by Brighid
---
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
---
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
crewmates 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 as
outwardly as the alien wedding had marked them inwardly. 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."
---
End
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