The BLTS Archive- White Christmas
by Brighid (earthstone@lycos.com)

---

Hullo. I came back to Tom and Harry for two reasons. One, I just had
to answer R'rain's Christmas challenge, and two, somebody asked me a
while ago to sort of resolve the other stories with a wedding. I think
I sort of managed to do both. This is, as usual, barely PG. IF you are
offended by m/m implications, move along. No one is making you read
this. If you are under 18, shouldn't you be doing homework or
something?

Disclaimer: These guys belong to Paramount. I am making no money from
this, nor do I want to. I'm just having fun. So are Tom and Harry. = )

Copyright December 1997 to Brighid.

Thanks to R'rain for archiving it: she really is a small pagan goddess
in her own right!

---

Okay, so maybe he had said something about wanting a white Christmas.
This was taking it a little too damn far.

Tom paced the narrow cave, and watched the blizzard rage just past the
windbreak they had erected.  Voyager was out there, somewhere, with a
blown transporter grid. If it weren't for the storm, they could have
taken a shuttle in to get them, but as it was . . .  Tom counted himself
lucky that Harry had insisted on lugging along a full survival kit.
They had, Harry insisted, had enough bad away missions.  This time
they ought to come prepared.  This was not how he and Harry had
planned to spend their first anniversary.

Not at all.  He glanced down at the bundled form sleeping next to the
glowing rock they had heated with a phaser, and a smile somehow found
its way onto his face.  God.  First anniversary.  After Janeway had
given her consent to let the link stay between them, it had seemed
somehow right to get married again, Voyager style.  At least once they
had been forced to threaten to cancel the whole thing to get the
ceremony back under control.  Who would have figured B'Elanna for a
mother-of-the-bride type control freak.?  At last they had settled
for a Christmas wedding.  It was an old family tradition from Tom's
mother, celebrating Christmas.  It was full of happy memories.  It had
somehow seemed right to add one more, perhaps the happiest of all.
The Delaney sisters surprisingly donated their Swiss ski-lodge program
to the cause, and various other crewmembers donated replicator rations
to the wedding feast.

Tom hunkered down beside Harry, his long-fingered hand straying out to
brush a few rogue tendrils of glossy, dark hair that poked up out of
the thermal blanket.  Harry murmured, then wiggled in closer to the
warm rock.  Tom's grin widened, aware that his husband was going to
wake up with a hell of a case of bedhead.  Husband.  Tom said the word
aloud, softly, wonderingly.  What an odd word, too small to contain
what Harry had become to him, like trying to encompass Da Vinci with
the word painter.

The wedding had been perfect, really.  He would have thought it
perfect if the ship had been overrun by aliens and the wedding feast
had been Ro'keg Blood Pie.  But it really had been perfect.  A large
Grand Fir in the corner, decorated in twinkling white faerie lights
and silvery strands.  A sunset gleaming through the western windows.
Janeway leading them through vows that spoke of love, commitment, and
union . . .  and B'Elanna growling softly in the background, "Back
off, Chakotay, I am *not* crying!"

The reception afterwards went on for hours - shifts changed, and crew
mates unable to attend the ceremony in person filtered in to offer
personal congratulations.  Harry insisted they only came by to eat
something not tainted by leola root, but Tom felt sure that they all
wished them well.  Him well.  It would have been a giddy feeling were
he not already drunk on Harry, and the gleaming bands that marked them
outwardly as the alien wedding had marked theminwardly.  They belonged
to one another.  A circle completed, replenished, continuing on into
infinity.

Eventually the well-wishers let them slip away to their quarters, but
not without the usual wedding night leers and jeers.  B'Elanna, a
little tipsy and still "not crying", threatened to involve them in
some Klingon ritual that included dragging them and their bedding into
the hallway in the middle of the night to prove consummation, but
Harry had simply hugged her and told her not to worry, *that* wouldn't
be a problem.  Amid the laughter that followed, Janeway had pulled Tom
aside and promised him that she herself was making sure no one
attempted chari vari or any other disruptions of the wedding night.

"I re-wrote the command codes for your door security," she said with a
twinkle.  "You know, Mr. Paris, I was sceptical about this at first .
. .  but you were right.  You would be incomplete without each other.
Lonely.  I'm glad you found one another.  You are very lucky."  Her
husky voice caught a little, and Tom, perhaps a bit tipsy himself,
leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth.

"Thank-you, Captain.  I know I'm lucky.  I wish you the same luck.
Soon."  He smiled at her flustered expression and pulled Harry away
from the last few guests.  They held hands all the way to their new
quarters, and even after the doors had closed behind them.

For awhile they just sat on the couch in silence, until Harry leaned
over, a gleam in his dark eyes.  Tom watched in amusement as Harry
slowly undid the fastenings of the dress shirt Tom had chosen to be
married in.  The younger man's expression was one of intense
concentration, his movements precise.  His tongue darted pinkly
against his lips, and Tom felt the breath catch in his throat.
"Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry looked up at him, a smile creasing his face.  "Opening my
Christmas gift.  Mom taught me never to waste the wrapping."

Tom growled at him, and pushed him back on the couch.  In about three
seconds flat, buttons and tabs rained down on the floor, and Harry lay
bare-chested beneath him.  "My mom always said ripping into the gift
was half the fun."  His mouth descended, and plundered Harry's with
thorough abandon.

When Paris at last sat up, Harry was panting and grinning even more.
"I think I approve of your mom!"  He reached up, traced gentle hands
across Tom's face.  The connection between them resonated, like a
string plucked.  "Merry Christmas, Tom."

Tom smiled, blue eyes crinkling.  "I love you, too, Harry."

---

Without conscious volition, Tom began unwinding the thermal blanket
from around Harry.  Vague, annoyed mumbles emerged as he peeled the
layers away.  At last, he stared into Harry's face, creased with
sleep, and yes, crowned with the mother of all bed-heads.  Harry
frowned groggily at his husband.  "What the hell are you doing, Tom?"

"Unwrapping my Christmas present," the lieutenant replied, leaning in
and kissing Harry's eyelids, running his tongue along the graceful
epicanthic fold as he had that first time.

"Huuhhn?"  Harry groaned, still befuddled, but reaching out to Tom all
the same.

Tom allowed himself to be pulled on top of the stockier man, feeling
the warmth soak into his very bones.  As always, the connection
between them hummed a little in such close proximity.  He felt it
tremble deep inside.  "Merry Christmas, Harry."

A slow, sleepy smile lit Kim's face, and Tom felt the arms tighten
about him.  "Yah, I love you too, Tom."

---

The End