AS THE HARLEQUIN TURNS OR LOVE'S BLESSED RELEASE [VOY, P/K, NC-17, Parody] by **** & Amirin Disclaimer: Paramount is all. We are not worthy. Synopsis: You wouldn't believe us even if we told you. Just read it, okay?  And, believe it or not, no alcohol or other mind-altering substances were used in the making of this story. This story is not my fault - **** Well, it damned sure wasn't mine! - Amirin For the PKSP and BLTs only. May be archived at R'rain's and PKSP archive only. As The Harlequin Turns or Love's Blessed Release ************************************************* Tom watched the First Officer as he stood on the bridge of the ship, hands clasped behind his back.  The stern, forbidding visage of the Commander made Tom quail in his chair.  He despised the man, but at the same time was helplessly drawn to him. Chakotay had no idea that Tom was so drawn to his dark, brooding, almost cruel vitality that only hinted at the passion smouldering below the surface.  The passion waiting for the one touch that would release his spirit to soar among the eagles worshipped by his ancestors.  Did such a touch exist?  Or was it his destiny to always be alone, never to know the ecstasy that could free his soul in bondage, and warm a heart grown cold with neglect? Tom sighed, turning his attention back to the helm controls. No, he could never warm that heart with his inadequate touch, lighten that darkness.  No, he was too plain, too *ordinary*, to even be *noticed* by a man like that.  He knew all to well the kind of men men like that wanted.  Vibrant men. Men who, with a toss of their heads, could ignite a warp core.  Men with a physique that would stop rampaging targs dead in their tracks. Not quiet, mousy little helmsmen . . . Tom knew he was nothing compared to the man whose very presence filled the bridge.  He knew his blue eyes were too light, his skin too pale, his hair too fair to ever attract a look of more than contempt from the Commander.  He felt like only a vague shadow of a man compared to him. His slender frame quaked as the Commander moved closer and suddenly the air became too thick to breathe.  He found himself staring enraptured at the man's powerful profile. Drawn as a moth to a flame, he found himself caught when the commanding figure turned, pinning him with a cold look. ". . . And your reason for the course change, Mister Paris?" For a long minute, Tom was unable to speak, overwhelmed by the sheer magnetic presence of the Commander.  All he could think of was:  he spoke to me. He noticed *me*.  He called me . . . Mister.  He was so overcome that he had to lace his long fingers together in an effort to keep from swooning over his console. He spoke to *me*. The sound of that voice.  As dark as his skin, as smouldering as his eyes . . . "I, I," Tom couldn't stop the flutter in his eyelashes, the flutter in his stomach.  "There was a small subspace fluctuation, sir."  And, oh, the feel of that 'sir' on his lips.  "I thought we should go around." "Good decision, Mister Paris."  And the Commander turned away, the air growing colder in the space where he had been.  It was as if the environmental systems were affected by his very presence, the same way he affected Tom.  Tom felt a blush starting on his fair skin. The Captain strode onto the bridge then.  Tall, commanding, proud. And, from the back of the bridge, the Ops Officer gave a small longing sigh. Tom sighed, too, in quiet misery as the Commander moved to the Captain's side.  The look the two of them exchanged made Tom want to cry out, "No, she'll never want you as I do, never *need* you as I do", but he remained silent, lost in the bleakness of his own thoughts, stung by his own inadequacies.  No, the Commander could never want a man like him over a woman like the Captain.  Who would? Her regal bearing had withstood the greatest of indignities, things that would have driven Tom to his knees.  No wonder the Commander so obviously preferred her company to Tom's. So distracted by his thoughts was he, that he didn't notice how the dark eyes of the Ops Officer flashed when the Commander invaded the Captain's personal space.   Harry thought.  He wasn't fit to lick her boots clean, a cold, barren man like him. Harry dreamed of the day when the fair Captain would recognize and return the fire in his eyes.  Someday, she would be his! His lips tightened in resentment, his face turned hard by his own resolve.  No, the Commander would never have his beautiful Captain.  Never!  There must be some way to distract him, that would give Harry the chance to make her his own. Something . . . After their shift, Harry and Tom sat together in the mess hall, both equally miserable.  They sighed in unison. "He . . ." Tom couldn't bring himself to say the Commander's name. "He spoke to me today, Harry.  Me."  He unconsciously clasped his hands together, eyes shining with the remembered joy of hearing those few words as they came from the Commander's sensuous lips.  Sensuous, yes, Tom thought, but with a hint of cruelty, a sense of something dark. "Yes," said Harry.  "But then," another sigh, "he went and sat with the Captain."  He petulantly flung his napkin on the table.  "The *Captain*, Tom.  A woman whose boots he isn't fit to lick." They sighed again. "Oh," said Tom.  "I almost forgot."  He pulled a small something out of his sleeve.   he thought with a trace of petulance all his own.   "Tom?" Harry's voice interrupted Tom's sartorial musings. "Um?  Oh, here. The Captain dropped this.  I thought you might want to add it to your collection." Harry took the hairpin with shaking hands. Maybe this one . . . Yes! This one even had a strand, just a wisp of those auburn tresses caught in it.  "Oh, Tom, thank you," Harry breathed, unable to say any more. Not with that single hair capturing all his attention.  "How can I ever repay you?" Tom lifted his head, an idea coming to him. "Harry, there is a way, if you're really sure you want to," Tom said hesitantly. Harry sighed in utter bliss, caressing the strand of hair with a tender touch.  "Anything, Tom.  This means so much to me." "I want you to help me be more like the Captain," Tom said excitedly, fanning his flushed face with his napkin. "You *what*?" asked Harry, incredulously. "Help me be more like the Captain.  Strong, assertive, courageous. Help me become the kind of man that . . . *he* would notice," Tom finished softly, a dreamy look on his face. "I thought you hated him," Harry sputtered in disbelief. "Oh, yes," Tom said with a faraway look in his eyes, "I do. He's a brute, and cruel, and forceful and so . . . strong, and masculine," he said, voice growing progressively quieter with every word until only a faint whisper remained. "And you want him," Harry guessed. "Please help me, Harry.  Please," Tom begged like the pathetic creature he knew himself to be. Harry only had to consider it for an instant. If he could 'renovate' his friend, make him more of a man's man, the Commander might take interest, leaving Harry's adored Captain to *his* pursuits and his far more worthy attentions. He reached out, taking Tom's chin in his hands, studying the structure of his face with a critical eye. "Hmmm," he said, thoughtfully, taking in the body as well with its deceptive-looking slenderness.  He reached out to grasp a hand, turning it over, looking at the long fingers and wrist. Tom moaned softly, in abject misery. "It's hopeless, isn't it? I could never be the kind of man who would *ever* attract the notice of a man like . . . *him*," Tom said brokenly, long eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. "Never say never, Tom," Harry said, grinning fiercely with delight at the possibilities.  If this worked . . .  "Never say never . . ." "And," Tom added.  "If you help me with the Commander . . . " "You'll help me with the Captain?" Harry said eagerly.  To actually possess all that auburn wonder, to be able to run this hands through it, bury his face in it . . . All that magnificence, his. "Yes," said Tom, and anticipation made his pale cheeks flush pink. "Gentlemen.  If I may interrupt for a moment?"  It was Tuvok, the Vulcan Security officer.  He cast a dispassionate, but covetous eye upon the hairpin in Harry's hand. So, Tuvok thought, you also have a fascination for the Captain's hairpins. "Yes, Tuvok?" said Harry, quickly hiding the hairpin and thinking childishly, . "I wanted to remind you and the Lieutenant about the Captain's birthday party tonight.  It is, as I also must remind you, a *surprise* birthday party."   Harry looked at Tom as Tom looked at Harry.  "The birthday party," they said in unison.  "It's perfect." Later, in Harry's quarters, they came to the conclusion that maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. "*Smirk*, Tom, not simper," Harry sighed fitfully.  This was hopeless. "I'm *trying*, Harry," Tom whined. "And no whining!" Harry ground out.  "Real men don't whine, they growl, they sneer, they *smirk*!  Now, try it *again*!" he ordered. Finally, Tom seemed to almost have the talk right, but the walk was a disaster. "Strut, Tom, *dammit*, stroll!  Not *sashay*," Harry groaned, muttering obscenities in every language he knew.  He looked up at a gasp from Tom. "*Harry*, good gods, where did you learn to curse like that?" he asked indignantly, hands on narrow hips. Harry rolled his eyes, until he *really* looked at his friend. Hmm, indignant actually worked to get the stance right, for Tom. "Okay, look at how you're standing, *don't move*, just *look*." Tom looked down in amazement, seeing his long legs slightly apart, weight resting on one, and it felt perfectly natural.  Both hands came up to cover his mouth, keeping his excited gasp inside. "Harry, you're a *genius*," he gushed.  "Almost like a real man, huh?" Harry snorted.  "Yeah, almost, Tom," he paused seeing the slightly disgusted look on his friend's face. "What?" "That sound you just made, it's so . . " he trailed off, as Harry's eyes rolled again. "Tom, real men snort, okay?" Harry bit off, tiredly rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, Harry," Tom said quietly, puzzled when he saw Harry's jaw drop in surprise. "My gods, that worked!  Tom, for the first time, you didn't sound like you were about to burst into tears!" Harry chortled happily, slapping his friend on the back, before laughing in delight when he *didn't* knock Tom off his feet for once. "Damn, this just might work, my friend!  Okay, now try the walk again, and Tom, this time, *strut*!" All the way to the Holodeck, Tom reminded himself over and over again - Strut, strut, strut. He was also practicing his snorts and trying to do both at the same time was taking all his attention.  It was just so hard . . .    Beside him, Harry was rolling his eyes at every pathetic snort his friend made. "It has to come from the chest, Tom. And flare your nostrils when you do it.  Flaring always drives men like the Commander wild with desire." "Do you really think so?" Tom almost clasped his hands together before remembering another one of Harry's rules - no clasping.  How was he supposed to *remember* all this stuff?  It was all so *complicated*. Outside the Holodeck, Harry paused.  "Do you want to practice your arrogant head toss one last time before we go in?" For answer, Tom tried a sneer and was greatly cheered when Harry didn't laugh this time.  Instead, he clapped Tom on his shoulder and said, "Excellent sneer, my friend. Excellent!" Inside, one section of the Holodeck had been set up as dressing rooms, one for the men, another for the women and a separate one for Neelix. No one on Voyager had *any* desire to see what a naked Talaxian looked like.  The two friends smiled at each other encouragingly and went in to chose their costumes. Harry was the first one to finish and he turned to Tom for his opinion.  "Well?" Tom could only gape at his friend in astonishment.  To contrast with the gold of his skin, Harry had chosen silk and leather.  Black silk and black leather.  The sheer silk shirt was open to Harry's waist, revealing a truly impressive and well-muscled chest.  The sleeves were long, tight at the wrists and loose above, billowing with every movement of Harry's arms.  Where the shirt was loose and flowing, his black silk trousers were so form-fitting they threatened to impede blood flow. They were tucked into calf-high, black leather boots, silver-tipped at flat heel and toe and his trousers were cinched with . . . "A whip?" said Tom, eyes wide. Harry gave Tom a smile.  He fingered the silver-capped and braided leather ends where it fell against his thigh.  "Not just any whip," he said with satisfaction.  "A cat-o-nine tails."  He ran the ends through his fingers again, the metallic tips making a subtle chiming sound. He held out a length of black silk with strategically cut eye-holes. "Help me put this on and then we'll find something for you to wear." Tom stood, mute and stunned. Harry lowered his hand and eyed his friend impatiently. "What's wrong?" he asked, sighing. "You . . . you look so . . . so *forceful*." Tom stammered. Harry was beginning to wonder if Tom would even know what to do with a real man, if he ever had one.  He smiled gently at his friend. "Carries a certain weight of authority, doesn't it?" he asked, grinning evilly. Tom nodded in slowly dawning comprehension.  "It'll definitely make the Captain look twice, that's for sure." Harry looked delighted.  That *was* what he had been hoping for, at least.  Something to make the Captain rest her beautiful gaze on him, for a change, and see someone other than plain Ensign Harry Kim.  He snapped himself out of it; Tom still needed his help, not to mention his nerve, to get into his own costume. "Oh, no, you don't," Harry warned, as Tom was about to pull the tight pants on over his undershorts.  "Tonight, my friend, you are flying solo." Tom looked beautifully bewildered, until Harry explained that underwear was not an option.  He gulped, blushing scarlet, and looked at Harry helplessly. "Oh, for out crying out loud," Harry muttered as he turned his back, giving Tom some privacy. Slight rustling was heard for a scant few moments and then he heard Tom speak.  "Er, Harry, aren't these a little tight?" Tom asked, uncertainty layering his voice. "Tom, they have to be tight, if you're going to get the boots on . . .  oh, sweet heaven," Harry breathed, looking at his friend who blushed again under his intense scrutiny. Midnight blue pants that looked like they'd been painted on graced the Lieutenant's body, making his eyes darker blue in color.  The gold leather lacing was a stroke of genius.  It laced up the crotch from front to back and was the only thing holding the two silken halves of his slacks together. Harry swallowed heavily.  Gods, what the man had been hiding under that uniform!  Chakotay was going to *love* this.  "Boots first, then the shirt," he ordered and Tom obeyed without question, pulling on the thigh-high, flared top, dark-blue suede boots.  Tom turned to look in the mirror, and arched an eyebrow, meeting Harry's eyes in the reflection. "Okay?" he asked tentatively. "Better than okay, Tom.  *Much* better than okay.  Shirt next," he said, handing the indigo silk creation to his friend. He nodded with approval, the full sleeves added bulk without disturbing the graceful lines of the man's body, and the laced front was deliberately left undone to halfway down Tom's golden-furred chest.  Harry had to snap himself out of the daze he found himself in.  Wrapping the matching fringed, blue sash around his friend's waist, he let it hang to the side, over one hip, and sighed.  He couldn't help feeling like he was throwing his best friend to the wolves, just to get said wolf away from the Captain.  He stepped back a few feet, then motioned to Tom. "Walk to me, slowly," Harry said, wanting to make sure the man wouldn't break his neck tottering around on the two-inch-thick wooden heels the boots sported.  His jaw damn near hit the floor when Tom came to him, moving naturally, letting his walk do the talking for him.  The man was a *brilliant* conversationalist. "Tom, you've added a whole new meaning to the word 'strut'," Harry beamed. The holodeck had been transformed into an old-fashioned, Earth-Victorian style drawing room, illuminated solely by fire and candlelight.  Candles marched in dark-red rows on the mantelpiece above the roaring fire, stood in free-standing wrought-iron candelabra and in groups on the dark, well-polished wooden furniture.  They flickered in the scented breeze blowing through the open, glass-paned doors at the room's far end, each of the flickers was reflected in the long expanses of mirrored wall.  From a shadowed alcove came the shimmering sound of chamber music. Scattered Oriental carpets were soft underfoot and, in front of that massive stone fireplace, furs were piled in inviting abandon. "Do you see them?" Tom asked. Harry snagged a goblet of champagne, no synthehol tonight, from a passing waiter and pointed.  "There." The entire senior bridge staff was gathered in a small group next to the fireplace, the flames alternately highlighting and shadowing the costumes they wore. "That can't be B`Elanna," said Tom. "I don't believe it," said Harry. B'Elanna was currently holding court, dressed as Royalty, in a beautiful creation of burgundy silk and cream-colored lace. Her floor-length gown was low cut and the corset made her already slender waist appear nonexistent.  Swags of the dark silk rose up to her hips, accented at each apex with a cream silk bow, the long tails of which hung down nearly to her knees.  It was breathtaking, it was feminine, it was . . . B'Elanna. Tom and Harry exchanged smiles before resuming the hunt for their respective quarries.  Harry took a moment to observe Tom, and noticed he was not the only one doing so, nor was he the most subtle about it.  He found himself sighing as Tom walked slowly over to B'Elanna, took her hand in a courtly manner, and kissed it.  Harry's eyes widened.  Damned if B'Elanna didn't blush.  She smiled up at Tom, taking in his costume for the first time and Harry grinned as the flirtatious smile, partly hidden by a lace fan, became an unmistakably lascivious leer. Harry sighed.  Tom was totally oblivious, not only to B'Elanna, but to the reactions of many people throughout the intimate room.  He shook his head, casually watching people over the rim of his glass.  His eyes settled on Tuvok and again widened in surprise. Tuvok stood gravely at attention, surveying the room and its occupants.  He was resplendent in a fitted pearl grey velvet jacket with grey pearl buttons.  His boots were suede and calf-length in a darker grey and, between the almost thigh-length hem of the jacket and the tops of the boots, grey hose shot with silver glimmered in the fire's glow.  His shirt was cream and open at the throat with lace foaming over the cuffs and cascading down the front. A moonstone and silver brooch gleamed at his throat and his mask was pearl grey silk trimmed in matching lace. Tuvok's eyes met Harry's and they regarded each other somberly.  His costume may have been elegant, but Harry's looked dangerous.  Also, he noted, Harry seemed to be unaware of the interest his . . . *intriguing* outfit was capturing. Harry was unaware of everything except the look in Tom's eyes when he finally saw Chakotay.  With the Captain. Chakotay's head was tilted toward Janeway, a faintly sardonic smile on his face.  He looked foreboding in his chosen colors of dark brown and burgundy.  The doublet was quilted, claret velvet with dark gold thread tracing the pattern of the quilting.  He wore loose trousers in a rich brown, his boots calfskin and a shade darker.  His mask was dark red silk. Tom swallowed heavily at the sight of that mask, and hurriedly finished his wine, setting the empty glass on a nearby tray.  The mask made the Commander look a little sinister and very exciting, bringing out the hardness and harshness of his features.  The wine he was drinking nearly matched its color.  It was now or never.  Tom took a deep breath and started toward him. Chakotay halted in mid-swallow when the tall, golden blond crossed the room, walking like he owned it.  The Commander was stunned when he realized it was the pilot, *Tom Paris*, for the sake of the spirits.  He silently watched the man's walk and found himself entranced by the graceful, long strides, the swaying of the fringed ends of the blue silk sash keeping rhythm. Tom headed over to a holo-butler holding a tray of glasses of wine. He started to reach for a dry white, until he met Chakotay's startled eyes and searing look, then stretched a little further, to snag a dark red off the silver tray.  Chakotay saw how the muted lighting of the fireplace and candles played beautifully off the soft silk covering the man's body as well as the indigo silk mask, which only covered the eyes, adding to the allure. Tom felt Chakotay's eyes on him and he sipped the wine slowly, savoring it, rolling it on his tongue, as his hand gently caressed the glass, fingers sliding sensuously over the condensation.  His eyes, the same indigo as his silk shirt and just as luminous, warmed slightly as he slowly approached Chakotay, and his deep voice softly murmured, "Good evening, Commander." Chakotay was stunned by that sultry, smoky baritone, his crystal wine goblet frozen half-way to his lips.  "Mister Paris?"  Even to his own ears, his voice sounded choked and he silently cursed that betraying weakness. "Sir," Tom said quietly, gazing about the room, pretending to ignore the way the Commander's eyes were riveted to him, drinking him in.   he thought, in gratitude.  He hoped Harry's evening was playing out as well as his was. Chakotay stared in stunned amazement.  Was this the same quiet, mousy helmsman he saw every day on the bridge? Why had he never noticed before how blond the pilot's hair was?  He was mesmerized by the way Tom's hair caught and held the candle's glow, by how invitingly soft those tousled waves looked.  How could he have missed the ivory and snow of Tom's skin?  The same skin that was now flushed from both the warmth of the fire and the wine in his glass. And those eyes . . . Bluer than the skies of home, bluer than that wonderfully enticing shirt he wore, bluer than those incredibly tight, exquisitely form-fitting trousers currently caressing those long, long legs.  The same blue eyes that were currently peering at him through gold-flecked eyelashes.  Chakotay's wine glass slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers and shattered on the wooden floor. The Captain sighed, so thoroughly enjoying the peaceful, elegant surroundings of her surprise party that she was barely aware of how her pilot had so completely bewitched her First Officer. The party was lovely and Tuvok had truly outdone himself. She found her eyes seeking him out and stopped cold when they found him.   Dimly, she noticed how difficult it was becoming to breathe and thanked the gods she hadn't gone B'Elanna's route with her costume choice or the corset would have done her in. She was dressed as Anne Bonney, pirate queen, her costume chosen to reflect her mood and feelings about her captaincy, her leadership of this hybrid band of lost adventurers.  Her hair was unbound, tumbling around her shoulders and half-way down her back.  Her shirt was ivory, bloused and severely plain.  Over it she wore a fitted deep forest green velvet vest that came to mid-thigh.  Her leggings were dark green silk, and her boots and belt were fawn suede.  She carried both a sword at her waist and a dagger in her boot, its green-jeweled hilt peeking over the top of the folded-over and loose cuffs. She turned, momentarily distracted, when she heard the shattering of Chakotay's goblet, only to come around again at the sound of Tuvok's voice. "Captain?" She turned and was lost in warm, brown eyes.  Janeway took the strong arm he offered and let the Vulcan lead her slowly away, as she commented on how delighted she was that he'd allowed her the privilege of seeing this softer side of his personality. Harry was seething, and not because the Captain was heading off with Tuvok.  Chakotay was obviously interested in the gorgeous blond package in front of him, but, in a stark moment of clarity, Harry realized he didn't have any appreciation of the contents. he asked himself, as he found his eyes glaring in contempt at the Commander.  <*He's* the one Tom wants> he told himself sternly, but was unable to keep his legs from carrying him closer to where Tom stood. He knew that the darkness and danger the other man gave off were, to Tom, part of the Commander's irresistible draw. Darkness and danger.  Harry smiled inwardly, the faint chiming of the metal tips of the whip wrapped around his waist giving him an idea. Carefully uncoiling it, he hefted the end in his palm.  With a flick of his wrist, it sang toward Tom, found its target, and started sinuously winding itself around Tom's thigh.  Harry slowly reeled his friend in, bringing him to his side, as Tom looked at him, agape.  He brought the whip around his waist again, stepping close enough to the other man that his nostrils caught the heady, sweet scent of wine on Tom's even sweeter lips.  He plucked the near-empty glass from slender fingers, tossing it over his shoulder where it joined Chakotay's in shards on the floor. Only then did he put a hand on the silk-covered shoulder of his best friend. "Dance with me," Harry whispered, sighing as Tom's hands spanned his waist, fingers caressing the braided black leather that had so drastically altered his plans for the evening. Harry looked over Tom's shoulder and smirked at Chakotay, the look saying everything from 'Eat your heart out, if you've got one' to 'Find another, this one's coming home with me'. Chakotay turned back to where Kathryn was standing and his face reflected his dismay as he watched her leave the holodeck on Tuvok's arm.  He looked around to B'Elanna, hopefully, and she turned her back on him, engrossed in the Vulcan Ensign standing next to her. He recoiled, stung by the multitude of rejections and headed out the door toward his quarters, doomed to a solitary night of whiskey and tormenting dreams of what might have been. Tom and Harry were allowing their fingers to become drunk on the feeling of the silk under them, as they not-so-subtly caressed arms and backs and chests through the soft shirts. Their bodies moved slowly, as if of their own volition and came so closely together that Harry could feel the ends of the leather lacing up Tom's pants as they tickled his hardening cock.  One hand wandered down the curve of Tom's ass, firmly pulling him even closer. Tom flushed at the intimate contact and lowered his eyes, unable to meet Harry's hot gaze.  Confused, he found himself becoming increasingly aroused and wondered if Harry was simply trying to make Chakotay jealous, making him think he had competition.  He looked rapidly around the room and noted that the Commander was nowhere in sight. Once, this might have crushed him, but all he felt now were the warm, strong hands of the man in his arms, the heat rising from Harry's body making him lightheaded.  He shivered as Harry drew him closer, two layers of silk and some leather lacing all that separated them. Harry felt Tom tremble and frowned to himself.  Damn, if only he could see the man's eyes, to know if Tom wanted this as much as he was discovering that he did.  He reached out and took Tom's face in his hands, forcing the issue. Tom looked at Harry as gentle fingers tilted his chin up.  His eyes met Harry's and he was lost.  All his life, he'd wanted someone to look at him with want and need and, foolishly, he'd thought that someone should be Chakotay.  The warmth and desire in the dark eyes before him left no doubt in his mind as to whom he truly belonged with.  He smiled shyly and Harry returned it. Harry saw the hesitant smile crossing those perfect lips, the growing heat in those glowing eyes, and sighed in relief. They were barely dancing, the music getting lost in the thundering of their heartbeats, two separate rhythms merging into one as they drowned in each other's eyes. They hardly noticed as the room began to empty around them, the crew heading off to their own devices, so lost were they becoming in one another. Harry reached up to gently untie Tom's mask, before tossing it aside.  One hand caressed his friend's face as his finger traced Tom's lips. Tom undid Harry's and it joined his own on the floor, his hand threading through black hair softer than the silk his friend was wearing.  He sighed as Harry unlaced his shirt, leaving it hanging open. Harry's hand trailed down a lightly-furred chest, his touch branding Tom as his own.  His own.  He liked the sound of that. Tom closed his eyes and quietly groaned at the contact. Warm lips touching his startled his blue eyes open and he shyly kissed Harry back, sweetly but uncertainly. Cupping Tom's face in his hands, Harry stroked Tom's cheek with his fingers, tracing the perfect lips with his thumb.  Quivering, they parted under his touch and he slid a finger inside the hot, moist cavern of his love's mouth. Tom's tongue hesitantly explored Harry's finger and his eyes lit up when his friend groaned aloud.  Delighted at the heady feeling of giving Harry pleasure, Tom wanted nothing more than to give him all he could.  He slowly started sucking on the trembling intruder between his lips and grinned around it when Harry moaned louder, the harsh sound sending a wave of triumphant joy through Tom. Harry smiled, wondering what other hidden delights Tom would reveal to him before the night was over.  Tom's tongue wrapped around his finger and the man sucked harder, making Harry's head fall back and his eyes narrow at the unexpected assault on his senses.  The startling sensation went straight to his cock, and it was all Harry could do to remain on his feet. Harry caught Tom's hand, the strong fingers gripping his own.  He turned it over and let his tongue trail a blazing path along Tom's wrist, feeling the pulse leap beneath his ministrations. Tom's eyes closed in blissful abandon and his mouth fell open in amazed delight, allowing Harry to remove his finger and replace it with his tongue.  The kiss deepened, forcing Tom to clutch at Harry's broad shoulders, before taking him into a fevered embrace. Harry plundered the honeyed depths of his love's enticing mouth, sighing when Tom's tongue caught and danced with his. Tom delved ever deeper into Harry's heated kiss, desperately seeking more of the erotic sweetness he was discovering there. At Tom's strangled whimper, Harry reluctantly retreated, his hot gaze raking over Tom's flushed features.  The blue eyes were dazed and dark with newly-awakened desire. "Oh, Harry, please," Tom begged breathlessly, uncertain as to why Harry had ceased his tender assault.  "Please, don't stop." "Patience, my love." Harry assured him. "We have all night and there's no need for haste."  He touched his finger to Tom's lips, still swollen from his kiss.  "There is so much you need to learn and so much more I want to teach you." Letting his fingers play with the curls of hair on Tom's chest, burnished gold in the firelight, Harry decided he'd never seen anything so beautiful.  He pushed the indigo silk off Tom's shoulders, then pulled it out of the skin-tight slacks and dropped it, letting it puddle on the floor. He rested his hands on slender hips and kissed Tom's neck, his tongue giving slow licks until his friend's head fell back with a moan that Harry felt in his cock. Tom's hand tangled in Harry's hair as a hot mouth fastened onto one of his nipples and it nearly dropped him to his knees.  He groaned louder, a single "Yes" drawn out into a heart-felt sigh and Harry's hands tightened on him, not letting him fall. Harry sank to his knees, tongue scorching a path of fire down Tom's chest.  He smiled against flushed skin at the sound of Tom's low groan. Tom was breathing too fast, his heart racing, as he looked down to find his friend kneeling before him, hands wrapped around his strong thighs. Harry nuzzled Tom's rock-hard cock through the slacks and, giving his friend a look hotter than the fire raging within him, took one leather lace between his teeth and slowly pulled . . . Tom moaned again, hips rocking forward and his hands flew to brace themselves on Harry's broad shoulders. Harry tugged the lace free, letting it fall. Carefully using his teeth, he nibbled along the length of his friend's hard shaft. Tom's hands tightened almost painfully on his shoulders. Reaching the cockhead pressed so invitingly against the restraining silk of Tom's trousers, he sucked gently. "Oh, Harry . . ." Tom rocked forward again. When Harry worried the other lace free, Tom's legs could no longer support him and he collapsed to his knees. Harry traced the winged arch of one blond eyebrow and caressed the outline of Tom's mouth before allowing his hand to curve against Tom's pale cheek.  "You're so beautiful," breathed Harry and Tom blushed. "Lay down."  Harry's words were more than a request, but less than a command. Tom obediently snuggled down into the nest of furs in front of the fireplace.  He watched as Harry stood, freeing his shirt with a deliberate and tantalizing slowness before letting it drift to the floor where its ebony folds mingled with the pooled indigo of Tom's. "I said," Harry repeated quietly, "lay down."  He used one booted foot to roll Tom onto his back and the toe to nudge Tom's thighs apart. The gleaming, silver-capped tip brushed dangerously close to Tom's cock as it pressed against blue silken cloth and leather lace and the pilot shivered in breathless anticipation. Seeing Tom lying there so trustingly at his feet, in innocent surrender, caused a fierce, sweet ache to begin and center in Harry's cock.  He had to bite his lip, stifling a low growl, as Tom's dilated blue eyes sought his, sparking banked desire into a firestorm of barely leashed lust and passion. Harry reached for the whip coiled around his waist with unsteady fingers and it came free with a sensuous purr of silk on leather. He watched Tom's eyes darken to near-black as he stated in a voice low and rough, "I have decided that I don't want the Commander to have you."  He ran the length of leather through his fingers, the silver-capped ends ringing faintly in the still room.  "Do you know why?" Mutely, Tom shook his head.  He ran a quicksilver tongue around dry lips, sending Harry's heart rate into double-time. Harry moved to stand astride his friend's prone body, his leather-shod feet cradling his slim hips. "I asked, if you knew why?"  He let the metal tails of his whip brush against the rosy pink of one nipple. Tom gasped, arching up into that teasing caress. "Answer me," said Harry, his own breath quickening.  The metal caps fanned over and around Tom's now hard nipple, swirling and dancing down the pilot's chest before coming to rest erotically against the quivering silken steel of Tom's cock. Glancing up at Harry through lowered lashes, Tom was caught, lost in the smouldering depths of those brown eyes. Eyes that took the candle's flame and devoured its light while returning its heat a thousand fold. The whip caressed the swell of flesh in playful threat.  "Tom . . ." Intoxicated by the blend of warm, rich leather and the musk of his own arousal, Tom murmured, "Because, you want me," as his hips rose to meet the whip only to grind against empty air.  For all the assurance of those words, his voice was still uncertain, still unsure. "Oh, yes," affirmed Harry.  The whip skittered its way lower, down the inside of one trembling thigh and back up the other.  Across his friend's flat stomach to finally entwine itself around the other nipple.  "I want you."  He twitched the whip caressingly, gently, carefully.  "The question is, do you want me?" Tom searched Harry's face, seeking the answers to questions he had never thought to ask before.  Before this night, he hadn't known how very much he wanted this, but he knew it now.  Knew it with every fiber of his being, with every thundering beat of his heart, with everything he was or ever had been. "Oh, yes, Harry. Please," Tom's voice trembled.  "I'm all yours. Take me." Harry looked down at Tom, laying there on the furs, hair shimmering in the firelight and it was all he could do not to groan.  All his, Tom had said, for the taking.  He let the whip trail along Tom's stomach, and saw him shudder at the touch of the cool metal against his hot, flushed skin.  Gods, the man was glowing and his innocent reactions to what Harry was doing were sending the Ensign's heartrate through the ceiling. "Have you ever done this before?" Harry asked softly, nearly moaning when Tom shook his head 'no'. "Never," Tom whispered, looking away in embarrassment, feeling his face flame.  "Not with a man, ever." Harry thought, cringing inwardly at what a man like Chakotay could have done to an innocent like Tom.  He would've destroyed the man who lay quietly at his feet. "Thank you," Harry whispered, seeing Tom's eyes lock onto his again, as he knelt between long legs encased in silk and suede. "For what?" Tom asked, his beautiful face frowning in confusion. "For letting me be the first to touch you," Harry said in a voice that was barely there, as he stroked Tom's thighs, feeling the silk-covered muscles quiver under his hands. "The first to set your body on fire," he continued, caressing Tom's cock through the silk, twining the golden leather lace around his finger slowly until it was completely undone.  The two halves of the blue silk pants separated, leaving Tom fully exposed. "The first to see the passion and desire on your face," Harry went on, one finger tracing Tom's hardness, as the man whimpered, hands clenched into the soft fur beneath him. "The first to feed the hunger I see in your eyes," he whispered, taking Tom's hard shaft in his hand and stroking its velvet length firmly. "*Harry*!" Tom cried out as he bucked up into his friend's touch, feeling an ache inside him that only Harry could soothe, not really knowing what he needed, yet desperately needing it.  He groaned as Harry's hand moved faster, the strokes stronger along his hardness and he became aware of an emptiness within him, that he wanted Harry to fill. He raised his hips up and felt a careful finger exploring the tight entrance to his body.  Stiffening uncontrollably, he still felt bereft when it disappeared. Harry watched Tom thrashing at the touch of his hand, heard the soft sounds of want and desire and it enflamed him. He knew he needed something to ease the way, make Tom's passage into this realm of love as enjoyable and painless as possible.  He didn't want to leave, not even for a second, as he saw the golden, gorgeous body tremble violently.  Smiling softly, he found the answer.  Not only would using Tom's own seed help him make love to the man, but the release would be relaxing as well as serving to take the edge off. "Hang on, my sweet love," Harry murmured.  "You're about to break warp ten for the *second* time." One expert stroke followed another, Harry's sure, steady hand bringing Tom ever closer to that final pinnacle of love's blessed release. "Yes, my love," Harry coaxed encouragingly.  "That's it. Come for me, my beautiful, sweet love."  It was blissful agony and exquisite torture to feel Tom's frantic thrusting into his hand, to hear those delirious, sobbing moans and to be unable to respond.  It was only the thought of other pleasures still to come that kept Harry's mind firmly on his task.  "Oh, my sweet angel, come for me." And Tom did, emptying himself into that strong hand, shaking and sobbing as passion's storm swept over him, carrying him away on a tide of sated near-insensibility. Harry continued to milk Tom's cock, one hand held cupped to capture every drop of the creamy elixir.  When he was satisfied that nothing more could be coaxed from his lover's body, Harry settled at Tom's side and contented himself with watching as the near-senseless man stretched out next to him slowly recovered. Tom's handsome face was flushed from the afterglow of love released and passions spent.  Those half-closed eyes were still dark with barely quenched desire and that mouth . . . moist and slightly parted . . . Harry groaned, wanting nothing more than to crush that delicious mouth against his, to plunder its honeyed depths, to have the wet, soft, heat of Tom's tongue in his mouth merging with his own. But, no.  The night was young yet and there was still so much he wanted to show Tom, so much he wanted to teach his inexperienced friend, now his lover.  To take Tom and walk with him down all the many and varied paths of love and pleasure. Tom languidly raised a hand to Harry's smooth chest and ran his fingertips over the silken skin.  Cautiously meeting Harry's eyes, he reached around his lover and slowly pulled the black leather boots off, the silk covering Harry's long legs allowing them to slide off easily. Harry met his searching gaze with an encouraging smile, emboldening Tom to undo Harry's tight silken pants.  He exhaled a shuddering breath when Tom's hand innocently brushed against his hardness. Tom saw the desire flame in his lover's eyes and touched Harry again with tentative deliberation.  His fingers slid across Harry's abdomen under the waistband of his pants and he moaned softly as Harry shuddered against his touch. Harry sighed in delight as his lover carefully eased the black slacks off his hips and down his legs, before Tom impatiently threw them aside.  He saw Tom flush and swallow heavily when the man realized Harry was also flying solo.  He had been apparently too shy to notice when they were getting dressed.  Harry was tempted to grin at his lover but didn't want to make Tom skittish. Tom watched as Harry lifted his hand, the hand that still cradled the pilot's spilled seed, and poured a portion of it over his thick, blunted cockhead and down the satin-covered steel of his hardness. Tom shivered as Harry took the remainder and drizzled it over Tom's rehardening cock, across Tom's balls and down the cleft of Tom's ass. Harry's semen-slick finger traced the path of the drizzling and Tom closed his eyes, a hungry groan building deep in his chest. Harry's finger quested even lower, finally coming to rest against the small, puckered opening.  He carefully rocked the tip of his finger and Tom tensed, his eyes flying open in surprise. "Relax, love," Harry said, answering that surprise with gentleness and understanding.  "Everything will be all right. Just relax." Harry's finger rocked again, demanding entrance to that narrow passage of forbidden love and hidden delight. Without warning or preamble, he slipped past the ring of muscle and inside. Tom gasped, his hands clutching the furs beneath him in a frantic grip.  "Oh, Harry . . . Please, Harry." A second finger followed the first and Tom's hips tilted in wordless desperation.  "Please, please, Harry . . ." With the addition of a third finger, Tom bit down so hard on his lip he could taste blood. Harry leaned forward to lick the blood away, murmuring soothingly to Tom as his fingers stroked in and out of the man. "The boots?" Tom gasped out. "You're leaving them on," Harry replied softly, lifting Tom's legs and laying them gently over his shoulders. Tom groaned as Harry nipped his thigh, rolling the indigo silk back until the fabric covered the cuffs of his boots.  His needful groan dropped an octave when one of Harry's talented fingers found the small gland inside him. The electric brush of his questing finger brought Tom off the furs, arching his back nearly in two. Harry removed his fingers when Tom landed, kissing the leg, before carefully positioning himself just outside his lover's body. Trembling slightly, Tom looked at Harry through lowered lashes, whispering softly, "Oh, Harry, please."  His voice caught.  "Be gentle with me." Harry smiled tenderly.  "Oh, no, my love.  I love you too much to ever hurt you." Hearing those words, Tom surrendered himself completely to the one man who now commanded not only his body, but his heart and soul as well. As slowly as his flaming passion would allow, Harry gently eased his way inside his lover's virginal body, cautiously, yet boldly, going where no man had gone before. Tom inhaled sharply at the sweet invasion, as the answer to love's secret mysteries unfolded before him. Seeing that beautifully expressive face shift and change with every swell and surge of his lover's cresting passion, Harry thanked the gods once more that it was he, and not Chakotay, who got to awaken this man's deepest, most cherished desires. Despite his almost overwhelming need to find his own fulfillment, Harry was determined to introduce his lover to all the joys that love could bring.  He would take his release after he knew Tom's body as well as he knew his own, freeing and rejoicing in the pleasure and ecstasy that, until now, had been held captive within him. With every gentle thrust into the silken sheath of his lover's pliant body, Harry stoked the slumbering embers into a torrid conflagration of blazing desire. "Oh, Harry, please," Tom whimpered breathlessly.  "Take me higher, Harry.  Please, please, take me higher." "Soon, my sweet," Harry whispered.  "Soon.  But, first, I want to show you how much I love you."  He pressed his lips to Tom's with bruising intensity, with that single kiss he claimed Tom, now and forever, as his own. Love.  Oh, wondered Tom, how could he have been so blind?  How could he have not known that this, *this* was the man he had wanted.  The man he had always wanted.  Not the Commander with his cold and barren love, but Harry.  Harry whose warmth and gentle understanding was showing him the true path to love's fulfillment. "Harry." Tom soft voice captured Harry's attention the way his lover's body had already captured his heart.  He glanced upward, the blue flame of Tom's eyes setting his soul on fire. "My love?" he queried softly. "Oh, Harry," Tom sighed, "I love you." Harry felt his heart sing with happiness at the simple and heartfelt declaration.  "I know," he choked out, leaning down to kiss Tom again. Tom opened his mouth to Harry's gentle exploration and groaned aloud when Harry's warm hand closed around his throbbing erection. Harry felt Tom clench around him when he slid his thumb over the head of his silken shaft and his groan answered Tom's in kind. Tom's eyes lit up at Harry's reaction and he did it again, deliberately, making Harry moan again. Harry's hand sped up, his strokes becoming uneven as passion's brink approached and a fleeting smile crossed his tight features as Tom bucked beneath him, caught up in the ever-rising tide of his own desire. Stars exploded behind Tom's eyes, becoming novas. Universes formed and reformed in galactic proportion.  The white-hot light inside his mind burst into shimmering particles and the glowing streamers wrapped around his soul and filled his heart with love as his eyes met Harry's searing gaze. The intense tightening of Tom's muscles around Harry's cock added more fuel to the unquenchable blaze burning within him and swept him along on the raging backdraft of fire's storm. The tidal wave of passion's completion crashed over Tom, carrying him upward into Harry's hand as his climax flooded through him, bringing him screaming into orgasm. "Oh, *Gods*, Harry, I love you!" Tom cried out as his eyes locked onto Harry's. Tom's surrender to ecstasy pulled Harry's mind-blowing release from him, the explosion within him shattering him into tiny fragments as he cried out, "Oh, Tom, I love you, too!" before he collapsed on top of his lover. Tom's legs fell to the side and his arms came around his love, holding him close as the aftershocks of his climax shook him to the very depths of his being. Harry lay quietly in the blissful haven of his lover's embrace, trying to get his heartrate to return to normal.  Never had he known such passion as what had been unleashed in the man beneath him. He pulled carefully out of Tom, and slid to the side, coming to rest next to his lover, before taking the shaking man into his soothing embrace. "Are you all right?" he asked, smiling in relief when Tom's eyes opened and met his own. "Glorious," Tom replied quietly, snuggling into Harry and throwing one of the furs over them. "And for me also, my love," Harry answered, kissing Tom softly, just a faint ember remaining to remind them both of their earlier fiery passion, banked yet needing just a touch to rekindle. They fell asleep, nestled together in blissful contentment under the furs, warmed by both the glowing fire and their new found love. END