by Bridget Cochran
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Disclaimer: I own the ideas, Paramount owns the rest.

Archive at will.

Acknowledgements: You gotta love that Mining Co. Thursday night Star Trek fanfic chat. I ask for story ideas, I receive story ideas. Thursday, 10/08/98 was no exception.

Thanks go to Amirin who mentioned Garrett Wang does yoga. Yoga, huh? And Harry plays the clarinet. So, he's very supple with good breath control, strong tonguing ability and agile fingers. Harry, I mean.

Extra special thanks to Karen Sorensen who supplied the outline for this story and the technical references regarding woodwind instruments. (What other technical references do you think she would provide? Shame on you.)

So, for your reading pleasure, my first P/K.

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After a grueling game of hoverball on the holodeck, in which Harry whupped Tom again, the two ended up where they always did: bitching and moaning on Harry's couch.

"Sue Nicoletti thinks I'm a pig," Tom lamented.

"I know," Harry commiserated as he toweled off his freshly showered hair. "B'Elanna told her you were."

"Remind me to thank her." Tom sank into the couch, extending his long legs out in front. He sighed. "But then you have to go and jump out of that stupid gondola and piss off the Delaney sisters."

Harry threw the damp towel at Tom's head. "I did not jump. I tried to stand up--to move to Jenny's end of the boat."

"Uh-huh--"

Harry sank back into the couch, too, unaware of his protruding lower lip. Tom rolled his head to look at his best buddy, a smile creeping onto his lips. "The pout won't work on me, Harry."

Blushing fully, Harry almost apologized 'til he saw the smile on Tom's face. The blush intensified at the teasing. "What about B'Elanna?"

Harry was getting good at this teasing himself. If Harry blushed, then Tom suffused. Bright pink with red splotches on his neck and jaw. Blue eyes shut behind pink eyelids. "Harry, let's just say that it will take a couple of years to get through that maze. She's been too tight, too long."

Harry chuckled, "Maybe she just doesn't like you."

Tom laughed outright. "Since when would that stop me?"

The two shared their little concentric worlds in silence for a few minutes, Harry absently rubbing his bare belly, wondering if he should go put a shirt on. If he did, Tom would take it as a signal to leave, and go. Harry stayed put.

"I'm about tired of cranking the handcar, though," Tom said after a while.

"Cranking what?" Harry turned an eye to Tom.

Tom smiled. "Archaic reference for beating meat."

"Oh." Harry's color deepened again.

"I mean, my wrists are stronger. I'm getting to be ambidextrous, but it's so much more fun to touch someone's skin besides your own."

Harry was silent. Tom turned to him surprised to see the olive skin turn a mottled avocado. He turned full to Harry, propping himself on an elbow. "Something you want to tell me, Harry?"

"Uh--"

"Harry--" Tom leaned in, sure this was gonna be good.

"You know how I told you I remembered being in my mother's womb?"

Tom snorted. "Yeah." Harry knew Tom didn't believe him.

"Well, I think that's when she started teaching me yoga."

Disbelief lit Tom's face, but Harry pressed on. "Yah, I've been doing yoga forever--keeps you alert, ready for anything."

Tom nodded, but his face said, "Your point?"

"Well, it also makes your limbs and muscles supple."

Tom nodded again, but Harry was kind of loath to continue. "Harry--" Tom prompted again.

"Um." Pause. "I can suck myself off." He said it. And now he was the color of avocado and plum. He couldn't look Tom in the eye, he looked over the blonde's shoulder at the starfield.

Tom was quiet a long time before he said an anticlimactic, "Huh? How is that possible?"

Harry could just imagine what picture Tom had running through that mind of his. "Takes a lot of practice," Harry admitted, then realized what he'd said.

Tom blinked at Harry. "I bet it does."

"Yah," Harry turned to Tom, a little more avid now. "It has a lot to do with embouchure."

"Embouchure? And that is?"

A cat-eats-canary smile crept onto Harry's face, "The position and application of the lips and tongue to a wind instrument. Along with breath control, embouchure can have amazing results in other--uh, situations."

"Meaning?"

Harry tried not to pull away when Tom leaned closer. There was something different about Tom's eyes. It excited, and scared, the young ensign.

"Meaning you apply soft gentle pressure on the reed when you play the clarinet." He could just about feel Tom's breath on his breath on his face. It felt hot. "On a saxophone, you have to apply a little more bite."

Harry felt scalded when Tom's hand pressed onto his belly, the pinky sliding just under the waist band of his shorts. "Tom--" was the only word Harry knew at the moment. He turned to Tom to question the hand and its position, but ran his nose into Tom's.

"Harry?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You're gonna teach me that embouchure thing."

"I am?"

"Yeah."

The tip of Harry's totally engorged cock nudged at Tom's little finger. The erection was immediately grasped and exposed.

"God, Tom." Harry bucked beneath the pressure and sensation.

"Then you're gonna show me how you suck yourself."

Harry sighed as he clasped Tom's grasping hand in both of his.

"Let's start now."

And Tom dipped his untrained mouth to learn to play Harry's instrument.

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End