by Bridget Cochran
---
Warning: This story involves men in a strong and loving relationship. If
you do not go in for something like that, move along home.
Disclaimer: I own the ideas, Paramount owns the rest. Archive anywhere,
PacKage, R'Rain, BLTs, AllSlash, ASC, et al.
Yes. This is a song story. I'm suffering under the delusion that I can
do this subgenre. This Tom and Harry came together in 'Really,
Harry?' somewhere during the second season and have been together
ever since. In this story, Tom feels lucky.
---
Tom sat back in one of the chairs near the bar. He had arrived at the
resort early and commandeered the table to wait for the rest of the crew
to arrive. The holiday celebrations were starting early and Neelix was
doing Prixia at the resort this year. Tom sipped his beer and watched the
Gamma shifters in their revelry.
It was good to be off duty for a few days. He'd worked like crazy
these past few weeks on the Delta Flyer. Yah, they had good results with
it on the first flight, but so much had to be refined. Harry had worked
with him side-by-side on it a great deal. But now B'Elanna was on
required medical leave to deal with her depression and Harry was spending
a ton of time covering for her down in Engineering. And there were the
couple hours a week Tom still worked in Sick Bay. Shit, some days the only
time they met was in bed or in the bathroom.
Not that meeting Harry in bed was bad. It was kinda wonderful, but he
missed Harry out of bed, just hanging out.
Harry had commed him at 1600, like he commed him everyday at 1600.
^"Kim to Paris."
"Paris here."
"You going to the first night of Prixia at the resort?"
"I don't know. Thought about a nice quiet night at home."
There was a pause.
"It would mean a lot to Neelix if we were there."
Shit. It would mean a lot to me to stay home with you. Tom kept quiet.
"I'll be done in Sick Bay in a half an hour. I'll change and
see if there's anything I can do to help Neelix."
"Great, I'll be there as soon as we isolate this process flux in
the bi-tertiary links." ^ Tom knew that isolating a process flux
could take several hours. Harry wouldn't give it up until it was
isolated and righted. B'Elanna told him that was the one down side to
loving an engineer. The upside was that your replicator always worked.
From his vantage point Tom saw Harry the minute he walked into the room.
If the pilot didn't sigh out loud, he sighed in his heart. A smile
broke out as he watched Harry scan the room for him. The ensign was not
looking very Starfleet in his black pants and loose spice brown tunic
tucked in at the waist band of the slacks. No, he might not be looking
Starfleet, but he looked better than fine to Tom.
When his lover finally found him, Harry caught the smile and blew a light,
mocking kiss in his direction. Picking up a tall, sweet drink at the bar,
he made his way to the sprawled blond.
"You look wonderful," as he bent to kiss Tom on the forehead, a
quick peck that marked his territory. Tom hurumphed in dismissal. He had
on his jeans and sneakers and a very old, very worn tee shirt. When Neelix
said casual, Tom took him at his word. He didn't realize casual meant
dressy casual. The only reason he didn't go back home to change was
the knowledge that once home, he wouldn't want to come back out. So,
there he sat, underdressed and undercaring.
"Harry, Harry," came a chorus of female voices from across the
veranda. Tom swallowed, to keep from really cringing. The Volleyball
women. They might be holographic, but he swore that they were sentient
enough to keep Harry from him on purpose. "We were worried when we
saw him and didn't see you." Him. The shapely faux women hated
him. He stood between them and 'their' Harry. They stood all
luminescent and half clad, expectantly holding a Volleyball out to the man
of their limited dreams.
They knew they had him. Harry could not resist a game of Volleyball. Tom
knew he could resist their feminine wiles much more easily than he could
resist the ball they held like a carrot to the ass--er, donkey, that
grinned at them stupidly. At least he hoped Harry could resist their
feminine charms. They were only holograms, after all.
"Do you mind?" Harry stood looking down at Tom, willing Tom not
to mind.
The older man shrugged, "No, go ahead. I'll be down as soon as I
finish my beer." He picked it up to hide behind a sip. Harry's
smile was radiant. How could he say no to that smile? Harry moved away
from the table, but not before running a gentle hand over the soft hair at
the back of his head. It was a soft gesture. So much like most of
Harry's gestures. Small, unobtrusive, but uncannily reassuring to Tom.
Harry knew Tom so well.
Over the rim of his glass, Tom watched Harry move away toward the beach
Volleyball court, engulfed by his avid teammates, impeding Tom's
favorite view: that cute little backside. Evil, holographic witches. He
was sure they did it on purpose.
Who could blame them? Harry was something pretty special, and Tom
wasn't just lucky, he was blessed.
In those few hours with Sam Wildman and Tuvok under the planet that was
too soft to handle the Delta Flyer, Tom was so damn scared. Harry had sent
him messages every day, usually two while they were on the mission.
Mundane missives about the news of the day, to be ended with an I love you
and I miss you. Those notes were his addiction. He needed them like he
needed air. As much as he respected and, yah, loved, Tuvok and Sam, they
weren't Harry. Nobody was Harry.
He remembered the off-hand message he had sent to Harry. Some shit about
no more pizza crusts in bed or something. He honestly didn't remember,
his mind was not accepting that he wasn't going to see Harry again. As
soon as they got the DF into the Shuttle Bay, he deleted the sucker. He
hated to think about dying somewhere Harry wasn't. About not having
Harry be the last thing he saw in life. He shivered at the prospect, and
shook the morbid thoughts once again from his mind.
Beer done, Tom made his way to the Volleyball game to stand watching Harry
unabashed and unimpeded for a few minutes before the sides were out.
Harry's hair stood straight up, his shirt tail was out and it's
silky fabric clung in sweat damp spots here and there. Tom wanted to
groan, he looked so good.
His face must have shown his desire because when he finally caught
Harry's eye, the ensign's smile was THE smile. The one that Harry
saved for him, just for him. It was the smile that said 'I'm on
your wavelength, Tom.' Tom could read a lot into that smile. To him,
tonight, it was a promise.
As soon as the game was over, Harry excused himself, to the loud protests
of the women. Harry was firm in his refusal to continue, extricating
himself ungracefully. Tom was sure there would have been tears, until
Seven stepped forward volunteering to substitute. Just fueled Tom's
viewpoint that women are fickle.
Harry shook his head at his sudden freedom, and grasped Tom by the hand
to pull him up the steps and back onto the veranda. He didn't stop
pulling until they were on the lift where he was pulled into Harry's
arms.
"Thanks for letting me play Volleyball," Harry said from a point
very close to Tom's ear.
"Sure," Tom whispered, his hands moving under the loose shirt
tail to cup the tight butt. He pulled Harry into his groin and began a
slow, sensuous grind. He arched forward when the tip of a very skillful
tongue rimmed his ear lobe.
Harry smiled and pushed Tom off, grinning broadly at the pink flush and
deep gulps for air the blond took in an effort to steady himself standing
upright. The lift opened to their deck.
"I have something for you for the first night of Prixia," Harry
announced after he called for the lights in their cabin.
Tom propped himself on the wall to kick off his shoes. "Harry, I told
you I didn't want you to waste replicator rations on me."
"But it's Prixia," Harry said as he walked through to their
bedroom.
"I don't care," Tom said as he pulled his tee shirt over his
head, he tossed it at the refresher as he toed of his socks. "The
only thing I need or want is you."
He turned to see Harry sprawled in the middle of their bed, propped on his
elbows, a very noticeable bulge right where it should be. The smile on
Harry's face was at once understanding and incredibly sensual. His
eyes were dark with the passion that never seemed to die, and a love so
deep that Tom was humbled.
"Aren't you going to unwrap your gift?" was all the
invitation that Tom needed.
---
'Little Things Mean A Lot' was originally sung by Kitty Kallen in
the '50's or '60's. The version I'm familiar with was
Sammi Smith's cover in 1978. That's when songs were songs and
female country singers rarely wore their own hair--nobody's hair could
be that big or that hard. (I guess that could be said for a lot of
things.)
Now, here are the lyrics. Tell me how I did.
Little Things Mean A Lot
Blow me a kiss from across the room
Say I look nice when I'm not
Touch my hair as you pass my chair
Little thing mean a lot.
Give me your arm as we cross the street
Call me at six on the dot
A line a day when you're far away
Little things mean a lot.
Don't have to buy me diamonds or pearls
Champagne, sables, and such
I never cared much for diamonds and pearls
'cause honestly, honey, they just cost money.
Give me a hand when I've lost the way
Give me your shoulder to cry on
Whether the day is bright or gray
Give me your heart to rely on.
Send me the warmth of a secret smile
To show me you haven't forgot
For now and forever, that's always and ever
Honey, little things mean a lot.
(That's it, thank you for your attention)
---
End
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