by Bruce
---
++ DISCLAIMER ++ The characters and settings of this story belong to
Paramount Pictures. I'm just borrowing them for creative fan fiction.
DO NOT read further if you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by
sexual situations involving men. Feel free to save this story for your own
purposes, but please do not repost it without contacting me. Thank you.
c Feb. 7, 2000
---
Even though he was a fairly spontaneous person, Lieutenant Tom Paris was
not fond of surprises. Maybe it came from his childhood and growing up
with the admiral, or perhaps from some other source, but Tom just
didn't like it when he was on the receiving end of something
unexpected. That explained the slight feeling of uneasiness he'd had
ever since that morning at breakfast. Harry, as he was getting up to go on
duty, had leaned in close and whispered to him, "Holodeck two --
something just for you tonight - 8 o'clock."
It had kept him on edge all day. Every time he'd turned from the helm
to look at his best friend at Ops, he couldn't make eye contact with
Harry. And Tom thought he'd seen the slightest trace of a smirk on
Ensign Kim's face a couple of times. But, come on, Harry wasn't
the smirking type. "That's my expression," thought Tom.
Despite everything, Tom was at the door of holodeck two a few minutes
before 20- hundred hours. He'd changed out of his duty uniform into a
comfortable pair of jeans and a tan sweater -- casual, but, he hoped,
appropriate for whatever setting Harry had in mind. Checking the panel on
the bulkhead, he saw that a program called "Kim-99-Alpha" was
already running. It was tagged a private program, but when the computer
verified his identity, Tom was allowed in.
Tom stepped out of the corridor and into what appeared to be a marketplace
or bazaar. It was nighttime, the air was warm and humid, and there were
throngs of people from various planets. Everyone was selling something.
Small stands were laden with cheap jewelry for almost every body part
imaginable. The aroma of roasting meat and boiling noodles and broth
wafted past him. Fireworks exploded nearby. Street musicians played tunes
he'd never heard before for small crowds.
He hadn't walked more than half a block when the heat and moisture
made him uncomfortable. Stepping to the curb, he removed his sweater and
tied it around his waist. Already the T-shirt underneath was beginning to
stick to his stomach, shoulder blades, and armpits.
Paris looked up and down the narrow street, but had no idea what he was
supposed to do next. Harry was nowhere in sight, and there were no clues
as to the purpose of this program. He was about to trade his sweater for
what looked like some sort of cold malted grain beverage when he was
tapped on the shoulder.
Tom turned, but no one was there. Scanning the crowd, he saw a bright
yellow turban bobbing just over the heads of the other people.
"Okay," he said aloud. Tom followed the man in the turban,
bumping into holo-people along they way. Although they were artificial, it
was still annoying to be jostled, especially when it was this sticky.
Around a few corners and into a dark alley, Tom suddenly lost sight of the
turban-man. "Psst!" came from a dark recess. Tom thought back
to when he had entered the holodeck -- yes, the safety protocols were enabled
-- so, what was there to lose? He stepped toward where he had heard the
sound -- it was a doorway. From out of the shadows, the man appeared.
"Hey, Mistah!" he said through a thick accent that Tom
couldn't place. "You like surprises?"
"Not really, no," said Tom, grumpily.
"Oh, you like this one. Made just for you. In, in!" The man led
Tom through the door and into a bar. Calypso-like music was coming from
the small combo in the corner. All around, weary men who looked like space
transport pilots, along with scantily-clad women were swilling their
drinks and leaning tiredly against the bar and in booths.
"Lovely," said Tom, as he side-stepped around a large
walrus-like creature and his pig-faced companion.
Turban-man led Tom through another door, this one connecting to a long
corridor with a number of rooms on each side. The music was muffled now,
and he could smell incense and perfume in the air -- and sweat.
"Your lucky day, Mistah! Already paid for. You just pick your
door." The man gestured grandly to both sides of the hallway. Tom set
his jaw and nodded to the first door. "Might as well be methodical
about this," he thought to himself.
The man knocked once, and slid the door aside. In the small room was a
large bed. On the bed was a woman. She wore a black-and-white lace
maid's costume. She crossed her legs seductively, raised herself up
and pursed her lips at Tom.
"You like?" asked the man in the yellow turban.
"No, thanks. Shall we see what's behind door number two?"
Turban-man looked disappointed, but shut the door and stepped to the other
side of the hall. "How about zees?"
Inside the second room, a tall, large-breasted woman danced on a small
platform, flashing lights blinking in time to music with a heavy bass
beat. What struck Tom as the most interesting thing was that the woman was
dark green. He'd heard about these women in Starfleet lore, but he
thought they were a myth. She was quite sexy, and her gyrations caught
Tom's notice. He felt his jeans begin to tighten in the front.
"But, surely, this isn't what I'm supposed to find," he
thought. "Nope," he said aloud, but with a sigh that was filled
with a bit of regret. "Haven't you got anything better?"
The man considered this for a moment. He looked Tom up and down. Then, a
sly smile grew across his face. His eyes squinted. "I know what
Mistah want!" He quickly moved to the end of the hall, then leaned
against another door. "Something just for you." With a wink, the
man was gone.
Tom opened the door himself and stepped in. The room was much more
pleasant that the others had been. It was lit with candles -- too many to
count. A ceiling fan provided some air movement, and the floor was covered
with pillows. "Shut the door," called a voice. Tom did as he was
told. When his eyes had adjusted, he finally saw who had spoken.
A figure reclined on a pile of pillows in the far corner. Tom's eyes
traveled up the toned, bare legs, over a rust-colored loin cloth, across a
billowy white silk shirt, and stopped at the face of - Harry. And he was
smirking.
"It took you long enough," Harry said, slowly, in a deep voice.
He gracefully got up and walked across the pillows, stopping just in front
of Tom. The smirk disappeared, and he said, "My name is Kok. Who
are you?"
The smirk migrated to Tom's face. "Thomas. John Thomas. Nice
to meet you."
Harry raised his right hand, then ran a finger slowly over the
sweat-soaked T-shirt. When he reached Tom's belt, he grabbed it,
turned, and led Tom to the larger pile of cushions where he had been. He
had Tom sit, and began removing his shoes and socks.
Harry then moved behind Tom, placing his legs beside Tom's. With his
long, slender fingers, he began slowly rubbing, then massaging Tom's
neck. Tom's eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into Harry.
Harry's hands worked their magic over Tom's shoulders and down
his spine. After working his hands back up to Tom's neck again, Harry
whispered into Tom's ear, "Let's get this shirt out of the
way." Tom crossed his arms, took hold of the hem of his T-shirt, and
pulled it up and off, then threw it into a dark corner. Harry's hands
slid up Tom's sides and up his arms, their fingers lacing together.
Tom brought his arms down and across, locking them both in an embrace.
Harry nuzzled the fine hairs on Tom's neck.
They sat that way for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the contact. Then
Harry quietly disconnected and reached under a cushion. He quickly found a
small bottle of oil, which he poured into his palm and began smoothing
over Tom's back. Tom's breathing came slower and deeper. When
he began to sway, Harry guided him to lie on his stomach. Harry then sat on
the small of Tom's back, and began massaging with more strength. This
elicited soft grunts and groans from his friend.
Harry had Tom roll over onto his back, and Harry again straddled him, this
time sitting on his crotch. An evil grin spread across Harry's face,
and he made an approving noise in the back of his throat has he slowly
rubbed on the hardness still trapped in the blue jeans.
Harry leaned down over Tom's face, and lightly licked Tom's lips.
Tom raised his head to kiss Harry, but the younger man grabbed both of
Tom's wrists, raised them over his head and pinned them to the
cushions.
Tom's eyes widened in surprise and anticipation. Harry's tongue
came out again, and slowly traced its way across Tom's forehead, down
the cheek, across the neck, over a nipple, and ended up in his left
armpit. Tom convulsed in pleasure. "Oh, yes!" he cried, and his
arms broke free of Harry's strong grip.
Harry smiled again as he removed the silk shirt. Tom's hands
instinctively went to his friend's chest, moving all over the pecs and
stomach muscles. Harry continued to gyrate his bottom on Tom's bulge.
"Well, maybe we should continue the massage." Harry slowly
undid Tom's belt, then the buttons of his jeans. Harry moved off to pull
the denim off, and Tom raised his butt off the cushions to allow the jeans to
slide away.
Harry's voice was a combination of mocking and seduction when he
said, "Plaid boxers, John Thomas? How old fashioned." Tom
hooked his thumbs under the elastic to remove his underwear, but Harry
stopped him. "Not yet!" Harry poured more oil into his hands,
and began smoothing it over Tom's chest. The light dusting of reddish
hair was stuck flat to Tom's stomach and pectorals. Tom reached up
and tweaked Harry's nipples. Harry shifted and began to run his hands
up and down Tom's thighs and calves. The oil was warm.
"Hey- I said not yet," Harry scolded Tom. Paris was confused --
he hadn't done anything. Raising his head, he saw that his erection
had popped out of the fly of his boxers. The head was dark red, and the
veins running up and down the sides were blue against his fair skin. The
six inches visible beyond the fabric were bobbing up and down with
Tom's pulse.
"Just for that, here's what you get," Harry blurted out,
just before he fell upon Tom's cock. The wet warmth of Harry's
mouth on Tom caused the older man to cry out. Harry held still for a
moment, but his tongue was swirling rapidly up and down Tom's shaft.
It felt so incredible -- but the boxers were in the way. They were pulled
tight around Tom's penis, constricting the blood flow, pushing his
testicles down, and making his erection even harder and darker and more
sensitive. It was painful, and incredibly hot at the same time. Tom's
hands found their way to Harry. His right hand gently ran through his
hair, while the left went to the back of Harry's neck. He pressed down
lightly, and Harry obliged by sliding down. Tom thought he would stop and
begin an upstroke, but Harry kept on going. He slid down, down, over the
inches. Harry's face pressed the fabric of Tom's boxers flat
against his body, his nose buried in his reddish-brown pubic hair. Tom
felt the head of his cock move into Harry's open throat.
"Ungh!"
Only then did Harry begin to rise up the shaft again. His mouth stopped at
the head, and his tongue slowly circled around the mushroom- shaped
helmet. Tom screamed again, and Harry slowly took his entire length again,
his tongue sliding a zig-zag as he went. Tom's fists were tearing at
the cushions beneath him. Tom wanted Harry to go faster, but he
wouldn't. He just slowly kept moving up and down, but always all the
way down. Tom felt his hips began to buck as he tried to thrust faster.
Harry held on to Tom's pelvis, and continued his slow speed.
Tom didn't know how long it had been, but it felt like forever. At
last, Harry began to move more quickly. That was enough to send Tom over
the edge. He blasted spurt after spurt of his orgasm down Harry's
throat. He felt Harry's swallowing, and that caused him to yell out
again. Harry then rose up on his knees, and Tom saw that he'd already
pulled his erection out of the folds of his loincloth. Harry's left
hand was sliding the foreskin up and down over his cockhead. He threw his
head back gritted his teeth, and violently thrust his hips forward. Tom
was sprayed over his face and chest by Harry's hot ejaculate. After
another few strokes, a second volley shot onto his stomach. Finally, Harry
collapsed on top of him, and his breathing began to return to normal.
After a few minutes of lying together, Harry lifted his head up on one
hand, his elbow on the cushions. The stickiness between them tugged at
their skin. Harry looked into his friend's eyes. "So, do you
still hate surprises?"
---
End
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