by anneinchicago
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Harry Kim, dark haired, dark-eyed, round-cheeked (both in facial structure and. . . Well, lower structure as well ) often-times thought of by others as clueless, eternal Ensign and stalwart youngest ever Operations Manager of the Intrepid-class Starship Voyager - lost still in the starry vast and fathomless reaches of the Delta Quadrant, although they were, thank to all the deities that had ever been or ever will be, closer to home now than they had been at the start of their misadventure- stared with a sort of desperate, hopeless longing at the blonde, artfully tousled head of the chief pilot and helmsman extraordanaire - the very same pilot whose extraordinary skills at piloting their stalwart ship of durasteel had brought them so much closer to their often thought of goal of home- who also happened to be his very best friend - not just an ordinary friend, mind you, but a true soulmate of the sort only a few rare and fortunate souls ever hope to find- and sighed with a hopeless sort of longing for the passions that would never be and the physical mysteries of male to male sex that he had never himself experienced, but often found himself longing for - usually when the nights were long and dark and seemed to stretch from here to eternity - even though he knew now they would always remain just that - unexplored and unexperienced - thanks to a certain fiery-tempered half_Klingon whose alien strength and feminine wiles had captured Tom Paris' heart.

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