by CKC

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"Come on, sleepyhead," said Harry, gently tousling the tuft of fair hair that nestled amongst the rumpled blankets. "You're going to be late if you don't get a move on."

The blankets shifted, and a muffled groan sounded from somewhere inside the warm tangle. With a smile, Harry peeled back one layer to reveal a beloved face, flushed pink cheek marked with a crease from the bedclothes, eyes shut tight.

"Tom. . . " Harry leaned forward and brushed a kiss across the eyelids, soft and warm beneath his lips. The lashes fluttered, bird-like, against his mouth. "You've got to get up. . . "

"Time?" croaked from the blankets.

"Half-an-hour before we're on duty."

"Damn!" The blankets churned and tossed, and a pale figure emerged and dashed for the bathroom. "Go get breakfast, and I'll be there in ten minutes!"

Harry smiled and shook his head as he left their quarters. Tom had never been a morning person, but too many late nights spent working on the pilot certification course that the Captain had requested were taking their toll. He'd just have to make sure that he got Tom to bed earlier. His smile broadened as he thought of exactly what he could do with Tom during all that extra time in bed. Okay, so make that much earlier.

By the time he spotted Tom at the door to the mess hall, Harry was halfway through his breakfast. Tom made a beeline for the food, then carried his laden tray over to their table, the one they sat at every morning.

"Morning, Harry," Tom said as he slid onto the seat next to his lover. "Thanks for the prod this morning. I have got to get to bed earlier. . . "

"I was just thinking the same thing. You've worked almost non-stop for three weeks. Take this evening off." Harry brushed the tips of his fingers over still damp curls at Tom's temple, and felt a small flare of concern at the faint circles staining the thin skin beneath Tom's eyes.

Tom smiled at him - a full-wattage Tom Paris boy-have-I-got-plans-for-you smile. "Any ideas what we could do?"

Harry grinned in return. "I have a few," he said, trying to be noncommittal, and failing miserably.

Tom leaned forward and pinned him with a stare that was just short of incendiary. "So do I. . . "

"Oh. . . " Harry couldn't help the small gasp. Every time Tom looked at him like that, he would react exactly in the same way - two meters of Starfleet trained, Delta Quadrant seasoned officer, reduced to a mindless, panting, quivering hulk, whose only functioning part would spring forward in an eager salute and make walking difficult. Harry shifted in his seat and groaned under his breath. "Thanks a lot, Tom."

Tom didn't reply, but the look of immense satisfaction on his face would have put a cream-drinking cat to shame. The door slid closed behind them. Tom stretched and made his way to the bedroom, unfastening his uniform as he went.

"Okay, Harry. No work this evening, I promise. So," he glanced back over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows, "what do you want to do?"

"Well. . . " Harry pretended to consider the question rationally, but then Tom turned and looked straight at the bulge in his uniform, and anything to do with higher thought was jettisoned. "First, I'm going to. . . "

Tom held up a hand. "Shower first, love. I only had time to clean the important bits this morning, and I need a scrub."

Harry's eyebrows waggled. "Scrub? I can scrub. . . "

"Harry. . . " The warning in Tom's voice was unmistakable. "Remember the last time you scrubbed me in the shower? Do you really want to be stuck in Sickbay for four hours listening to the doc's lecture on 'Safe Sex in Slick, Wet Environments' again?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right," he sighed, remembering how much fun it had been until the unfortunate incident with the soap dispenser. "You first."

By the time Tom emerged from the shower, deliciously damp and pink, Harry was ready for his turn. It didn't take him long to wash, but he spent the entire time thinking about exactly how he would drive Tom to incoherent writhing, stopping only briefly along the route for a little breathless moaning, with perhaps a bit of quivering and panting thrown in for good measure. Then he was out of the shower, drying himself quickly.

"Okay, lover, are you ready to. . . " He had made it through the bathroom door completely before coming to a standstill, staring at the figure lounging on the bed. He took a tentative step forward and peered, frowning. "Tom?"

"Yeah?"

Well, it was Tom's voice, to go with Tom's face and body, but what on earth. . .

"Tom, what are you wearing?"

Harry eyed the bright white cloth girding his lover's loins and his frown deepened. Some sort of thick stretchy band - elastic? - encircled Tom's waist, and the rest of the. . . thing covered his hips and crotch. With a moue of distaste, he noted the extra cloth at the front, folded so that it resembled the shape of an upside down letter Y. It was hideous.

"Briefs, Harry. They're called briefs, or Y-fronts, and they were a very popular form of underwear for men in the late 20th century."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would anyone wear anything that ugly?"

"Well," Tom peered down at them, "I suppose I've seen more attractive varieties, but there's something to be said for the plain white brief."

Harry grimaced and sat down on the bed. "I'm trying to think of something to say, and all I can come up with is 'take them off.' Please, Tom - I'll have nightmares!"

"Nah, love. I'll make sure of that." Tom turned and grabbed Harry's shoulders, pulling him into his arms. "Besides, to me they whisper 'seduction. . . '"

Harry snorted. "Seduction? Tom, seduction is a tight-fitting bodysuit. A shirt open down to here," he traced a line down Tom's chest to just above his navel. "A full-body massage with chocolate mousse. A hurried grope in a turbo-lift. Not," he continued, "a butt-ugly pair of underwear from a forgettable century."

"That's because you don't appreciate history," Tom said as he held Harry closer, and wrapped a leg over his lover's. "I've seen some old pictures of guys in these briefs that are so hot they'd eject your warp core."

"Oh?" Harry shifted his hips experimentally. Tom's hardness was cushioned by the soft knit cloth, which rubbed against his erection - a pleasant friction. "Well, I've always wanted to learn more history." He wiggled his hips again. Nice. "Teach me. . . ."

Tom grinned and pushed against Harry. "Seems like you've already discovered lesson one. . . "

"Enough talk," Harry murmured before grabbing Tom's head and rolling over on top of him, then diving in for a kiss. Now Harry could control their movements, and he pushed his hips against Tom, enjoying the soft pull of the fabric between them.

Tom deepened their kiss, then suddenly spread his legs. Harry's legs dropped onto the mattress between them, and their cocks squeezed against each other more tightly. He moaned into Tom's mouth, almost dizzy from the building pressure at his groin.

A soothing caress on his back helped calm him a little, Tom's hands bestowing long, languid strokes as they moved down to his waist, then on to his ass. But they didn't linger there, and Harry groaned a protest as the hands moved over his flanks and the n between them. A shift, a tug, and then Tom's erection rubbed against his, flesh to flesh. Harry thrust back once, before breaking off their kiss and peering down between them.

Oh my. . .

Tom had pushed the front of the briefs below his balls, and they were held up gently by the elastic, like a bouquet, the thick stalk of his erection quivering above them.

Oh my. . .

Harry scrambled down the bed, hands already cupping and caressing, teasing and soothing, quickly joined by lips and tongue. A gentle squeeze here, a long lick there, taste and scent coupled with the sounds of Tom's soft cries and moans. Exploration became more difficult as Tom twisted and arched beneath him, muscles tense, flesh quivering like the aftereffects of droplets scattered over still water. . .

Not yet.

Stilling all movement, Harry held the base of Tom's erection firmly in one hand, the other pressing Tom's hips into the bed. With a frown and a hiss, Tom blinked at him owlishly, futilely trying to thrust into Harry's hand. Harry grinned at the sight of his lover, sweat- sheened and flushed, glassy-eyed and inarticulate, briefs outlining the proud curve of his genitals.

"Turn over. . . " he rasped, surprised at how difficult it was to force out the words, and released his hold on Tom. Tom paused, and for a moment Harry wondered if anything was sinking in at this point, then Tom obligingly rolled over onto his stomach.

His ass was still covered by the white cloth. Harry drew a gentle finger along the soft skin just above the waistband, then along each of the leg openings, teasing the skin between Tom's thighs. Hands clenched in the sheets, Tom pressed himself into the mattress and moaned softly. Too close. . .

Harry grabbed a pillow, folded it, and coaxed Tom's hips up enough to slide it under him. Tom's erection dangled free, and he moved his hips restlessly, legs spreading automatically.

Now Harry could play. The cloth of the briefs bunched and smoothed as Harry moved his hands, now and again sliding a finger or two beneath the material to tickle tender flesh. Tom groaned and raised his hips in a futile effort to increase the pace, but Harry was having none of that. This was Tom's idea - seduction, he had said - and Harry was determined to make it last as long as possible.

Kneeling between Tom's legs, Harry leaned forward and tongued Tom through the soft cotton. Tom's groans grew louder as the cloth became soaked, and Harry could use his lips and tongue more delicately through the damp material - outlining, probing, teasing - until every breath of Tom's was accompanied by a cry, a piteous moan, a call for release.

Harry's hands were shaking as he grabbed the elastic and pulled the briefs down to just below Tom's ass, and he paused for a moment to admire the way the stark white highlighted the pink flush of Tom's skin. Then he returned to his self-imposed task of driving Tom wild, lips and tongue and fingers working together to render his lover frantic with need. Tom writhed and shook and gasped, and Harry continued his sweet ministrations.

Finally, however, it was time to grant his boon, and Harry reached around and gently clasped Tom's erection. He leaned forward to rest his head and shoulders on Tom's back, and took his own in hand, pumping both in time. Tom's ragged panting spurred him on, increasing the tempo, until, with a strangled cry, Tom came, Harry following close behind.

Exhaustion. Harry slid to one side, pulling Tom around with him, to spoon against his chest and sticky thighs. Arms curved in familiar shape, surrounding his lover's heaving ribcage. Thundering heartbeat, echoed by the pulse in the strong throat before his face. He languidly kissed Tom's neck, up the corded muscles to the vulnerable hollow at the base of the skull.

Tom sighed and shifted against him, the briefs brushing Harry's thighs, dragging against his flesh. Harry shivered in anticipation. Next time, he'd wear the briefs, and Tom would touch him there, and then he'd. . . Oh. . .

Harry fell asleep, dreaming of white cotton knit and strong elastic.

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End