THE GORDIAN KNOT - Part One

Title graphic by Cassatt

Disclaimer: Paramount owns them, but Greg's characterization is owned by Cassatt and Shayenne.

Rated NC-17

"Captain, have you ever been in love? Did your skin ever flush when you were near another person? Did your stomach ever feel like someone hollowed it out with a knife when you were apart? Did your throat ever swell when you realized it was over?"

Harry's words dropped like stones into the silent ready room. Captain Janeway was regarding him steadily, and abruptly his fierceness subsided. Of course, she would have been in love; she had a fiancé in the Alpha Quadrant. She must know the gut-wrenching tug of separation only too well. Must know what it was like to know you would never see a loved one again. How was she able to put that pain aside and continue on?

The fist around his heart tightened more. Surely, surely it was different for him and Tal? They loved, and they had lost. Their romance had been destined to fail before he had even acknowledged its existence, yet still, he had gone ahead and chanced his heart.

"That's not the point, Ensign. The point is you disobeyed a direct order - an order not to return to the planet and its people. Your actions could have endangered the ship." Janeway's voice softened slightly. "Harry, I do understand. But you can't let your emotions override your duty to this crew."

Harry gathered his control around him. "I'm sorry, Captain," he said formally. "I accept responsibility for my actions. It will not happen again." It could not happen again, because Tal was gone, left behind, and once more his chance at love had slipped through his fingers like sand.

The captain's gaze seemed sad, as if memories of her own were forcing their way to the surface. But her voice was steady, as she said softly, "I hope for your sake, Harry, that it does happen again. Love is a gift, something to be treasured. You can't rationalize it, or explain it away." She paused, and then the captain's tone was back. "I accept your word that you won't let your personal life interfere with your duty again. You are dismissed, Ensign."

"Thank you, Captain." His shaky legs somehow propelled him through the doors, back on to the bridge. He caught Tom's inquiring look, but kept his eyes forward. He wasn't sure he could put his thoughts into words right now, nor was he sure he even wanted to. How could he explain the entwined feelings of shame, loss, and misery?

Shame. He was no longer the perfect ensign - he had failed Captain Janeway. Loss - Tal was gone, and his chance of happiness and love were evaporating with every light year that separated them. And misery. Hell, what did he have to be happy about right now?

Harry finished his shift in silence, avoiding Tom's eyebrow, raised in question, answering Chakotay quietly and politely, and not even responding to the jovial air on the bridge when Neelix entered with a tray of sweetmeats. He was grateful the captain remained in her ready room for the rest of the shift; her censure would have been hard to take.

When Tuvok inquired if he was unwell, he shook his head mutely. No, he would finish his shift. Then, Harry wanted nothing more than to return to his quarters and wallow in the memories of his failed love life.

~ *~ *~ *~

A few months later, Kathryn Janeway drummed her fingers on the ready room desk. They had a problem. B'Elanna was adamant that they needed gallicite - a rare and valuable ore that they could use to rebuild their warp coils. Janeway trusted B'Elanna's judgement implicitly; if she needed gallicite, then gallicite they must have. And so here they were, orbiting Valmora, a peaceful and beautiful planet with a peaceful and beautiful -- and predominantly female -- population.

And this was the crux of the matter. Neelix had told her what to expect.

"The Valmorans are approximately eighty percent female," he had explained earnestly at the staff meeting. "The females are the gender who determine the sex of the fertilized embryos, and their female DNA is inherently more stable. Their planet is still suffering from massive environmental damage, caused by an explosion in a power plant nearly two hundred years ago, so their species' natural selection is kicking in and the majority of live children born are female. In many unbalanced societies, polygamy is the answer, but Valmoran beliefs won't allow that. They mate for life."

"So with a shortage of males, their birthrate must be declining sharply," said Chakotay.

"Exactly," said Neelix cheerfully. "Therefore, they actively try to entice males with compatible DNA to settle on Valmora and mate with one of their women."

"How does this affect us?" Torres scowled under lowered brows.

"They will only trade with compatible males. And they make every attempt to seduce them into remaining. They don't force anyone; but well... let's just say that a very high number of males choose to stay behind."

"We can't afford to lose crew," Janeway mused. "But I don't see that it's much of a problem. We can simply select male members of the crew who are less likely to be swayed, for whatever reason."

"Oh no, Captain." Neelix's vibrant demeanor was beginning to grate on Janeway. "The Valmorans will scan the ship, and choose the trading party themselves. That way they ensure they have the best choice of potential mates."

Which was exactly what had happened. Janeway thumbed the PADD off, and called Chakotay into the ready room. She waited until he was settled with a cup of tea, before she passed him the PADD. "The list of candidates for Valmora."

He was openly smiling when he passed it back. "I don't think there'll be much of a problem with their selections," he said.

"Not with most of them," she agreed. Thumbing the PADD on, she read the list aloud.

"Joe Carey -- married, and wants to stay that way. Yourself. Tom Paris," She was grinning openly as she read. "The Valmorans obviously are unable to ascertain sexual preferences, Commander, or they would realize that the two of you simply aren't interested in women, period!"

Chakotay grinned back. "No need to tell them though, and it might be entertaining to let them try."

Janeway punched his arm affectionately. "Maybe I should come and watch. I could masquerade as a man... I'm sure they wouldn't notice."

Chakotay studied her figure openly. "Kathryn, there are two prominent reasons right in front of me which are a dead give away."

"It would be fun though," her sigh was slightly wistful; there was never enough 'fun' in a captain's life. She picked up the PADD again. "So you, Tom, and Joe should be immune to their charms...."

"Greg Ayala too," Chakotay added, watching as her gaze turned speculative.

"Ayala? I never realized...."

Chakotay smiled. "Does that knock him off your list, Kathryn?"

"I don't have a list, as you well know." No list. No possibilities. Oh, there would be, if she hadn't been captain, and Greg Ayala's swarthy good looks might well have appealed to her if that was the case.

She picked up the PADD and continued reading. "Mortimer Harren - no problem there, he doesn't acknowledge that there's life outside his theories. The Valmorans could probably parade past him naked, and I doubt he'd notice."

Chakotay nodded in agreement.

"It's the last two people on the list that might be a problem. Crewman D'Tang, and Harry Kim. Both of them are heterosexual -- at least, I don't know to the contrary..." She looked at Chakotay inquiringly, who nodded noncommittally.

"D'Tang plays the field heavily," he said. "He's worked his way through a fair proportion of the interested females on board. He would surely be very tempted, but I don't think he's ready to settle down. The Valmorans are searching for lifetime mates, not casual sexual partners. That along might be enough to calm D'Tang. But Harry..."

"Harry is our biggest concern," Janeway agreed. "He's looking for love. It wasn't so long ago I had to discipline him over Varro. I don't want to stand in anyone's way of finding happiness out here, but our Operations Officer would be a big loss if he chose to remain behind." She sighed softly. "I feel like I'm playing god, but if there is any way to lessen the chances of him choosing to stay, then I'm inclined to take it."

Chakotay sipped his tea in silence for a moment. "I agree," he said. "I don't think you're taking too hard a line, Kathryn, you're simply looking out for him, preventing his hormones pushing him into a decision he might regret later. Harry wants -- needs -- to get home, maybe more than any of us. Others of us are building a life for ourselves out here; we're finding partners, a sense of community. Harry's been singularly unlucky in love, so he doesn't have that tie to the ship. How about we get Greg to keep close to him; try and keep him out of trouble?"

"Greg?"

"He's an alert security officer, adept at reading people. He and Harry are friends."

Janeway nodded. "We can't, in good conscience, do more than that. But it might be enough. I hope so."

~ *~ *~ *~

"I've already given Tuvok the order, Greg," Chakotay said mildly. "Your assignment has been clearly defined. The captain put in the request herself."

Greg wanted to glare. He wanted to stomp his foot and glare. He wanted to take an extended leave from duty. And glare.

"You're the best man for the job." Chakotay leaned on the brig security console. "Tom and I will be there, too, if that helps."

"Oh, yeah, that helps tremendously, Commander. Thank you," he replied, his voice dripping with as much sarcasm as he could inject without being outright insubordinate. "I'm sure this will be a delightful experience."

"Well, I never said it would be delightful. How about interesting?"

Greg let the glare out. Set it for stun. His commanding officer, one time captain, and supposed best friend ignored it. "Yes. Fascinating, no doubt."

Chakotay straightened, and smiled. "Good. We leave for the planet's surface at 0700 hours in the morning. Phasers only." He patted Greg's shoulder, leaving his hand there and giving a squeeze. "And Greg -- be careful. Don't let any of the women get too close. Wouldn't want you to consider playing for the other team. Never know -- you might be tempted."

"You are getting too much of a kick out of this, Chakotay."

The other man squeezed once more, then let go. "And you, my friend, are just too easy a target. Lighten up. Keep an eye on Harry. And all will be fine, Okay?"

"Okay," he said with fake enthusiasm.

Chakotay grinned, and left.

"Fuck," he muttered. "And all will be fine," he mimicked. "Yeah, all will be just peachy." Watch Harry making goo-goo eyes at some new alien woman, or two, or three even. What could be better? Standing in an empty brig and staring at the walls for one. Sitting next to Chell in the mess hall for another. Reciting security regulations for Tuvok might be the third. He sighed loudly, and swore.

~ *~ *~ *~

Harry knew that given a choice, the captain wouldn't have picked him for this mission. He'd seen her watching him surreptitiously when she named the away team, checking, no doubt, for any reaction. He'd stood straight, carefully displaying no emotion, anything to indicate he was glad or sorry to have been chosen. It was a chance for him to prove himself. Prove to the captain that he wasn't some hormone-crazed juvenile. He could control himself. He would control himself.

He knew too that he and D'Tang were the weakest links. The captain had been brutally honest in the briefing, meeting everyone's eyes in turn, saying that she didn't presume to intrude upon anyone's private life, but that these trade negotiations were of vital importance. Gallicite they must have, and soon. She had told them what to expect, and added that she hoped that the away team would behave with the control of seasoned Starfleet officers. Implicit in that statement was the understanding that none of them would allow the Valmorans to get too close.

Greg jumped into the same turbolift as they left the briefing. "So we got the official Starfleet "no sex on duty" line," he grinned. "I'll try and behave."

"Not a problem for you," Harry observed glumly. "Or for most of the away team. Hell, if the Valmorans cop onto the fact that most of you guys simply aren't interested, then it'll be even harder for D'Tang, Joe, and me. Maybe even Mort will remember what that thing in his pants is for."

Greg studied him. "You'll be fine, Harry," he said. "And don't worry. Chak, Tom, and I will play our part. The Valmorans will be as focussed on us as the rest of you."

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm not gonna let the captain down again. I'll be fine."

~*~

Harry's determination lasted precisely until the Valmorans greeted the away team, and he met Meera, who was to be his companion for the duration of the mission. It wasn't just that she was beautiful -- and she was -- it was her mischievous smile that captivated him. It hinted of warmth and laughter, intelligence and grace blended together. He swallowed hard. She was, quite simply, exactly his sort of woman. There was even a hint of Libby in her curling dark hair and snub nose.

His peripheral vision caught the rest of the team being greeted by their companions. They were behaving impeccably; even Mort was smiling at the Valmoran who had taken his arm and was urging him forward. Harry's feet were suddenly leaden, the mission looming in front of him as the worst kind of endurance test. Meera had caught his hand and was encouraging him to follow the others. Even the touch of her hand entwined around his fingers stirred bedroom memories.

Greg, arm in arm with a blonde woman, hung back to walk alongside him. "Okay there, Har?" he asked quietly. "Suddenly you looked rather shell-shocked."

Harry summoned what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Yeah." Meera's hand in his weakened his resolve with every step they took.

~ *~ *~ *~

Greg's heart was beating rapidly. He could see Harry out of the corner of his eye as they walked, but he didn't need to look too closely to catch the undercurrent in the other man's face. Shit, he swore to himself, here we go.

He hoped that he'd sounded normal, and concerned, and friendly. And, well, normal. Just one of the guys. A buddy. A pal. Some pal he was. Pal or guard? Buddy or spy? He was someone who was supposed to keep Harry from making yet another huge mistake, and all he could think about was that woman -- Meera. Hanging on to Harry's hand like it was her life's blood.

Not that he had anything against her, personally , of course. He liked women. Some of his best friends were women. They could be very nice, and caring, and smart, and... sneaky. He sighed.

"Gregory?" Next to him, Xerces pulled gently on his arm. "Are you in need of something?"

"No, thank you," he answered with as much sincerity as he could muster.

"Just remember you can ask me for anything."

The seductive tone of her voice was not lost on him. He stifled another sigh, and instead plastered a smile on his face. "I'm sure you'll be happy to provide it, too."

She smiled broadly. "Oh, yes. I will."

He knew she wasn't kidding.

~*~

They arrived at their destination -- an open air atrium in the center of the building, which did not have the appearance of a place for official functions. Unless the official functions on Valmora entailed lounging on low couches, amidst large plants and lots of draped fabric on the walls. There was only one passageway that opened to the space. Greg's Security training kicked in, which he felt was probably a good thing. He was here to see that Harry stayed out of trouble, and Greg thought he could detect doors hidden behind some of the swaths of shimmering blue and gold curtains.

The women were getting the other men from Voyager settled on the couches, so Greg assumed this was where the negotiations were to take place. He, however, needed to do some reconnaissance work.

"Why don't you show me around," he said to Xerces. "I'm curious about those doors." He softened his plastered smile, adding a touch of warmth to it. "Are those private rooms?"

"They are," she replied serenely, leading him to one of the walls.

She pulled back the curtain and took a key out of a previously hidden pocket. She unlocked the door and swept it open, meeting his eyes as she turned to pull him in. Greg's stomach plummeted when he saw how it was furnished.

Another low couch, but this one was as wide as the widest beds on the ship. Lots of pillows. Mirrored walls around it. Low lighting. A room for seduction.

"Do you like?" Xerces murmured in his ear.

He jumped back, not realizing she'd been standing right next to him. "It's very nice," he said, clearing his voice after hearing the slight squeak that slipped out at the end. "May I see the other ones?"

"Oh?"

"Yes -- I like picking and choosing," he lied, smoothly this time. He smiled.

"I like picking and choosing, too," she replied, giving him a wink.

His smile tightened again, but he persevered. He really only wanted to know if her key worked all of the doors, just in case. His Tactical training was kicking in, too.

~ *~ *~ *~

Meera's fingers ran lightly over the soft inner skin of his wrist. Harry swallowed hard, as sensations he hadn't felt in a long while licked through him, tendrils of fire and sensation, shooting inexorably down to this groin.

"No," he muttered to himself. "No. I will not let the team down." His gaze roamed the room, seeking a distraction from those tantalizing fingers. Opposite him, Mortimer Harren sat stiffly, straight-backed, seemingly oblivious to the beautiful woman caressing his inner thigh. His mouth moved constantly, and although Harry couldn't hear the words, he knew that Mort would be expounding some esoteric point of scientific theory.

Next to Mort lounged Chakotay, seemingly at ease, chatting with the dark woman who had claimed him. Harry envied the commander's apparent relaxation. As he watched, Chakotay smiled at the woman, and picked up the hand that curled over his leg, kissing her fingers gently, then returning the hand to its owner. A effortless, yet calculated move that stopped the fondling without causing any offence. Indeed, the woman smiled, and curved a hand over the commander's chin, drawing him toward her, kissing him lightly.

Harry wondered what Tom was making of this, yet when he located Tom, he found the pilot laughing and joking with his lady, showing her how to juggle some of the brilliant red fruit that was provided for refreshment.

Emulating Chakotay, Harry took Meera's hand in his own, kissing her fingers briefly, then returning her hand to her lap. But Meera simply smiled at him, and dropped her fingers down to brush his thigh, his inner thigh, dangerously close to his twitching cock.

God. Harry scanned the room again, desperate for distraction. At the far end, he could see Greg, arm-in-arm with his lady. They were standing in front of one of the draped curtains that decorated the hall. As he watched, the woman took Greg's arm, drawing him closer to her, and they parted the curtains, and disappeared through a previously hidden door.

Harry's mouth was dry, and his stomach churned queasily. Greg wasn't interested in that woman, hell, in any woman. Greg liked men, made no secret of the fact. Yet, that room looked like the sort of place where... He turned to Meera. "What's behind those doors?" he asked.

She smiled, a coy invitation. "I can show you," she said softly. "It's where we go when we want to know each other better. Without interruptions." Her finger traced widening circles on his inner thigh.

So, why was Greg going in there? The sinking feeling in his stomach surprised him, and the edge of his arousal blurred, just a little. Surely, Greg wouldn't be the one to compromise the negotiations? Harry's eyes remained fixed on the door. "Thank you," he replied to Meera. "But I'm enjoying the hospitality here at the moment."

She leaned closer to him, and her breath brushed his ear. "Maybe later, then?"

"Later," he said, and hoped the words didn't sound like a promise.

It was suddenly very important that Greg return to the atrium. If he comes out in under a minute, Harry thought, it will be all right. He didn't let himself think what it would mean if Greg stayed there. His quiet count reached forty-eight before the door opened, and Greg stepped out. Harry's breath released in a loud exhale. The overwhelming relief he felt caught him unawares, sudden in its intensity. But Greg was his friend, and he was simply looking out for a friend.

Yes. That was it. The churning in his stomach subsided. He was simply looking out for a friend.

~ *~ *~ *~

Greg's eyes were fastened firmly on the object of his mission as he waited for Xerces to return with the key. He'd caught Harry's glance as he'd exited the den of iniquity, just before the other man had turned his full attention back to Meera. His heart had given a small lurch at the fleeting eye contact, a reaction which, in retrospect, was somewhat confusing. Harry was a friend. Harry'd seen him come through the doorway. Their eyes had met, like a million times before. What was so confusing?

Greg supposed his absence might have been noticed by Harry, but that was a bit hard to believe, watching Meera plaster herself to his side. Watching her hand rove up and over his leg. Greg needed to stop looking, but he was riveted by the sight of those fingers doing what his wanted to do. Feel the muscles of Harry's thigh, the tightness of his hip, the flat of his belly, the sparse hairs that led down...

"Oh dear," Xerces lilting voice interrupted Greg's self-induced torture. "I am not allowed to have the master key. It is not proper etiquette for this gathering. I'm sorry, but it appears that the room behind us will be the only one you'll see."

Not at all reluctantly, he turned to her. "I'm sure that'll be just fine."

She cocked her head and peered into his eyes. "You seem to be quite taken with those two," she said. "I think I should tell you that you're wishing for something that just won't happen."

Again, his heart lurched, this time harshly. He blinked. "What?" he asked, knowing full well she couldn't possibly be aware of what he'd been thinking. Could she? Was this race telepathic?

"Meera likes her males to be a little bit different than the usual. Harry doesn't look like the rest of you, does he? Meera likes that variation. She'd like the shape of his eyes." Xerces smiled sweetly. "You know, his eyes?"

Greg didn't know what to say. "Yes, Harry's eyes," he replied dumbly.

"And come to think of it," she continued, "they are somewhat fetching. Harry is a very good looking human male."

He still didn't know how to respond. Harry was the most adorable man Greg had ever seen. His lips, for example, just begged to be taken. The shape of his back, the curve of his ass. But Xerces was saying something.

"... body. Just delicious."

"What?"

"I was saying, Gregory, that Harry's body is just delicious." She peered at him again. "I think, actually, that I might go sit with Harry and Meera. We can, you know, pair up. Sometimes males prefer to have two of us pay attention to them. And paying attention to Harry would be no hardship." She smiled, but Greg didn't think it was so sweet this time. "No hardship at all."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, making a move to leave. His stomach was churning at the image of two women fawning all over Harry. No hetero man would be able to resist that, though it made his own skin crawl. He had a moment's wondering if she was actually telling him the truth, if the Valmoran woman would double up, if they'd do it just for the seduction, if she'd do it just to ensnare Harry. He couldn't risk it. He grabbed her arm before she got too far. She turned her head.

"Yes?" she asked. "Did you want something?"

He told himself he was doing this for Harry, for the mission, for Voyager. He gritted his teeth. "Please don't join them. Stay." He was certain the smile on his face was really just a curl of his lip, but Xerces seemed to buy it.

"You want me to stay with you?" She smoothly removed his hand from her arm.

"Yes," he answered, and thought he might hurl.

"Good," she replied, and sidled back, holding on to him with both hands, practically purring with satisfaction.

He swore he would get Chakotay for this. If he survived, he would do something. Sometime in the future, when his best friend was unsuspecting. He'd put chile oil in the man's lube. Tom was doing nothing to help this situation, either. So if he suffered for the sabotage, well, so be it. Greg actually felt a bit better, contemplating the various forms of revenge he had at his disposal. He smiled genuinely, for the first time, and didn't even mind that Xerces was on the receiving end of his renewed bonhomie. Didn't mind it in the least.

~ *~ *~ *~

Chakotay caught up with Harry as they moved to sit at a long polished banquet table for the evening meal. "Everything all right, Ensign?"

Summoning a smile he didn't feel, Harry nodded. "Yes, thanks, Commander. Any idea when they'll start the negotiations proper?"

Chakotay grimaced slightly, absently patting the slender, dark hand that curled around his arm. "Pranee tells me tomorrow. Today, and tonight, is a chance for us to get to know our hosts." His sharp eyes probed Harry's face for an instant. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I find I'm too absorbed to be tired. I doubt I'll sleep much tonight. Ayala, Carey, Paris, and I have a few things to discuss. Join us, if you like."

Harry nodded, and again, the sweet piercing feeling of relief shot through him. His friends were buddying up for the night, a defence against what he guessed would be an increase in the seductive pressures of the Valmorans. So, Greg wasn't planning a quiet evening with his host.

"I'll be there, Commander," he said formally. "Should I pass on the message to D'Tang and Harren?"

Chakotay grinned. "I don't think their input is necessary for this. We'll let them enjoy the company of our hosts a little longer."

~ *~ *~ *~

"Lieutenant," Tom said to Greg, stopping his progress toward the evening meal.

"Paris," Greg responded, not wanting to give Tom the slightest show of friendliness at that moment.

Tom gave him a good-natured glare. "The meeting for later has been arranged. Carey and Kim will be joining us."

He tried to keep his reaction to the minimum, seeing the lines of mirth creasing Tom's face. "Very well."

"Yes, I believe that Ensign Kim has a number of things he wishes to discuss. Decisions he needs to make."

"Oh?" he answered quickly. Then he realized that Tom was lying, trying to get a rise out of him. He'd succeeded. Greg turned to Xerces. "Would you excuse us men for a moment?" She nodded, and he extracted his arm from her tight grip.

After Tom made excuses to his host, the two of them walked a few meters away, and lowered their voices.

"What's up?" Tom asked, grinning.

"Very funny. Listen -- unless you're going to help out here, and keep your friend from making a total ass of himself, just leave me alone." He folded his arms.

"Greg, Greg, Greg. You have got to lighten up, man."

"Lighten up? Is that all you and your boyfriend can say? I have a job to do, and I intend to do it. I don't need you to play head games with me."

Tom studied him for a long minute. Then he shrugged. "Okay, I apologize. No more head games. But look -- Harry's gonna do whatever he's gonna do, and there's really not a damned thing any of us can do to stop him. " He paused, and grinned again. "Unless you take hold of the man and turn him into a pile of mush with a very long, penetrating kiss."

Greg blushed. "Oh yeah, he'd like that for sure," he muttered.

"Hey, you never know until you try."

But Greg did know, and he and Tom had had this conversation too many times to count. Harry's best friend did nothing but support him one hundred percent. And that was a large part of the problem, to Greg's way of thinking.

~ *~ *~ *~

The others looked up in astonishment when Harry burst into the room, slamming the door behind him, and flattening himself against it, panting hard.

Tom grinned. "Where's the fire, Harry?

Feigning a casualness he didn't feel, and that he suspected wasn't fooling anyone for a minute, Harry sauntered over to the group clustered around the small table. Pulling up a chair, he sat down between Greg and Chakotay. Taking slow, deep breaths, he tried to calm his racing heart, and erase the touch of Meera's fingers on his face, right before she kissed him, right before she...

"No fire," he said. "Is that five card stud?"

His attempt to change the subject went unnoticed.

"You look a bit warm, Ensign." Joe tried unsuccessfully to smother a smile. "Want me to see if I can turn the heat down a bit?"

Harry's blush deepened; he could feel the flush of embarrassment running down his chest. "Drop it, Joe, please," he pleaded. "It's hard enough as it is."

As the other men sniggered, he realized his double entendre. Next to him, Greg shifted in his chair and shot a piercing glance at his groin. No doubt checking the accuracy of the statement. Oh God. Suddenly, the coil of arousal suffused his entire body. It was bad enough when Meera was teasing him; then his desire was tempered by his burning need not to let the team down. Now, he was among friends. Now, he had no such worries. And now, the heat in Greg's gaze caressed him, the look in his eyes unexpected. If Harry didn't know better, he'd think Greg was checking him out...

He shifted in his chair, the soft material of his pants suddenly an unbearable friction against his skin. Greg's gaze seemed to burn right through the fabric; he could almost feel it warming his skin. Shifting again, he tried to catch Greg's eye as the other man's gaze finally lifted.

But Greg's eyes slid away from his, and he picked up his cards. "Whose deal?" he asked. "Harry, you in?"

"Yeah. I'm in." Fancifully, he wondered what he was getting into. To his charged mind, Greg's words had a meaning deeper than merely the poker game. To distract himself, he watched Joe deal the cards, then picked his hand up, shuffling them around. Two tens, a pair of eights, a queen... a good hand. Next to him, Greg's long supple fingers were rearranging his cards. Long, bronze fingers, so different from Meera's manicured white ones.

An image flashed into his charged mind; Greg's fingers, moving slowly down his chest, feathering through the sparse hair on his belly... He gasped, and his jumping mind skittered away from the thought. Deliberately he superimposed the image of Meera's fingers. That was bad enough, but he only had to resist Meera for another day or two.

He watched Chakotay start the bidding, and forced his mind back to the game, but his scattered thoughts refused to focus, and he bungled badly, folding without realizing it.

Tom won the hand, shooting a curious glance his way. "C'mon, Harry. You should have won that hand."

"Yeah, I know. Guess I'm a bit distracted." He watched as Tom leaned across to Chakotay, whispering something in his ear. Their closeness was palpable, a tangible, living current that ran between the two men. A connection, deep and enduring. Tom's hand was on Chak's stomach, rubbing lightly as he whispered. What would it be like, Harry wondered, feeling flat male planes, rather then yielding feminine curves? What would it be like to kiss a man?

His hand shook slightly, and he could hardly pick up the cards that Tom dealt. "Where's D'Tang and Mort?" He didn't really care; he figured D'Tang was probably enmeshed in seduction, and Mort was probably alone in his room, pouring over a PADD of calculations.

"D'Tang called me a little while ago." Chakotay held up a finger for a new card. "He's walking in the gardens with Alena."

Greg stiffened. "Is that wise?" he asked. "D'Tang may be susceptible."

Chakotay placed his cards face down on the table and folded his arms. "No, he'll be fine. We need to give the Valmorans some bait; they might not be open to trading if they think they have no chance of finding any potential mates. And D'Tang is more than happy to oblige. And," he grinned down at his cards, although whether in recognition of his good hand, or amusement at what he was about to say, Harry didn't know. "He dragged Mort along with him on a double date."

"Maybe Mort'll fall in love and stay," mused Tom. He shot Harry a wicked sideways glance. "Or maybe Harry here will."

Harry managed a weak smile. He must be overly sensitive if he heard censure in Tom's voice. Tom was his friend, his best friend. And Greg was shooting Tom a glance that clearly said, "shut up, or I'll do damage to you". Harry felt he was floundering around in a fog of incomprehension. His own supercharged feelings, and Tom and Greg's odd reactions had him confused. With a sigh, he picked up his cards again and tried to concentrate.

~ *~ *~ *~

Greg wandered back into the atrium, needing some peace and quiet to sort out his thoughts. The sky was filled with Delta Quadrant stars, and a sliver of moon. Greg sat on one of the couches. The larger plants of the atrium were covered with tiny lights, and he was grateful for their muted glow. The semblance of privacy. He clasped his hands and focused on them, hanging between his knees. He breathed deeply, but the churning of his stomach did not subside.

He could not believe what he'd done. He honestly could not believe he'd been quite that stupid. To stare at Harry's bulging crotch like that? Like a starving man given a crumb of bread to whet his appetite? It was nauseating really, he thought. This lusting after Harry was reaching the point of being completely ridiculous. And he was reaching the point of looking like a total fool. Who was making an ass of himself now?

Harry, at least, had tried to find some happiness. Sure, he'd gotten into trouble for it, but he'd had some moments of supreme pleasure, which was much more than Greg could say for his life of the last few years. Greg had had opportunities, but he just hadn't wanted to take them. Empty sex was not what he'd ever desired. He'd used it -- what man hadn't? But it wasn't what he'd wanted, or needed.

He leaned back and rested his head, looking up at the sky. He was glad he couldn't see the ship from where he sat. He didn't need to be reminded of the box they all lived in.

"Greg, old man," he murmured, "it's time to let it go." He knew that making a concerted effort to get over his feelings for Harry was the right thing. The sane thing. The only honorable thing, for both of them. He was tired of looking the fool, and loathe to make the object of his affection uncomfortable. The former object of his affection, he corrected himself. From now on, it would be different. He'd stop his feelings -- he'd ask Tuvok for help if necessary -- but he would stop them.

He sighed and raised his head. Time to get back to work. He, actually, had no idea where Harry was at that moment. The man had left the poker game when Chakotay and Tom had started to seriously lose concentration on the cards. Harry's leaving had been close to abrupt, and he'd looked fairly flustered. After some minutes had passed, during which Greg was deeply enmeshed in his own self-flagellation, his commanding officer had pointedly directed him to follow Harry. Greg had done so, but reluctantly, and had soon given up the hunt. He just didn't have the heart to find Harry in Meera's arms.

Now, however, Greg's life was back in its proper order. He had a job to do. He slapped his thighs and inhaled deeply.

"Searching the stars?" Xerces said into his ear.

He coughed, startled into a near choke as he exhaled. Good grief, that woman could slink up from nowhere. He was about to answer, when narrow hands began to glide down his chest, and stray over the most sensitive areas, eliciting an uncontrollable body reaction. He took another deep breath and made a move to rise. Xerces, however, was quicker, and before he could let the air out of his lungs she was over the back of the couch and straddling his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling serenely.

He took hold of her biceps and began to pull her arms off of him, but again, she was on a different time plane than he. She dipped her head and kissed him, moving her lips seductively over his. He was momentarily too startled to do anything, and when his brain finally kicked in, she was already trying to breach the barrier of his mouth with her tongue. A gag reflex followed his brain jump-starting and he renewed his pull on her arms.

By now she was writhing on his lap, and every time he tried to get his mouth out from under the onslaught, her lips followed, getting more and more insistent. He finally understood that she thought he was just wanting to increase the intensity of kiss and was about to go limp as his next plan of withdrawal, when the loud noise of a pot breaking stopped the kiss altogether.

Xerces spun her head around, and Greg's eyes followed. There was Harry, and Greg's stomach flip-flopped.

"Excuse me," Harry said quickly, picking up pieces of pot and hurriedly scooping dirt together.

"It's all right, Harry," Xerces replied in a silky voice, "leave it. One of the assisters will take care of it in the morning."

Harry stood, but wouldn't meet Greg's glance. He mumbled some further apologies and turned, leaving almost as quickly as he had the poker game. Greg watched him go, resolve tightening his grip on Xerces arms.

"Xerces," Greg said, moving swiftly out from under her and finally getting himself off of the couch. She was right behind him and slid her arms around his waist.

"What, Gregory? Don't you desire me?"

Shit, he swore silently. The question he did not want to answer.

She continued, "You certainly don't react the way your species normally does." She moved one hand to the front and blatantly felt his crotch. He tried not to shudder. "Why aren't you getting prepared for copulation? You are as soft as a tronolindor's head."

He so did not want to know what that was, or why its head would be as soft as his flaccid penis. His own head was struggling to find a respectable response, one that would not do too much damage to the negotiations. He lit on the time honored one.

"Xerces," he said smoothly, "It's late, and there has been just too much excitement for me today. Why don't we retire, separately, and speak in the morning?" He removed her hands and stepped back, holding on to them this time, giving her his most sincere face.

She looked at him intently. Then she smiled. "Very well. Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," he agreed. He kissed one of her hands, and left before she could do anything more to him. Walking down the passageway, he renewed his vow. He would find Harry, though it was clear he wasn't in Meera's clutches, or hadn't been. In Meera's room, he corrected himself.

Then he made a second vow. Once he got back on the ship, he'd ask Gerron out. Gerron had made no secret of his interest, and Greg decided that it was time for him to find a good man to be with. No more self-enforced celibacy. He wanted a man in his bed. Gerron it would be.

~ *~ *~ *~

Harry stalked along the corridors, fists jammed deep in the pockets of his uniform. The embarrassment he'd felt when he stumbled upon Greg and Xerces was fading, replaced by anger. Making out. Greg couldn't be making out with a woman? And damn him, what a time for him to pick to experiment. There were nearly seventy available female crew on Voyager, most of whom would love to initiate Greg into the joys of heterosexual sex. Why the hell couldn't he wait until he was back on board? Why was he playing around now, when the trade negotiations were so important? And, a small voice whispered, how could he get lucky so easily? It made a mockery of Harry's own search for love.

Hah. He should find Meera, take what she offered so readily. He should kiss her with passion rather than evasion, let those slim seeking hands under his uniform, let her show him exactly what those private rooms and large couches were for. Harry let his thoughts run along dangerous lines for long moments, as his feet took him nearer to his room. Then reason reasserted itself. The Valmorans weren't looking for casual sexual partners, they were looking for mates. Lifetime mates. And although they appeared to be willing to use sex to get it, Harry suspected that once ensnared in a sexual web, any potential mate would find it hard to extricate himself.

His thoughts careened again, and briefly he found himself contemplating a life here, with Meera. But no. His life was on Voyager, and Earth was his home, not Valmora. Taking deep, steadying breaths, Harry found himself outside his room. Inside, the room was dark and silent. In spite of her whispered teasing, Meera had obviously not waited for him here.

He didn't know whether to be glad or sorry.

Lying on the bed, he tried to calm himself. But the more he thought of Meera, of his own self restraint, the more the anger against Greg grew, spreading through him until he was once again rigid with tension, fists knotted into the soft bedcover. The image of Xerces, thighs parted around Greg's body, swam in front of his eyes. And Greg... he would have sworn the lieutenant's tongue was so far down Xerces' throat that he was tickling her tonsils. That went far beyond the role-playing that the captain expected of all of them.

The image in his head was strangely exciting. Greg's strong thighs parting softer ones, his head thrown back, eyes closed. So that was what the man looked like when he was lost in fleshy pleasures. With a start, Harry realized that his arousal came from the visualization of the other man. But no. That couldn't be. No.

A sharp knock on the door jerked him back to the darkened room. Meera, he thought. Following up on her teasing. He vacillated for a few moments, weighing the need to play along with her lead for the sake of the ship, against his doubts in his ability to remain detached. He couldn't let the captain down again. No, Greg appeared to be doing that...

Before he made a conscious decision, he was across the room, flinging open the door in response to his spurt of anger.

"Meera, I..." And the words died, as instead of Meera's smooth face, he found he was looking into the unsmiling face of Greg Ayala.

"You're the last person I expected to see." Even to his own ears, the words sounded waspish. "Guess you better come in." He watched Greg take in the room, and in the absence of any chair, settle himself lazily on Harry's bed. "What do you want?"

Greg regarded him through half-closed lids. The man radiated a calmness that was at total odds to his demeanor at the poker game.

Harry's stomach lurched; surely Greg couldn't have decided he was going to explore what Xerces was so blatantly offering? Before he could open his mouth to ask the question, Greg beat him to it.

"I was just wondering if you were okay, Har," he said. "You looked a bit strange in the atrium."

The fierce thread of anger tugged at him again. "I thought we were supposed to be playing this light," he said, the words low and intent. "I thought we were not supposed to get involved. You looked pretty involved there, Lieutenant. Fine time you picked to experiment with women." Dimly he realized that Greg looked first confused, and then, simply amused. The amusement he saw fueled his fire further. "I thought you liked men." His words spat into the silence.

Greg raised both eyebrows. "I do," he said simply.

Harry stalked closer, stopping only when his knees hit the side of the bed. "Then why did I find you practically fucking Xerces, with your tongue down her throat?"

The amusement was wiped from Greg's face, leaving it totally expressionless. "Is that what you thought?" he asked slowly. "You thought I was jeopardizing the negotiations and experimenting with my sexuality in one swoop?"

Greg appeared to be picking through his vocabulary, choosing his words with care. Harry's anger dissipated abruptly in the face of Greg's stillness. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "Yeah," he said. "I did. That's what it looked like."

"And is that why you took off so abruptly?" Greg's eyes were shuttered, and although he still lounged on the bed, there was a poised look about him, as if he were waiting for something.

"No. Yes. No."

"Well, which is it, Harry?" The stillness was gone, and now Greg appeared to be vibrating with, anger? tension? Harry didn't know. Greg continued, "And what's it to you, anyway?"

"You're letting the captain down." Harry was tired suddenly. He didn't want to argue with Greg. He wanted to lie down on the bed and drift off to sleep, forget about Meera, what he'd seen.

"I doubt it." Greg's voice was cold, as if he really didn't care what Harry thought. "I don't like women, remember? Not in that way. I was playing along, as the captain told us to do. You have a problem with that?"

The image of Xerces, straddling Greg, devouring him, flashed into Harry's mind. If Greg was playing along, then he sure as hell was convincing. He remembered the strong golden hands on Xerce's arms, remembered Greg's strong thighs pushing softer ones apart. Xerces was an attractive woman, beautiful even, but it was the picture of Greg's face, head thrown back, his lashes dark crescents on his tawny skin, that Harry remembered most.

"I'm going to bed." Harry stood up again, and started to pull off his boots.

Greg hadn't moved. "You want me to go?"

"Unless you're planning on staying here. The damn bed's big enough." Hell, where had that come from? It sounded like a belligerent challenge. Harry paused momentarily, then forced himself to continue stripping. He'd stripped down in front of Greg a hundred times before, in holosimulations of sporting locker rooms, on away missions. This wasn't any different. He looked around for his pyjamas, then spotted them under the pillow. The pillow that Greg's dark head currently rested against. Wearing nothing but his underpants, he approached Greg's side of the bed and wordlessly held out his hand.

Greg continued to lounge there, regarding him with a strange expression.

"Pajamas, please." When the other man didn't move, Harry reached around him, and pulled out the garment. "What's the matter? You frozen there? Or did Chakotay tell you to keep a close eye on me? Make sure I didn't get enmeshed in Meera's clutches?"

At Greg's involuntary twitch, Harry knew he'd inadvertently come close to the explanation for Greg's odd behavior. The anger coiled again. So Chakotay didn't trust him. Hell, who else was in on this? The captain? Was he that much of a security risk that they'd sicced Greg on him?

Ignoring Greg, Harry climbed into the bed, and turned on his side, facing the wall. "You can stay there clutching a phaser all night to protect my honor, Gregory, or you can let yourself out. I'm going to sleep."

Harry resolutely closed his eyes and tried to follow through on that statement. But his charged senses heard Greg's sigh, then the lift of the bed as Greg swung his feet to the floor. The click of the door closing seemed very final.

~ *~ *~ *~

Greg stood with his back to Harry's door, letting the solid weight of it hold him upright. He was positive that if it opened, he'd collapse on the floor; his body felt that weak. Then again, if it opened he'd be so shocked that he'd collapse anyway. He covered his face with his hands, blocking out the lights of the passageway. He took a deep breath, but it wasn't quite deep enough.

"Fuck," he muttered into his palms. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He knew he couldn't keep standing there, so with another attempt at breathing, he rubbed his face, harshly, and pushed away from the door. He'd get to his room, as quickly as he could. He'd leave Harry behind, under the covers, in those pajamas that he'd come so close to tearing off of him.

God, he thought, he couldn't believe it. Once again, he was in turmoil. Harry had not only undressed in front of him, which was bad enough, resolution or no resolution -- but then he'd just walked right to Greg, holding out his fucking hand, like he'd wanted Greg to take it. To pull him down onto the bed. On top of him. Like he'd wanted Greg to take it and never let it go. Greg had almost done exactly that. Almost.

Two words of cold reality, "pajamas please", had only tempered Greg's overwhelming want. Until Harry had gotten into bed, right next to him, near enough that he could smell him. Greg's mind darted far away from even remotely contemplating the meaning behind Harry's "invitation" to join him beneath the blanket. Far, far away. Ran at high speed, truth be told.

"Fuck," he hissed aloud as he walked, getting angrier with each step, remembering the bizarre conversation.

He reached his room and shoved the key into the lock, hard, practically punching the door open with his fist. He slammed it shut. He paced to the bed, then back to the door, then returned to the bed. The room wasn't big enough for him to vent much steam that way. He briefly contemplated a walk around the complex, or even the grounds, but the thought of running into someone made the decision an easy one. With no way to pace effectively, he plopped himself down on the bed with force and stared at the ceiling.

"Fuck!" he spat out, punching the mattress with his fists.

It was bad enough that Harry knew that he was being watched, and guarded even. But for the man to accuse Greg himself of possibly jeopardizing the mission, by doing something as ridiculous as kissing Xerces? It was infuriating. The man was absolutely infuriating. Greg wasn't the one who'd almost gotten the ship into big trouble by sleeping with an alien woman. Greg wasn't the one who'd gotten disciplined by the captain. Greg, the Maquis, was the one whom the captain trusted to keep Mr. Perfect Starfleet from letting his dick rule his head. Again. And speaking of Harry's dick....

Greg growled out loud. He counted cracks on the ceiling.

And what was that shit about him kissing Xerces, anyway? What exactly was Harry's problem with that? If Greg didn't know better, he'd swear the man had been overcome with jealousy from the crap he was spewing about it. Couldn't Harry see that Greg hadn't been kissing the woman? That she'd been plastered all over his mouth, but he was hardly into it? Of course not, he realized with a start -- Harry had never seen him kiss anyone before. Greg didn't exactly like public displays, not that he'd been with any man on the ship for anything more than a couple of "dates." Fuck dates, to be precise.

So, Greg reasoned, if this was the first time Harry had seen him kiss anyone, why did it cause such a stir? Why, precisely, were Harry's knickers in a twist?

Greg groaned. That was an image he did not need. Harry, in his underwear, standing less than a meter away. Close enough to touch what looked to be very soft skin. Smooth skin, taut over the muscles of his belly, and chest. The dusky nipples, the strong shoulders, the ropes of muscle holding his head. The incredible mouth. The blazing eyes.

Greg closed his. It was true, he remembered. Harry's eyes had been blazing with heat. Anger, and something else. Swirling with emotion. Greg could see it, could feel it. In any other man of a certain persuasion, he'd say there was jealousy, without question. He placed that label on Harry and looked. The picture made sense; Greg just wasn't sure he could believe it.

Jealous? Greg could feel his heart twist. "What right do you have to be jealous, Harry?" he said quietly. "You have no right." But Greg wanted him to have one. He wanted it so, so desperately.

He got himself upright, and pulled off his clothes, tossing them on the far side of the bed, then climbed in. He turned off the lights and rolled onto his stomach, burying his head under the pillow. He wouldn't let Harry get to him, not any more. He just couldn't take it. He saw the man under the covers, so close. He deliberately put Gerron there, instead. At least he'd have someone whom he could touch, and would touch him in return. Someone to hold. It would be enough.

~ *~ *~ *~

Harry felt lethargic and heavy-eyed the next morning. His chaotic thoughts hadn't allowed him much sleep. But, if everyone was waiting for him to fail, then he had to succeed. He intended playing an active role in the negotiations -- if indeed there was to be any actual bargaining. He was beginning to think the Valmorans had no intention of trading for gallicite. They certainly didn't seem to be in any hurry to begin.

Breakfast was taken in the same large atrium. Harry saw Chakotay and Tom touch hands as they walked to the table. It must be hard on those two -- doubtless they had kept to their separate rooms last night, lest the Valmorans suspect anything. Looking around at the rest of the team, Harry saw that D'Tang and Greg looked as tired as he felt. Mort wore his usual anemic pallor; only Joe Carey looked his normal cheery self. Why hadn't Greg been monitoring D'Tang's movements last night? Surely D'Tang -- known to play the field -- was more of a risk than he was.

Harry snapped back to the room. Chakotay was talking. "... checked in with the captain," he was saying. "According to Neelix, negotiations with the Valmorans typically take three days, with most of the actual business being concluded on the second day. The third day is for celebrating a successful business relationship." He grinned. "Let's hope they still feel like celebrating tomorrow!"

The wide wooden doors at one end of the hall swung open, and the Valmoran delegation entered. Meera, Xerces, and Pranee led the way in, followed by the rest of the women.

Pranee stopped in front of the commander. "Chakotay," she purred. "When you and your party have finished eating, perhaps we can begin?"

~ *~ *~ *~

Five hours later, Harry's head was pounding, but the bubble of pride in his chest had expanded. The negotiations were complete. Voyager would take delivery of sufficient gallicite to placate B'Elanna. In return, they were providing some dilithium, and medical supplies. And, best of all to Harry's thinking, although Meera was draped all over him, his resolve was strong. He had no interest in the woman; sure, he found her attractive, pleasant enough, but her desperation was thinly disguised. As the negotiations concluded, her fingers wandered high on his thigh, brushing his cock.

"What is it, Harry?" Meera whispered in his ear. "I have been talking to my friends, many of you human males appear disinterested. Are we not attractive enough by your human standards?"

Her voice quivered slightly, and although Harry suspected it was a deliberate move for sympathy, he still reassured her. He picked up her hand, and grasped it between both of his, in what he hoped appeared like an earnest declaration. "You're very attractive, Meera. Beautiful. But we need the gallicite badly. It's been weighing on our minds."

Meera thought for a moment. "Maybe," she allowed. "But it's more than that. Xerces says that Gregory didn't even respond to her most practiced moves. And some of the others say the same. It seems that D'Tang, Joe, and the silent Mortimer are the only real men among you..." She let her voice trail off, the challenge evident.

So, Greg hadn't been responding to Xerces. But it had sure looked like he was. Harry didn't know what to make of that piece of information. He touched Meera's face. "You're a lovely woman," he said, sincerely. "I'll look forward to your company at the feast tonight." He hoped the genuine feeling in the first part of his statement would outweigh the lack of sincerity in the second.

~ *~ *~ *~

"Gregory," Xerces said serenely, "have another, why don't you? You still look a little tense..." She poured more trab'ex into his glass.

Greg was certain that drinking another four fingers of the fermented beverage was probably a bad idea, but he had already had one and was on the edge of not caring. The feast was finished and the event had transformed into a fete, with yet more food served, musicians playing, flowers everywhere, and enough light to keep the stars hidden above them. Greg smiled his thanks to her and took another swallow of the sweet drink.

He knew he wasn't the only one partaking in this part of the festivities. He'd seen Harry hoisting his glass just about as much as he himself had. Chakotay seemed to be abstaining, overall and, surprisingly, Tom was, too.

"Yeah," Greg muttered under his breath, "they've got their shit together, all right. Know which side of the bed they belong on..."

"What?" Xerces asked, her attention drawn from the plate of food she was gathering for him.

He shook his head and tipped his glass again. The alcohol in the trab'ex was still burning his throat, even with how much he'd drunk of it. "Nothing," he answered eventually, giving her a smile. She really was rather pretty, as women went, he thought, accepting the plate she offered. He looked out over the room, rather pleased with himself that it had been a full three minutes since the last time he'd done that. He was just doing his job, he reasoned. He was supposed to keep an eye on Harry.

Harry looked like he had for most of the afternoon -- rather bored. Greg still couldn't figure that out. It made his assignment that much easier, but didn't help his thought processes. Why was Harry acting sort of uninterested in Meera? Greg had seen none of the flustered Harry, the barely-under-control Harry, the Harry who was clearly trying desperately to keep his promise to the crew and captain. It was damned confusing. Greg took another drink.

Harry's eyes drifted to his, and his stomach lurched. He broke the eye contact quickly, embarrassed that the same thing had happened three and half minutes before, when their eyes had locked briefly. Only that time, it had been Harry who'd looked away first.

Xerces slipped her hand inside his elbow and pressed against his side. She sighed in apparent contentment. Greg wondered why her fingers felt like they weren't really touching him -- they were touching that thick layer of mush that was on top of his skin, where there weren't any nerve endings. His eyes slid sideways until he was looking at Harry again. The man was standing stiffly, apparently listening while Meera talked into his ear. Why wasn't Harry acting more interested in what that woman had to say? What the hell was going on here? Why did she have to keep touching Harry, like that?

Greg tried to get his brain working. He kept imagining that the other man just wasn't as heterosexual as he'd purported himself to be. That made the most sense, really. After all, Harry kept looking at him. Usually that meant more than a casual interest in someone -- when you can't keep your eyes off of them. And such intriguing eyes, too; Xerces had been right about that, no question. Harry's burning eyes. Burning for him? Burning into him. He remembered what Harry had looked like, staring down into him, with his hand held out. That wasn't what a het man did. No, uh uh. He didn't do that to Meera. He glanced at Harry, again. Meera should keep her hands to herself....

Greg drank more trab'ex, then shook his head, almost certain that his ideas were the result of a brain that was too tired, and too needy, and too lit on the beverage that his host kept insisting he pour down his throat. Well, he thought, who was he to ruin the mission by refusing her?

He held out his now empty glass. She smiled, and winked, and refilled it.

~ *~ *~ *~

Harry didn't like to think of how many times his eyes had slid away, hunting for Greg. And every time he gave in to the need and looked for the lieutenant, it seemed that Greg was looking straight back at him, his eyes piercing through Harry's skin, into his soul. Reading exactly what Harry Kim was composed off, clearly seeing Harry's doubts and insecurities and pushing them to one side. For the umpteenth time, he dragged his gaze away from Greg's and turned his attention to Meera. Somehow today her laughter seemed forced, her gaiety a flimsy front for desperation. Even her beguiling beauty seemed to hold no sway over him any more. Sure, she was beautiful, but the initial surface resemblance to Libby that he'd seen had dissipated, blown away as he got to know Meera better.

But, he had a part to play, and he was determined to see this through to the end. He let Meera pour him another glass of trab'ex and forcing a smile to his face, he bent closer to hear what she was saying.

"You humans," she said, "such funny expressions. Look at Mortimer now, he looks like a preoccupied little tronolindor."

Harry snorted abruptly; he had no idea what a tronolindor was, but the image it conjured up was very pig-like, and that was the perfect description for Mort right now. He let the laughter roll out of him in waves - an over reaction to the joke, but the release he felt was out of proportion. He didn't object when Meera leaned over to him, resting her head on his shoulder as they laughed together.

~ *~ *~ *~

Chakotay fiddled with the stem of his untouched trab'ex glass as he surveyed the room. One part of his mind was mentally compiling a report, in Starfleet language, for the captain. Another was storing away the small details that would make her smile when he related them to her later. A large part of his mind was wishing that the mission was over, for no better reason than he wanted to be back on Voyager, with the freedom to take Tom in his arms and kiss him senseless. Wanted to feel the spiraling joy of their lovemaking, and above all, wanted to hold the man most dear to him in his arms all night. But the major part of Chakotay's mind was occupied in observing the room. Cataloging the actions of the crew, and the reactions of the Valmorans. It was imperative, the captain had said to him that morning via the comm link, that the negotiations not fail at this late stage.

Next to him, Pranee smoothed a small hand over his thigh. Chakotay caught it in his and lifted their linked hands onto the table. He was pleased to find he genuinely enjoyed Pranee's company; she had a quick and smiling wit that he appreciated, and although she still determinedly tried to entice him into the small rooms on either side of the banquet hall, he rather thought that she had his measure, and knew he simply wasn't interested. He caught Tom's eye for a moment, chanced a slow, heated smile in his direction. Tom's lady had also caught his disinterest, but wasn't taking it as well as Pranee. She wore a perpetual pout, that was only slightly alleviated by Tom's good spirits and laughing attention. Pranee had whispered in Chakotay's ear that Tom's lady was at the upper end of their marriageable age range. Quite simply, her chances were running out.

Leaning forward, Chakotay surveyed further down the long table. Opposite Tom, Joe Carey was playing his part with aplomb. The lieutenant was a gallant and attentive partner to the vivacious brunette he'd been paired with. He was whispering in her ear, running his hands caressingly over her shoulders. Chakotay knew it was hard for Joe; his wife, Sarah, was in the Alpha Quadrant, and he missed her with a deep and aching pain.

"It's just playacting, Chakotay," Joe had said to him the previous evening, when Chakotay had asked if he was all right. "It doesn't count. Sarah would understand." And Joe had withdrawn, just a little, into his memories for the rest of the evening, before excusing himself early from the poker game.

But tonight Joe appeared to be enjoying himself, drinking the trab'ex in moderation, eating heartily, and enjoying -- and appearing to encourage -- the attentions of the women.

Next to Joe, Mortimer Harren was scribbling something furiously on a napkin. His lips were moving soundlessly, and he appeared oblivious to his lady's hand creeping further and further down his chest. Chakotay watched in amusement, sure of the next step. He wasn't disappointed; Sirena's hand suddenly ducked lower, and the crewman jerked to a stop, a blush suffusing his face. Chakotay chuckled silently, it looked like Mort had just been on the receiving end of a rather direct move. But he doubted that even such blatant seduction could get through to Mort. All that the crewman appeared to want from his life was a PADD containing his interminable theories, and access to the main computer to argue his logic.

Chakotay's eyes wandered further and settled on Harry. Something was definitely wrong there; the ensign looked strangely quiet, almost bored. The contrast with his previous behaviour didn't add up. Chakotay frowned, trying to piece it together, but the overall mosaic eluded him. Harry's loyalty to the ship had looked shaky for a while, but now he looked solid, as if there was never any question that he could be interested in Meera. Strange, the turnaround.

Chakotay shook it off, and moved on to D'Tang. The contrast between him and Harry couldn't be stronger. As he watched, D'Tang bent towards Alena and kissed her deeply. His hand slid up, tangled in her hair, and she appeared to be pulling him closer. The kiss went on for a long time. It seemed to Chakotay that the passion ran true and deep, there was a very real closeness between the pair, crackling and alive in the air between them. Well, if D'Tang decided to stay that was his decision to make.

In stark contrast to Harry, Greg appeared distracted and jumpy. Chakotay knew this mission was hard on the man. Greg's interest in Harry wasn't a secret among his friends. He and Tom had been noncommittal for the most part -- after all, Harry was straight -- but in his heart, Chakotay couldn't help but hope that the two of them might get together against the odds.

Laughter tugged at his hearing. Harry, who seemed to have shaken off his indifference, was laughing at something Meera had said. Even from where he sat, Chakotay could see the pleasure in the ensign's eyes. Not now, he thought. Don't fall at the last hurdle, Harry. He looked towards Greg again, meaning to catch his eye, warn him, but Greg wasn't looking Chakotay's way. His eyes were fastened on Harry, and the expression on his face made Chakotay catch his breath. He'd last seen that flitting mix of anguish and anger, dashed hope and misery, on Tom's face before he and Tom had got together.

Chakotay's sigh was heartfelt. He wanted to be away from Valmora, away from schemes and manipulations, away from seduction and enticement. Wistfully, he thought of Voyager: tea from the replicator, a chuckle with Kathryn in the ready room, Neelix's cheerful face in the mess hall, and most of all Tom, his wiry body and pale skin, ready and waiting on the bed for him.

~ *~ *~ *~

The sound of laughter -- familiar laughter, usually heard in the mess hall, or on the holodeck, pierced Greg's ears. He whipped his head to the right. His stomach reacted, swaying briefly. What he saw didn't help it calm down; if anything, it only churned more intensely. Harry was laughing loudly -- clearly at something his companion had said, for her eyes were alight with joy, and quite likely evil intent, too. A cold cord of anger wound its way from Greg's stomach, through his heart, and right to his brain.

He watched the two of them, so blatantly enjoying themselves. Meera running her hands down Harry's arm. Caressing it. He turned away, harshly. Was that the way Harry wanted to play it? He didn't need this -- did not need this in the least. He didn't need Harry, and he certainly didn't want him. The man was confused? That wasn't Greg's problem. No, sir.

Greg felt a tug on his own arm and he focused on the person tugging. Xerces was giving him that look, the same one she'd given him in the atrium the night before. She certainly wasn't Gerron, she was way too soft for that, though she was about his height. Wrong coloring. Greg didn't care. He didn't need Harry. Didn't need him at all.

He dipped his head, cupped Xerces' face, and kissed her full on the mouth.

~ *~ *~ *~

Meera squeezed his thigh. "Look, Harry," she said.

And Harry stopped laughing and opened his eyes in time to see Greg lean toward Xerces, take her chin in his hand, and bend down to kiss her.

Harry's breath rattled out of him, and it was suddenly difficult to catch the air in his lungs. The kiss was lingering; Xerces hands were wound in Greg's hair, and from where he sat, Harry could see the slant of Greg's lips over Xerces', see the way they clung together. The rich meal he had eaten felt suddenly queasy in his stomach. The nausea rose, and entwined with it were tendrils of jealousy, clawing at his gut, sitting in his belly like stones, sucking him into its red hot haze, until all he could think about was that Xerces had no right to be doing this, no right to touch Greg so intimately.

And Greg had no right to let her.

Harry swallowed hard, once, twice, but the nausea didn't subside. The realization slid insidiously into his mind that he, Harry, was jealous of Xerces. That he wanted to be the one pressed to Greg, feel those full lips pressed to his, absorb the darting tongue, let his hand wander over the tunic, mapping the firm muscles underneath, run his fingers down through the dark chest hair to find...

No. Reason reasserted itself. Harry's hand shook as he picked up the trab'ex and drained the remainder of it in one gulp. He didn't like men, not in that way. Straight-sex Harry, missionary-position Harry, who liked sweet, loving, conventional sex. With a woman. This sudden fierce attraction must be the trab'ex talking.

He glanced sideways at Meera. Hell, he didn't like men. Not sexually. Leaning into Meera, he cupped her chin, just like Greg had, bent his head and kissed her. Just like Greg had.

Meera was not slow on the uptake. Her tongue surged into his mouth, entwining itself with his. Her breath, sweet from the trab'ex, mingled with his, and her hands burrowed down, running along the curve of his belly, down further into his groin.

When she broke the kiss, her eyes were shining. "Ah, Harry, I knew you liked me. Now, we will get to know each other fully..."

He didn't hesitate. Standing, Harry took her hand, drawing her up, along the length of his body, and then entwining her hand firmly with his, he led her into one of the private side rooms.

~ *~ *~ *~

Greg stood there, staring at the door that was closing behind the curtain, unable to truly comprehend what the hell had just happened. He'd pulled away from the kiss with Xerces when the shock of her fingers caressing the back of his neck had finally pierced the fog in his brain, and he'd realized what he was doing. She'd peered at him intently as he'd backed away from her. Just a step was all he'd taken, but it had been enough. She was seeing too much in him, so he'd looked to the only other place in the room he still wanted to see.

He'd turned his head one more time and had almost thrown up all of the trab'ex he'd drunk. Harry was kissing Meera. Greg had stared, unable to tear his eyes away. Then Harry, without one glance in his direction, had taken that woman into one of the side rooms. Greg's heart had begun thundering in his chest; through the thick cotton of the alcohol-induced lethargy, he could feel it. Could feel it still, as he stared. The door was now closed.

"Greg," a voice startled him out of the haze. He turned. Joe was there, grabbing his arm. "What are you doing, man?" he hissed.

"Huh?" he answered. When, with what, with whom? he wanted to ask his friend.

Joe flicked his head over his shoulder, in what Greg took to be Xerces' direction. The man dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "Kissing her -- Greg -- you must be drunk. Come on, let's take a walk, I think you need to get out of here..."

"Huh?" he repeated himself. Before he could expound with further eloquence, Chakotay had joined them, also speaking in a low voice. A harsher one.

"Greg," Chakotay said, "you've got to follow Harry. He can't blow this now. We can't lose him..."

Greg interrupted, feeling the familiar fury envelop him. He spat out, "And what exactly am I supposed to do about that? Break the damned, fucking door down?"

Over Chakotay's shoulder, Greg noticed Tom approach Xerces, and escort her to the refreshment table, smiling and charming her into a state of distraction. He watched as the woman who was supposed to be ensnaring him, turned her guile on Chakotay's lover.

"Maybe," he continued, ignoring the warning bells ringing in his own head, "you should worry about your own first, and leave me alone!"

"Greg," Chakotay said, more smoothly, "look, Harry's your friend -- and he needs you to take him out of that room, and remind him of his goals, his family. He needs you."

Greg ignored both men standing with him, let their voices drone on about what his own responsibilities were to the ship, the crew, the captain. He looked at the door that Harry was behind, saw the man he was so intensely in love with taking that evil woman down to the bed. He clenched his fists, but he didn't move.

~ *~ *~ *~

The door closed behind Harry with a quiet thud. After the noise and chatter of the banquet room, the silence seemed almost oppressive. He saw he was in a small room, draped with swathes of pink material, so that the whole effect was almost womb-like. A fire crackled cheerily in a grate. The only furniture was a small table, with a flagon of trab'ex and two glasses standing on it. And the sinfully large couch which dominated the room, bigger than the bed in his quarters on Voyager.

Meera took both his hands and drew him further inside. "Harry," she whispered, as she pressed herself against his body. "Now we will love each other."

Her kiss heated his lips but left his heart cold. Moving away from him, Meera began to disrobe. Her movements were slow, sensuous, designed no doubt to tease and arouse. The silky blue scarf twisted in her hands then dropped to the floor, followed by the peach colored top. She stood before him, naked to the waist. Harry swallowed hard, his hands balled into fists by his sides. Meera's skin was glowing, a rich creamy shade. Her breasts were full, just as he liked, topped by rose-colored nipples, already hard, protruding out from her body. Just as he liked.

Moving toward him, Meera slipped the buttons of his shirt, stroking his chest as she undid each one. The shirt fell to the floor, and she moved in closer, pressing her breasts against his chest as she kissed him. Her hands fumbled with his pants, and they too dropped to the floor, and she led him forward, forcing him to step out of them. The warm air in the room felt cloying, stagnant. Harry's movements were slow, as if the world turned in slow motion, as if he was swimming underwater. Meera's face loomed into his vision again, as she kissed him in growing passion.

Harry tried to kiss her back, but the thundering in his ears was matched by the panic in his chest. Something was wrong... he didn't want this. But he could only stare, like a hypnotized rabbit, as Meera moved away to slide the voluminous sheer leggings down her legs, standing before him clad in only the briefest of panties. Sinuously, she began to slink closer to him.

Harry was shaking, his instinct telling him to back away, leave her alone, to get the hell out of here. Fuck, what was he going to do now? His cock, which should have been hard and aching for this beautiful woman stripping for him, preparing to devour him, was curled in his pants like a slug. Soft. Unaroused. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see her predatory face moving toward him. Behind his eyelids he saw the round blue-green globe of Earth, and all it represented. His parents, his friends, his home. And Meera was between him and Earth. If he took what she offered now, then he'd never see Earth again. Never see Greg again. The words flashed into his head, shocking him into stillness.

For one fractured moment Harry stood poised on the edge of the precipice. Meera. Earth. Voyager. Greg . It was the thought of Greg that took his breath away, and spurred him to panic. Here he stood, dressed only in his underwear, Meera's hands running over his body, and his only thought was flight. His mind skittered back to the previous evening, the last time he'd stood in his underwear in front of someone. He'd held out his hand to Greg for his pyjamas.

What if Greg had taken his hand and drawn him down with him, aligned his body with Harry's on the bed, run those strong, masculine hands over his chest and belly, reached down between them, grasped his cock? What if Greg had kissed him?

Instinct kicked in, and Harry hit his chest before realizing his comm badge was tangled in his shirt on the far side of the room. Ignoring Meera's look of incredulity, he turned and ran on soundless feet to the door. His heart was leaping into his throat, and his only thought was to get far, far away from here, before his choices were taken from him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Meera with a surly expression on her face, begin to cover herself. The door was locked, but he didn't hesitate.

He beat on the door with both fists. "Greg," he called urgently. "Greg, help!" Dimly he felt the pain in his fists as he beat on the unyielding door, splinters dug into his knuckles, but the red haze in his head wouldn't allow him to stop.

"Greg, please," he screamed again. "Greg..." And his body started to come alive, as if responding to the sound of his friend's name.

~ *~ *~ *~

Greg didn't think, he reacted. The sounds around the room, the conversations that had just died, the insistent words from his crewmates -- all of it became nothing but white noise. Harry's voice was all he could distinguish. Greg dashed to the door, kicking himself during the entire, long, seemingly interminable journey to that doorway. He should never have trusted that woman. She was hurting Harry. He would kill her.

He jerked the door handle, but it didn't move. Harry was still shouting for him, centimeters away. "Har, hold on," he said frantically against the wood.

He took two steps back and charged the door with his shoulder, barely feeling the force of the contact. It didn't budge. He threw himself at the door again, harder, then harder... and it gave way with a suddenness that almost left Greg flat on his face. The next thing he knew, a nearly-naked Harry was stumbling backwards, smack into Greg's chest. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the other man and held tight, looking for the enemy.

Harry was breathing heavily, harshly. Meera was standing, wide-eyed, next to the bed, with something wrapped around her. Reality kicked in. Oh, God, he thought dimly, he was holding Harry. Tightly. The skin of the man's belly was under his fingers. Oh, God.

~ *~ *~ *~

Harry flattened himself back against the door, his hands held out blindly in front of him to ward off Meera. His reason seemed to have deserted him; a haze of static ran through his head, and panic-stricken, all he wanted was Greg. If Greg came, it would be all right.

Dimly, he heard a crashing behind him, a vibration through the timber, but the meaning didn't register fully until he found himself stumbling back as the supporting door disintegrated. He came up against something and his movement stilled. Warmth stole into his back, his skin was touching something soft, material... a shirt. Greg's shirt. His panic ebbed and a sweet, piercing relief washed over him. He wanted nothing more than to let himself sink back, against that warm, safe haven, let himself be enfolded fully in Greg's arms.

The static in his brain slowed its frantic jumping. Infinitesimally, he let himself relax, sink into the comforting embrace. Back, centimeter by centimeter, until he felt the unmistakable press of a hard ridge against his backside. Greg's erection.

And everything changed. Comfort became something insidiously more. Harry's breathing quickened, until in his ears it sounded harsh and erratic. He froze, his heart once more slamming against his ribs, as his whole perspective tilted alarmingly.

~ *~ *~ *~

Greg couldn't move. The mush that had been the surface of his skin had completely melted away and he could feel every single centimeter of Harry's body where it pressed up against his. One other dim thought careened through his mind. They fit together perfectly. A rush of arousal suffused him, and inevitably, he hardened against Harry's soft ass. His fingertips were burning where they touched the man's skin, which was, indeed, amazingly smooth and satiny.

He heard voices. He backed the two of them up, still not able to let go. He knew he should, but the scent of Harry, right under his nose, and the feel of him, under his hands, was making his grip solidly strong, and unmoving. He took them backwards another few steps, still hearing Harry's breathing, ragged, harsh. Feeling it, too. Feeling everything.

The broken doorway was in his field of vision. They were in the atrium. Reality once more crashed around him like a cold shower. He let go suddenly, and after he felt Harry steady on his feet he took more steps, but alone. Harry spun around and their eyes locked. Deeply. Piercingly.

He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to explain away his arousal. He wanted to reassure Harry that it was just the alcohol. It hadn't meant anything personal. Those black eyes of Harry's stared into him and he could form absolutely no words to answer them.

He turned away, ignoring all of the commotion that was enveloping them both. The passageway to his room beckoned like a beam of sunshine through the darkness of hell. He nearly stumbled as he half-ran, half-walked through the building. He found his room, somehow managed to get his key in the lock and the door open. His heart was crashing into the walls of his chest. His own breathing was uneven. His throat was closing as he fell on the bed, but he didn't let himself give in to the tears of frustration that were burning up from his gut.

The room started to spin. He closed his eyes as blackness began to encroach upon his sight. He finally gave in, and it all went away as he passed out, cold.

~ *~ *~ *~

Somehow, Harry realized, Greg had got them out of that room, how he didn't know, his own legs felt like chewed string, how they supported him he didn't know. The chatter and noise of the atrium intruded, stiffening his spine, giving solidity to his legs. He felt the absence of Greg's touch as the other man moved away, and he turned abruptly. For long, charged moments their eyes met. Harry couldn't look away; unlike when their eyes met over the banquet table, Greg didn't let his glance slide away. The gaze held, deepened, Harry was riveted, he couldn't look away, trapped in the piercing dark gaze. After a second and an eternity Greg turned away, breaking the connection, and stalking on stiff legs away down the hall.

Harry's relief at escaping the pink room was short lived; Meera, bent on seduction, was probably preferable to the laughter of his companions. Harry straightened and dragged the tattered remains of his dignity around himself. Composure must come with clothes, he realized. Certainly, it eluded him when dressed only in underpants.

He heard the hoots of laughter and loud donkey guffaws, which, he realized, must be Mort. He'd never heard the crewman laugh before. Mort was doubled over, tears streaming down his face as he howled. Joe was grinning fit to bust, and even Chakotay had a slight smile on his face, as if he was trying very hard not to break down into unrestrained laughter. Tom, shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth, shunted some of the empty dishes to one side, and pulled the white tablecloth from one of the long tables.

"Here," he said, passing it to Harry. "Your bridal gown, mil'lord." He clapped a hand to Harry's shoulder and shuffled off, still chuckling, but not before Harry had heard the gales of laughter Tom's comment had caused.

The only people not laughing were Meera, who was standing in the ruined doorway, and D'Tang, simply because he wasn't there. And Greg. Harry swallowed hard. Greg was nowhere to be seen.

Trying hard to pretend his face wasn't as red as Chakotay's uniform, Harry wrapped himself in the table cloth and stalked off, intent on finding his room, and some wonderful, blessed silence.

It didn't get any better. Alone in his room, there were no distractions, nothing to prevent the whole scene replaying itself over and over in his head, like some terrible temporal loop. Harry curled up on his bed, scrunching his eyes closed. But the whole scene played on, until all he saw were his laughing companions imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He would never, ever live this down -- Tom would see to that. He imagined that Neelix would be cracking jokes about his underpants in the mess hall for months, hell, someone would be bound to spoof it on the next talent night, and the captain... Fuck, even the captain would be bound to find it amusing, reducing the final crumbs of her respect to ashes.

He curled and died a little more as he recalled Meera's expression. Hard, cold, unyielding. In many ways he didn't blame her; after all his pathetic behaviour reflected on her, on her desirability, her standing on Valmora. To have a potential suitor run screaming from the room would hardly boost her own self-image. And, oh god, what if she persuaded the rest of the Valmorans to cancel the trade agreement as a result? He clenched his fists; that would be the crowning humiliation for him, he would do anything rather than let that happen. Well, anything except seduce Meera and stay with her on Valmora - that he couldn't bear.

To distract himself from the embarrassment, he recalled the happenings up to the moment when he and Greg had staggered back through the door into the main room. As if from a distance, he saw himself, panicking at Meera's advances, backing up to the door, beating on it calling for Greg. Calling for Greg. And then Greg had burst into the room, and Harry's whole world had solidified, clarified, like murky pond water, settling and calming in a jar. He remembered the haze of panic clearing in his head, remembered the feeling of safety he'd felt pressed to that solid, reassuring chest.

And he remembered the feeling of a thick cock pressed against his ass.

Harry swallowed as the images and feelings played out once more. The unbearable friction of Greg's soft shirt against his back, the feel of the man's hands on the soft skin of his belly. The press of his cock. Oh god, his cock.

Through his mortification, Harry felt something new. The unmistakable curl of arousal deep in his belly, growing, warming, expanding. His own cock twitched as the warmth spread, and it grew half-hard, pushing against the confines of his pyjamas. His pulse thundered in his ears, as once more, he lived that sensation. The press of Greg's cock. Harry was hard now, rigid, aching, and the thrumming in his blood wouldn't be suppressed.

He wanted Greg.

He wanted to lie with him, kiss him, feel that mouth slant over his, feel hard muscles underneath his questing fingertips, he wanted to take, be taken, he wanted....

He wanted it all. With Greg.

His cock pressed against the fabric of his pajamas, demanding release, but Harry ignored it for the moment. This was about more than physical release; this was about the realization that he was attracted to men, to this man in particular. The knowledge rocked him to his foundations, shook him deep inside, in his psyche. Slowly Harry reassessed his comprehension of himself and who he was. Unflinchingly he faced up to this new facet of Harry Kim, accepted the knowledge, and incorporated it into himself.

So, he was bisexual. Big deal. There was no stigma attached to that, but it was sure going to take some readjustment.

He rolled onto his back, and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, as he quietly adsorbed the fact that he wasn't attracted to any man -- after all, he didn't want Tom, or Chakotay, or just anyone to take him into their bed. He wanted Greg.

Well that shouldn't be too difficult to resolve; it was obvious Greg found him attractive. Hell, now that he thought about it, the clues had been there all the way. Tom's evasion when questioned about Greg, Greg's eyes meeting his across the banquet table. The rigid cock pressed into his ass was simply the final confirmation.

And Greg did casual sex, just not very often. Snippets of conversation overheard on board ship had given that away. Once, he'd even overheard Ensign Lopez and Crewman Creel comparing their dates with Greg. 'Fuck dates' they had called them. Well, that fitted his own agenda. Harry wondered how one went about seducing a man - was it the same as a woman, or was a more direct approach welcomed? Should he just walk up to Greg in the holodeck or the mess hall, grab his shoulders and press his mouth to his, grind his hips against Greg's crotch?

A fuck date with Greg. His cock stiffened even further, throbbing painfully against his belly. Greg was picky in his choice of partners, that much he knew, but surely, he'd be willing to fuck a friend he was attracted to, initiate him into the pleasures of male sex? And then, they could both walk away, their lust assuaged and go back to being buddies.

He would persuade him. Hell, how could he not? The thought put the first genuine smile on Harry's face since the team had transported down to Valmora. Suddenly he couldn't wait to be back on board Voyager.

~ *~ *~ *~

The sharp rapping on his door pulled Greg out of the bathroom, where he'd been losing whatever food and drink had still remained in his stomach from the night before. He'd splashed some cold water on his face, ignoring the repeated noise from a very impatient visitor. Not that he was in any mood for a visitor. He'd breathed in as much strength as he could before walking to the door and opening it. A smiling Chakotay greeted him with a pleasant "good morning," which Greg merely answered with a glare before turning on his heels to go back to the bathroom. His friend followed.

"That was quite a show last night," Chakotay said lightly, from just inside the small room's doorway.

Greg continued his attempt to ignore the man, brushing his teeth gingerly.

"So," Chakotay continued, nonplussed, "do you need anything from the Doc this morning? I've already contacted him -- so just say the word and I'll call for some anti-hangover remedies."

Greg bent over the sink to rinse, and the room started to roll. He caught himself before crashing to the counter, Chakotay's strong hands suddenly clutching his shoulders.

"Whoa," Chakotay said gently, "you okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Thanks," he amended.

Chakotay nodded in the mirror, and tapped his badge, ordering the Doctor to transport a hypospray to him immediately. Greg closed his eyes, and breathed, doing nothing else until he felt a cool hiss against his neck. The relief to his body was instantaneous, and very welcome. He looked at the other man again.

"Thank you," he repeated.

"No problem. It helps to have friends in high places." Chakotay grinned, but only one dimple appeared.

Greg finished rinsing his mouth, wishing said friend would leave him alone.

"Good job on the door breaking, Greg," Chakotay teased. "I knew you were the right man for this assignment. By the way, I only had to soothe our hosts for thirty minutes, which wasn't too bad, considering..."

Now that he felt better, he didn't even have the energy to glare effectively. He sighed harshly. "Well, I've been thinking about resigning my post. In between bouts of nausea. I think I might want to try the mess hall, or maybe Stellar Cartography. Perhaps Jenny could brush me up on some skills."

"Oh, come on, don't do anything rash -- it wasn't that big of a deal. Harry was the one who was much more embarrassed, and with good reason. Yanked out of there in his underwear, in front of everyone."

Right then he was almost glad he'd been so drunk, for he had little memory of what Harry had looked like during what he was coming to call "the fiasco." If Harry had been embarrassed, well, too bad. He'd started it, and Greg was finishing it. "I guess this mission will go down in the Voyager memory books, huh?" he asked flatly.

Chakotay crossed his arms, studying him. He hated it when the man did that. He'd known Chakotay for too long, had been best friends with him for too long. He couldn't hide from that dark gaze, and that morning he really wanted to. He almost needed to. Brig duty was actually sounding somewhat enticing, irrelevant of what he'd just announced. Standing alone with only the walls for company -- he'd put in a request to Tuvok as soon as he got back on board.

"Greg -- what happened last night? Other than the obvious?"

"Nothing much."

"Bullshit," Chakotay said, his gentle tone belying the profanity.

He leaned against the counter, too worn out to argue. "I've just come to some decisions this morning. Actually, decisions I've been trying to stick with for the past day and a half. About Harry. I'm over him."

Still, those deep eyes of Chakotay's continued to assess the truthfulness of his statement. "Well," Chakotay finally said, "I feel the need to repeat my claim."

Greg shrugged.

"You're over Harry? Just like that?"

"What -- you'd prefer some chest thumping, or wailing perhaps? We're not all as passionate as you." His throat was beginning to ache.

"No, no wailing," Chakotay answered quietly. "But, I'm sorry, Greg. Really. I've always thought you stood a chance of expanding that man's horizons somehow. He's always looked to you, watched you, had more than the usual concern about your opinion of him." Chakotay shrugged, too. "I'm sorry."

He didn't want sympathy, and he certainly didn't want to hear about Harry's shallow emotions for him, but he couldn't turn away from his friend. He still needed this man's support. He nodded, unable to speak.

"So," Chakotay lightened his tone, "do you want to hear the latest on D'Tang?"

"Sure."

"He's staying. He claims he's fallen in love. I grilled him for as long as I felt comfortable doing it -- just to make sure that he'd thought about all of the ramifications of his decision. He says he's happy to stay here. His family is all gone... well, you know that." Chakotay grimaced.

"And," Greg said, "let me guess -- he said that whatever was happening back home no longer mattered. The Cardies would never be forced to pay for what they did. I always doubted the strength of his convictions, his loyalty to us."

"The most important thing is that he's found some peace," Chakotay said.

Greg knew very clearly what the man wasn't saying, and why he wasn't saying it. D'Tang had found someone to love, and care about. Someone to love him back. That was the most important thing, what everyone wanted and so few of the crew had been lucky enough to find. He suspected that he himself never would. Gerron or no Gerron. He could only give the planned attempt to find it with the young Bajoran his most valiant effort.

~ *~

Greg materialized on the ship along with the rest of the away team, though he hadn't spoken a word to any of them since they'd gathered together on the planet. Not even to D'Tang. Greg had ignored Harry's attempts to start a conversation, grateful that Harry hadn't tried more than a few times. Just a few times of having the man stand next to him. A few times of being forced to make brief, unavoidable, eye contact, and then move away.

He was moving again, though this time as quickly as he could. He stepped off of the transporter pad, nodded to his commanding officer and hightailed it to one of the turbolifts. He got in and ordered it to his deck, finally breathing deeply when the doors closed against the view of the rest of the team coming down the corridor.

A scant three minutes later he was entering his quarters. He went immediately to the replicator and made himself something to drink, taking the juice to his bed where he dropped his carryall with a thud. He drank as he emptied things into the refresher, and the bathroom. The glass emptied, he made another, and sat on the couch. Thinking about nothing in particular. Trying to feel even less.

~ *~ *~ *~

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