
maddeningly, and Tom moaned into the other man's mouth, hoping that
releasing his feelings in noise would help him keep still.
Harry was almost smirking when he raised his head again. "Very good,
Tom," he said softly, dropping a kiss on the flushed cheek. <At
least he's calling me 'Tom' now.> Harry's mouth
wandered down to Tom's neck and around the territory there, in a
leisurely sort of way. <He can call me anything he wants, if he keeps
that up.> Those lips left nerve endings tingling with silky fire as
they headed slowly but inexorably for Tom's chest. Tom winced as Harry
brushed over one of the partially-healed bites, and Harry looked up.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You've never had
these treated, have you?"
Tom half-shrugged. "I used dermal ointment--didn't want to go to
Harry nodded. Lowering his head again, he took one nipple carefully
between his lips. Tom hissed, then answered Harry's look: "No,
that felt great. More, please. . ." Smiling, Harry went back to
nibbling on the tight pink flesh, first one side and then the other, using
just his lips. Tom held himself absolutely still, captivated by those
tender, careful touches, feeling incredibly aroused. How could this feel
so good, this delicate nibbling coupled with the scent of Harry's hair
and the pressure around his wrists, the heavy white cotton fabric securing
him to the bed?
Harry looked up and met Tom's eyes for a strategic moment before
opening his mouth and flicking his tongue over one nipple. Tom cried out,
startled by the increase in sensation. Flick, pause, flick, pause, flick,
firmly and deliberately but still gently. Tom was sure he was about to
come; he couldn't believe he didn't come when Harry gave the other
nipple the same treatment. He couldn't help writhing as Harry began
sucking on him, still being careful to avoid the half-healed bitemarks.
"Oh, Harry, Harry--please. . ."
The torture went on and on until shivers of pleasure rippled all through
Tom from shoulders to toes. Harry dragged his mouth slowly, lightly down
Tom's torso, following the arrow of dark blond hair that headed for
his cock. He stopped short of the aroused organ, now flushed almost red
and trickling with moisture, and sat up, smiling at his helpless lover.
"What do you want, Tom?" he asked softly. Tom drew in a deep
breath that was almost a sob.
"Suck me off, Harry, please. Let me come in your mouth.
"Let you? Believe me, lover, I want you to. I want
everything from you, Tom. Everything."
Tom spread his legs and drew up his knees to make room for Harry's
shoulders. A shudder went through him when Harry took hold of his cock in
a firm grasp and ran his hand up and down the length of it, feeling its
size and shape, its heat and wetness. Then Harry took just the head in his
mouth and sucked on it softly. Gods, it was exquisite. Harry seemed to
know where every separate nerve was and what to do to stimulate it. His
fingers moved on the shaft with the same dexterity they used on the
clarinet, applying just the right amount of pressure to draw music from
the instrument--sighs, moans, and groans of pleasure from Tom. Harry went
all the way down, once, and then withdrew to lick the whole length with
agonizing thoroughness, cupping Tom's balls at the same time. His
mouth went exploring there, too, over the downy gold hair that covered
Tom's sac, and along the insides of his thighs. Tom couldn't stop
shaking and didn't want to; he wanted Harry to see and know how good
it felt. At last that hot, knowing mouth closed over the throbbing head
again and sank slowly, tormentingly down to the base.
Holding Tom there, Harry sucked gently, tasting every millimeter of his
lover. Without warning, he began to deep-throat Tom, moving up and down
fast and firmly while sucking without mercy. Tom's cries escalated,
becoming louder and harsher, until he screamed, overwhelmed by sensation,
and came harder than he ever had in his life. It was like something being
torn from him, like his soul being ripped from his body, like being thrown
into a star gone nova, and the light and the heat burned away everything
but the knowledge that it was Harry who had done this to him, Harry who
was still with him, accepting everything he had to give.
Coming back to himself, Tom became aware that Harry had released his
wrists and was now holding him, Harry's heartbeat counterpointing
Tom's own. That embrace was the only thing that could have felt better
than the climax which preceded it. Tom stayed still for a long time, head
tucked between Harry's chest and shoulder, letting Harry's arms
keep him warm, make him feel safe. Tom stirred at last, starting to turn
over, and Harry's lips brushed his forehead, his mouth.
"Harry," he whispered, "let me touch you. Please."
Harry smiled and put his arms behind his head, silently giving Tom
permission to touch him. Tom pressed his mouth to Harry's, softly,
briefly, and ran his hand over Harry's bare chest and stomach, down to
the waistband of his pants. He stroked the stiff dark nipples with light
touches, teased the black tufts that grew under Harry's arms but
nowhere else, dipped a curious finger into the flat navel. Looking at
Harry for permission, he tugged at the drawstring of the waistband, untied
it, and carefully pulled the trousers off.
<Gods, he's beautiful. Perfect.> Tom wrapped his hand
around the thick, plum-colored cock, admiring the wide blunt head, the
contrast with the golden thighs. A single firm stroke brought a soft but
unrestrained moan from Harry, so Tom did it again, nibbling at the other
man's chest much as had been done for him earlier. Harry made
wonderful, arousing noises that put Tom on the road to renewed erection,
and Tom kept kissing and stroking, loving the taste and feel of it, the
spicy sweetness that was Harry. He whimpered when Harry caught his hand
and pulled it away.
"Tom, I want to fuck you."
Another whimper, and Tom nearly fell off the bed, dizzy with desire. He
gave one small kiss to the moist tip of that gorgeous cock, then moved
aside and got on his hands and knees, trembling with eagerness to have it
inside him. He'd never like being fucked as much as fucking, but
he'd never wanted to be fucked as much as he did now, by Harry.
Harry reached over and opened the night table drawer. "Do you really
want this, Tom?"
"Yes, Harry, yes."
He got out the tube of lubricant. "How do you want it, lover?"
"Anything, any way you want it. Take me, Harry."
Harry bit his lip, struggling for control. He didn't want to hurt Tom,
he just wanted to fuck the hell out of him, to ravish him, body and soul,
to make him scream some more. And he wanted Tom to enjoy it, so he had
to be careful. He started by stroking Tom's asshole with a thoroughly
wetted finger, feeling the tension in the muscles and the trembling all
over. After a moment, he probed very cautiously, using only the tip of his
finger and watching and listening for a response. Tom moaned almost
inaudibly, but it was definitely pleasure. Harry applied more lube and
very patiently worked that finger all the way in. Gods! the man was tight.
It had been so long for both of them. . .
Tom moaned with every breath as Harry's patient, skilled fingers
caressed him inside, relaxed him, opened him. He hoped his arm and leg
muscles would hold out until Harry felt he was ready. Right at the moment,
Tom didn't care if Harry just rammed it in and fucked him senseless,
but he knew he'd care later, when the pain hit, and he knew Harry
wasn't going to do that, didn't want to do that. Harry wasn't
capable of that. It had been way too long since a lover had been this
patient with him, this slow, considerate, and careful, since a lover had
been tender as well as passionate-- so long that he'd forgotten how
utterly arousing that could be. Tenderness was not in B'Elanna's
nature, or if it was, it was buried so deeply Tom had never seen it. But
he could see it now in Harry, and he loved it. Loved Harry.
Tom groaned as Harry's fingers withdrew. "Now, Tom?"
Harry asked, his voice a little unsteady.
"Please, now," Tom confirmed, inching his knees a bit
Harry took a slow, deep breath and thought about yesterday's sensor
logs as he slathered lubricant on his trembling cock. He devoutly hoped he
wouldn't come the instant he entered Tom. He thought about last
night's entree in the mess hall--a stew with purple meat in
yellowish-orange broth-- as he guided himself into Tom's body. <Oh
gods and goddesses and spirits. . .> Feeling that tight, slick heat
enclose him, hearing Tom's indescribable, barely audible noise of
response, Harry became instantly unable to think of anything. Unable to
think. Unable to do anything but feel, every sense overloaded by
how good it felt: the heat, the tightness, the closeness, the smell of Tom
and of himself, sweat and arousal, the sight of the damp gold hairs
curling on the back of Tom's exposed neck, the sound of the two of
them gasping almost in synchrony. Harry's fingers closed on Tom's
hips, and he drew back and thrust in again, more forcefully.
"Gods--" he grated, as Tom made a sound that was almost a
wail. Another withdrawal, another thrust, and Tom raised his head and did
wail, and sucked in a breath like he was suffocating and said, "Harry,
Harry did it, fucking Tom hard, fast, deep, with no restraint now, no
control, no possibility of holding back, grabbing Tom's shoulders and
making his whole body shake, and saying his lover's name over and over
in a low growl, until Tom threw back his head and screamed, that lovely,
outrageous sound Harry had been aching so long to hear, had wanted to hear
again since first hearing it a little while ago, and Tom's muscles
closed hard on Harry's cock, and Harry thought, <My god,
he's coming and I'm not even touching his cock,> and Harry
came, too, screaming himself, something he'd never done before, and
<I passed out,> Harry thought, a little while later. <No, wait,
I'm awake now. How's Tom?>
Tom was still where he'd been the last time Harry was cognizant of
him, breathing so gently Harry figured he must have passed out,
too. He kissed the back of Tom's neck, and when that didn't work,
licked at the cooling sweat. "Tom. Tom? Paris, are you okay?"
Tom made a noise untranscribable by the Standard alphabet and turned his
head a couple of millimeters. Harry carefully got up on elbows and knees
and withdrew from Tom (not that there was much left to withdraw, so to
speak). Tom turned his head a few more millimeters and managed, "So
I'm Paris again, am I, Ensign?"
Harry chuckled and collapsed on his back. "You passed out. We both
passed out. I woke up first."
Tom slowly turned over. Harry extended an arm and was gratified when Tom
dragged himself into the curve of it, dropping his head like a stone on
the other man's shoulder. Harry stroked Tom's shoulder and arm
and hair, enjoying holding Tom even more than earlier since Tom had come to
him consciously. "So who's more passionate, me or
B'Elanna?" he asked teasingly. "Did I show you a good
Tom laughed and raised unfocused but beautiful blue eyes to Harry's
face. "Gods, yes. Harry, you are beyond incredible. You're so
incredible in bed, it's unbelievable. But it wasn't just about
having a good time, was it?"
Harry stifled a sigh. "No." He looked away, sure Tom didn't
want to hear what he was yearning to say.
Tom sat up and brought Harry's gaze back to him with one hand on the
man's cheek. "I seem to bring out declarations of love in
people," he said lightly, so lightly Harry knew he'd gotten past
the Paris shields.
"I didn't say I loved you," he challenged. Tom grinned
"Yet," Tom finished. "So why don't I beat you to
it?" He leaned down and whispered against Harry's lips. "I
love you, Harry. You're my best friend and my lover. And B'Elanna
can't even begin to compete with you."