Disclaimer: Paramount owns them, but Greg's characterization is owned by Cassatt and Shayenne.
Rated NC-17
Harry took a sip of water, hoping against hope that his stomach would settle down. Anything and everything, good or bad, always affected him via his stomach, and the few days on Valmora had been worse than flying copilot in Tom's ridiculous Captain Proton scenario. At least as far as queasiness was concerned.
Right now, his stomach was somersaulting in dual bounds of anticipation and apprehension. Greg had brushed off all of his attempts to chat; and the man had rushed to his quarters the second they had materialized back on the ship, so fast that he must have left a few stray molecules from the transport spinning in the air. Harry's plan of casually engaging Greg in conversation as they strolled to their separate quarters, and then suggesting some holodeck time together the next night was vaporized before the words could be uttered. Although he doubted the tautness in his stomach would let him eat much, Harry went to the messhall. Greg had to eat sometime, he couldn't avoid him for ever.
The messhall was crowded, and with a sinking feeling, he noticed Tom in the middle of a large crowd. From the laughter, he guessed that Tom was relating the tale of the away mission. Too much to hope that his buddy would omit Harry's own embarrassing part. He selected the least offensive looking meal option, and took his tray over to join his friends.
Tom, it seemed, was playing up the Valmorans' attempts at seducing the away team. He was sitting next to Chakotay, apparently imitating Pranee's flirtation, and demonstrating Chakotay's tactful rebuttals. His narrative was fast approaching the final banquet, and Harry considered sliding quietly away before anyone really noticed him. Any second now, Tom would get to the part where Greg had rescued him, pulling him into the main hall in his underwear.
Tom's embellishment of Pranee's antics grew even more outrageous. Chakotay didn't seem to mind; he laughed along with everyone else as Tom pantomimed Pranee's hands disappearing into the commander's pants, and Chakotay's own understated reaction.
"Chakotay's eyebrows raised so high that his tattoo nearly slid off his face!" called Joe Carey. "And we saw her squeeze so hard that we thought he'd be singing soprano on talent night."
Neelix wiped the tears running down his face with his apron. "I'd love to have seen that," he chuckled. "I thought you were walking a little funny, Commander!"
Mort lifted his head from his single-minded concentration on his food. "Don't forget what happened to Harry," he said.
In horror, Harry saw that the captain was standing on the edge of the group, the ever-present mug of coffee in her hand.
"What happened to Harry?" she asked with a grin. "I can't imagine it's worse than poor Chakotay's tale."
All the heads turned his way. Harry opened his mouth to make a joke, tell the tale before Tom could embellish it, but instead he found himself flushing, his head empty of a single coherent word. He wanted to laugh it off, but his attention was caught by a movement on the edge of the group. Greg had arrived, he had slid into the vacant seat next to Gerron, but his attention was fixed on Harry. A slight half-smile curled his mouth, as if he were wondering what Harry would say about his part in the event.
Harry's mind shut down. He opened his mouth to reply to Janeway, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Nothing that he could say to his captain anyway. He could hardly tell the group about the most glorious-terrifying moment when he'd been held against Greg's chest, the feel of a thick cock destroying all his coherent thought.
They were waiting for him to answer, smiles poised in anticipation of another funny story. Tom was regarding him steadily, something akin to sympathy in his eyes.
"Oh, nothing much happened to Harry," Tom said. "Meera dragged him into one of the side rooms, but he wiggled his way out of it with Greg's help." His eyes flashed a warning message at Mort.
Janeway smiled and saluted them all with her coffee cup. "Well, I realize it wasn't easy," she said, "but I consider you all to have acquitted yourselves admirably. B'Elanna has the gallicite, and Voyager has retained most of her crew. D'Tang will be missed of course, but the choice was made freely." She patted Harry absently on the shoulder, then touched Chakotay's arm, handing him a PADD, and he excused himself and left with her. With a sinking feeling, Harry saw Greg turn to Gerron, brushing the younger man's arm as he said something quietly to him.
The group gradually dispersed. Harry was left with a plateful of congealed food, and a liquid gut. The queasiness was back in full force. All he had to do was wait for Greg to finish his conversation with Gerron, and then he could make his suggestion of spending time together. Hurry up, Greg, he urged him silently. He tried not to stare, and concentrated instead on the food on his plate. The only other person at the table was Tom, who was finishing Chakotay's abandoned dessert with enthusiasm.
"... maybe tomorrow night?" Greg's words suddenly sprang into unwanted clarity. "We could meet at the beach resort?"
"Sounds good," Gerron's reply was enthusiastic. "I'll look forward to it. Maybe we could swim, or just hang out at the bar."
Greg's reply was lost in the buzzing in Harry's head. His stomach rebelled, and for a horrified second he thought he was going to lose what little he'd managed to eat. No, he screamed internally. No. Greg, no. Not Gerron. You're mine... He closed his eyes and willed his stomach to calm. When he opened them, he found Tom looking at him, sympathy evident on his face. He couldn't stand to see it, and certainly didn't want to hear Gerron flirting openly with Greg, the man who he... He what? Liked? Respected? Wanted? The words didn't fit, but then nothing had settled into place since they went to Valmora. His stomach, his life, his sexuality, his heart... they all were jagged pieces of the whole, grating on each other, demanding attention, demanding that Harry sort out the jigsaw of his life, and smooth it into a seamless whole.
He pushed his plate aside, and stood, mumbling excuses that he was certain no one heard.
"Wait, Harry!" Tom's shout followed him out of the messhall, and he slowed his steps, not wanting to explain to Tom, but unwilling to cut off his friend.
Something on his face must have given him away. Instead of cracking a joke, Tom was unusually serious. He took Harry's arm and steered him along the corridor before pushing him into a corner by the turbo lift. Tom's eyes searched his face, and Harry could only imagine what his friend was seeing. He tried to stare over the pilot's shoulder, direct his thoughts to his unfinished Operations Report.
"Okay," said Tom eventually. "Spill it."
"Spill what?" Harry tried to slide past Tom to summon the lift, but Tom stood firm, blocking his way with his body. "There's nothing to spill."
"Harry, Harry..." Tom's sigh gusted over his face. "Let me tell you what's wrong then."
"Like I said," Harry replied stubbornly, "it's nothing. Drop it, will you?" He pushed at Tom's shoulder and his friend fell back. But his relief was short-lived.
"I don't believe you're just embarrassed about being seen in your underwear," the pilot said loudly. "I think it's more than that. I think you've..."
The lift arrived, and Harry dragged Tom into it, before he could say more. "Deck six," he said. "Tom, thanks for not spilling the beans about that rescue thing. I thought I'd be living it down for the next twenty years." He turned to face his friend. "I owe you one."
"Think nothing of it." Tom waved a hand airily. "But I know you, my friend - something is very wrong. And I don't think for a minute that you're sorry to leave Meera, so spill it. You gotta talk to someone. Of course, Chakotay's the councilor, but you and I've been friends for longer. You can tell me. I won't blab."
For a few heartbeats Harry considered, weighing Tom, the biggest gossip on the ship, with Tom, his friend who cared for him.
He made his decision. "Computer, halt lift." He turned to Tom. "I don't really know how to say this," he began awkwardly. "It's kinda personal..."
Tom regarded him with his direct gaze. "Would it have anything to do with our mutual friend Gregory Ayala?" he inquired.
He must have taken Harry's flushed silence for acquiescence. "Let's go to my quarters. I think you might need a couple of beers to loosen your tongue. Don't worry - Chakotay's with the captain and likely will be there for a while. And if he comes back early, well, he can take himself off to Sandrine's. Computer, resume lift."
On the short walk to Tom's quarters, Harry tried out words in his head. 'I want Greg to have sex with me' sounded so shallow. But wasn't that what he wanted? Yes, it was, but... Harry had never just "had sex". His liaisons had always been warm, caring on some level, even if just for the night. He had always made love, not merely performed a physical act. It shouldn't be any different with Greg, hell, he didn't want just the physical... He needed a real connection.
Inside his quarters, Tom called for two beers from the replicator. Popping the tops, he handed one to Harry and led him over to the couch.
"Spill it," he said.
Harry took a long draught for courage. "I learned something new about myself on Valmora," he began. "I think... no, I know, that I'm attracted to men as well as women."
His eyes slid sideways to catalog Tom's reaction, but Tom merely nodded, as if this was no surprise. "Go on," he said.
"I want Greg." There were the words, baldly spoken.
"Want him for what?"
"He's my friend. I think he wants me too." Harry picked at the beer label, peeling a corner away from the glass, hoping Tom didn't notice the evasion. "But I don't know if he'd want me chasing him."
"So he doesn't know you want a relationship with him?"
A relationship? Where had that come from? Harry considered. He hadn't really thought past a first date. A fuck date. A hot night with a willing man. Tom was sitting quietly, eyes intent on his face waiting for his answer. A relationship... the word settled into his mind, and the queasiness in his gut eased, just slightly.
"No," Harry said slowly, "I don't think he does." Or maybe he did know, and this avoidance was his way of letting him down gently. Harry squirmed slightly.
"So, what's the problem?" Tom gulped his own beer, and waited for the answer.
"Maybe I should forget it. Greg probably doesn't..."
"Harry, Harry, Harry. Stop wavering. A minute ago you sounded very sure of yourself." He slung a companionable arm around Harry's shoulders. "You want my advice? Go for it. Greg's genuine - he won't mess with you. And you, of all people on this ship, need to get lucky in love." He winked. "And he's not dead, or a hologram, or a Borg..."
"Right." Harry could feel his ears redden. "So, Tom... what should I do next? How do I let him know I'm interested?" In for a penny, in for a pound.
Tom grinned, his trademark Paris grin, and his eyes danced. "I've only got one bit of advice for you. Be yourself. Let Greg fall in love with the real Harry."
When he left Tom's quarters shortly afterwards, his head was still spinning, and not from the beer. Love. Was there a place for love in all of this? He didn't know.
~ *~ *~ *~
Tom was still smiling when Chakotay entered his quarters an hour later. He waited until his lover had shed boots and uniform jacket, and got comfortable next to him on the couch, before he mentioned his visitor.
"I've just been holding Harry's hand, metaphorically speaking," he began. "I don't know if he knows it himself yet, but he's in love with Greg."
"Oh?" Chakotay pulled Tom close to him, and stretched out his socked feet to rest them on the coffee table. "Is he finally going to do anything about it?"
"I hope so. I think so." Tom's hand stroked the firm chest under his head. "They'd be good together, I think. And Greg's wanted Harry for so long... "
"Hmmmmm," Chakotay's chest vibrated with the syllable. "Like I told you before, he tried to tell me he was over Harry. But he's fooling himself. I just hope Harry treads lightly on Greg's heart."
"And vice versa. Harry's been hurt so often, he goes around with a little sign over his heart, 'Kick Me Here'."
Chakotay chuckled. "We'll think positive. It'll work for them. Now, weren't we still making up for lost time on Valmora?"
"Yeah, we were." Tom raised his head and kissed the full lips he loved so much.
~ *~ *~ *~
The clothes in his closet did not inspire enthusiasm, Greg thought to himself. He really wanted to look especially nice, and everything he owned he'd worn so many times before. He was going to meet Gerron at the beach resort, which meant wearing something light, and of that stupid tropical theme that Tom had insisted on programming into the characters. Swimwear under his shorts would be prudent, in case Gerron wanted to play in the water. However, Greg had a meeting with the captain prior to his date. He didn't want to be wandering the ship wearing shorts, much less walk into the ready room dressed so casually, even if the captain had already said off duty clothing was fine.
Greg shoved his latest pick back into the pile, and swore. Nothing looked good enough. He thought he probably had the rations needed to make a new shirt, at least, considering he'd been away from his replicator for a few days. He usually ended the month with rations to spare, anyway. But what color?
"Screw the tropical shit," he muttered. And screw all of the conservative colors he usually wore. He'd go with red. Deep, maroon red. He smiled. He'd use the same basic shirt pattern that Tom had given everyone, but his would be a statement. He was starting a potentially good relationship, he wanted to project sex appeal. Red was an excellent way to do that, and since Chakotay looked good in the color, he figured that quite likely he did, too. He'd compromise with long, tan pants. He smiled again. This might be his lucky night.
~ *~
If the look of unabashed appreciation that had flitted across the captain's face when he'd entered was any indication, Greg thought he had a good chance of impressing Gerron. He'd been almost embarrassed -- Captain Janeway had never given him a look quite like that before. She'd covered it quickly, and had waved him to sit down across the desk from her.
"Lieutenant," she said, resting on her elbows next to the ever-present coffee mug, "I want you to know just how much I appreciate the fine job you did on the away mission."
His heart started to thud. He didn't want to talk about what had happened during "the fiasco." Especially not with her. Would she bring it up? What had she been told, exactly?
"Gregory? Are you all right?"
He focused, and put a deliberate smile on his face. "Yes, Captain, I'm fine. But I was just doing my job, ma'am."
She smiled, too. "Well, I realize your assignment was somewhat unorthodox, and it might have even been a little uncomfortable for you. But the mission was a great success, due in no small measure to your efforts. Harry is still with us, and for that I'm very grateful. This ship would not be the same without him."
He made a noncommittal noise of assent.
"So," she continued, "I've put a commendation in your permanent Starfleet record. No specifics of the assignment, of course, but just an indication that you saved Voyager from a very sticky, potentially harmful, situation. Congratulations." She was still smiling.
He could not believe it, and could think of absolutely no response. To receive a commendation for that? The mission from hell? The mission where all of his dreams had gone up in flames, absurd as those dreams may have been? He had a sudden flash of memory, of holding Harry to his chest, of the man sinking back against him... He coughed, and forced himself to think of something else. Tuvok. Security Regulation 645.93. He looked at his captain. "Thank you," he said, surprised that his voice sounded as normal as it did.
She stood, and he followed suit. She made some small talk about plans for his evening as she walked him to the door. Gerron. He was going to spend some time with Gerron, he found himself telling her. She smiled again, and wished him a pleasant time. He left, still in a bit of a daze.
~ *~
On his way to the holodeck, he shook himself back into clarity. He decided that maybe he did deserve some kind of recognition for what he'd been through on Valmora. There was only so much, after all, that a man was supposed to do for the good of the many. Sure, he may have prevented Voyager from losing her brilliant Operations Officer, and he'd helped Mr. and Mrs. Kim win another small victory in the fight to get Harry back home -- but. He himself had suffered great humiliation. His secret had been revealed, his body had betrayed him, and he'd lost everything because of it. So he deserved a commendation. It would stand him in good stead when he got back to the AQ, and he continued his Starfleet career. Except that he wasn't interested in a 'fleet career.
He walked toward holodeck two. "Screw the whole thing," he mumbled to himself. The door opened at his presence, as it was supposed to do when the resort program was running. The sounds of a crew enjoying themselves drifted to him as he passed through the arch, and the very welcome sight of sun, sand and water helped him feel relaxed. Finally relaxed.
Gerron was at the bar, and their eyes met right away; it looked as if the other man had been watching for him. He smiled, genuinely glad to see Gerron. He didn't really pay attention to anyone else there, mostly because he simply didn't want to. He didn't care to make any more small talk in a group setting -- he'd had enough of that on Valmora.
"Hi," Greg said, taking the final few steps to Gerron's side. Gerron's eyes slid down to his chest, and lower, then up again. It had been very smooth, and nothing but pure appreciation could be seen in the man's gaze. For some reason, however, it made Greg slightly uncomfortable.
"Hi," Gerron replied. "Is that a new shirt? It looks good."
"No, I've had this for a while," he lied unexpectedly, but just as smoothly as Gerron had raked him with his eyes. He didn't know why he'd done it.
They ordered drinks, and made more small talk -- all the while Greg couldn't help but think that this wasn't going as he'd planned. He'd wanted to radiate sex appeal. Clearly, he was, and it just wasn't... What? It wasn't as comfortable as he had expected. Gerron was saying something about Harry, which instantly brought Greg out of his self-absorption.
".... Mortimer said that Harry was blushing -- everywhere," Gerron said with a laugh.
"It wasn't Harry's fault," he spat out. He nearly moaned. What was wrong with him? It certainly was Harry's fault. The whole fiasco was.
Gerron touched his forearm. "Hey, I'm sorry. I know you're friends, and you were just trying to help him."
Greg downed half of his fruit punch in one long swallow. Gerron was still resting a hand on him. Then the other man's glance shifted to over Greg's shoulder.
"Speak of the devil," Gerron muttered. "Jeez, I hope he didn't hear me...."
Greg spun around, unable to stop himself. Harry was sitting on the far side of the patio, with B'Elanna and Meghan, whose presence Greg barely noticed. Harry's eyes locked with his, and this time, he couldn't break the contact. There was something undefinable in that piercing look, something that was not shock, or hurt, or a need for reassurance. It wasn't anger, either. It was something else. Greg suddenly felt disgusted with himself, and looked away, back to his companion. His date.
"Let's go take a walk," he said. "Don't worry -- I don't think he heard you." He finished his drink and took Gerron's elbow, leading him toward the sand, away from everyone.
~ *~
They were sitting on the beach, talking about all things Voyager, all things Maquis, and all things home. Greg was enjoying himself, overall. Very definitely enjoying the holographic sun and water, the pretense that he was on Risa, or some other pleasure planet. At the same time, he was feeling vaguely uneasy. Gerron was clearly giving this his all -- touching Greg, making a few veiled suggestive remarks, flirting without restraint. This was exactly what Greg had wanted to have happen. Yet, each time the other man laid a hand on him, he wanted to move away. It was beginning to drive him crazy. He was beginning to feel completely out of his element.
Then the worst possible thing occurred. In his mind, at least. He happened to look back toward the resort, and saw Harry sitting on the sand, alone. He thought he'd almost caught him looking his way, but couldn't quite be sure. Whether he was being watched or not, he now felt like he was, which was the last thing he needed right then.
He told Gerron that he was getting tired of the sun, and suggested they go to Gerron's quarters. The suggestion was accepted with unbridled enthusiasm. Greg merely gritted his teeth, and walked them both past Harry, meters enough away so as to preclude any greeting. He walked them straight off the holodeck.
~ *~
The couch in Gerron's cabin was where they'd landed; his roommate was out and all distractions were gone. After the usual drink offer, which Greg had accepted, Gerron had apparently decided to up the flirting yet another notch. His hands began to roam, dipping down the opening in Greg's shirt to run over his chest. Pressing himself to Greg's side, and making subtle and not-so-subtle kissing moves along Greg's cheek, and jaw.
Greg wanted to want this. He really, really did. He turned his head, and kissed Gerron full on, bringing a soft groan from the other man, as well as more active fingers trailing down his shirt, unbuttoning it, caressing his skin. He didn't want to be thinking about his own reactions, or how quickly he should progress things -- but that's what was happening. He just wanted to feel. He wanted to feel something more than a tenuous hold on the strength of his arousal. Gerron was kissing him harder, and with more intent. He was feeling... all wrong.
He pulled back from the kiss as gently as he could. Greg was now more than just uncomfortable -- he was ready to bolt. He was a heel, and he knew it. It was too painfully obvious that Gerron had a deep desire for him; for all Greg knew, the man was in love with him. He understood what that was like, but Gerron deserved better. He was a good man, a very good man. He was probably a very good sex partner. He just wasn't what Greg wanted. Not that night. And it wasn't fair to pretend that he was.
Gerron's eyes were searching his. He sighed, as his heart sank from what he was about to do.
"I'm sorry, Gerry, I have to go. I'm sorry. I can't explain it." He stood. "I'm sorry...." He turned and walked to the door, then stopped and looked back at the still somewhat stunned young man. "It's not you, I promise," he said quietly. "You're terrific." He couldn't think of anything else to say, so instead of prolonging their mutual discomfort, he left.
~ *~
Greg was lying on his couch, with an arm over his eyes and one foot on the floor, trying to figure out what in the world was wrong with him. Self-analysis wasn't a well-honed skill of his, at least not to the level that he apparently needed. He'd asked a very attractive, sweet, fairly hot man out on a date. A man interested in him. He'd wanted to go out. He'd wanted to take Gerron to bed, even. Rather than said man, in his arms, naked, writhing with passion under him ... the entire date had been, on the whole, a mess of a mess. The responsibility for that rested squarely on his own shoulders, no question, no squirming out of it. All his.
"Damn it all to hell," he said without much enthusiasm.
His door chime rang. He sat up, wondering who in the world would be coming around to his cabin so late in the evening. His heart started to thud, thinking that it might be Gerron. He had no explanation to give him for his behavior, but conceded that the man deserved the chance to ask anyway. He called for admittance. The door swooshed open and his heart careened dangerously. It was Harry.
"May I come in?" Harry asked.
"Sure," he answered, standing, unable to think.
"No, please, don't get up." Harry walked right to him, less than two meters away and sat, waving him to do the same.
Greg sat, then felt irritated by it. These were his quarters. He stood. "I'd prefer to stand," he stated.
Harry shrugged, but looked up at him with those eyes of his. "Would you please sit down with me? I've something I want to say to you."
God, don't look at me like that, he thought. He sighed, and sat. "Better?"
"Thank you," Harry replied sincerely. "Greg...."
But he didn't say anything other than that, so Greg just fixed him with a gaze of his own, and waited.
"Greg, I wanted to thank you for what you did on Valmora the other night. For me..."
Greg interrupted him, shooting up from the couch, his heart taking off. "Don't you do it, too, Harry Kim -- don't you dare tell me what a fucking good job I did, or how I saved you from a life on that damned planet. Don't you dare!"
Harry was now on his feet as well, holding up his hands. "No, no..."
He didn't want to hear it. "Take your thanks and write them in your log, why don't you?!"
Harry took three steps until he breached Greg's personal space, and yet -- Greg couldn't move away. He was ordering his feet to do precisely that, but they refused.
"No, Greg, you don't understand," Harry said, reaching out to touch Greg's chest, resting his hand where the V of the shirt stopped. His fingers barely brushed Greg's skin.
Greg moved this time -- back to the couch, where he sat, ignoring the reaction his body had just had at the mere touch of Harry's fingers. But Harry followed, sitting next to him, and Greg had a moment's disorientation as the man with him unwittingly mimicked the man who'd been sitting next to him earlier. Kissing him. That wasn't Harry, and Harry would never do that, Greg screamed at himself. He wondered fleetingly if maybe he was going crazy.
Then he felt the unmistakable sensation of Harry's hand doing something else it would never do. Greg looked down for confirmation. Yes. It was on his thigh, and making some erratic, slightly shaky circles -- heading to the inside of his knee. He looked back up and directly into Harry's black eyes. What the hell was going on? His brain had spasmed. His body's self-control was... as tenuous as it had ever been around this man.
~ *~ *~ *~
There was no going back now, and Harry didn't want to. Tamping down his nerves, he continued the widening circles on Greg's thigh. Underneath his tentative fingers the muscle was tense, as if Greg was coiled, ready to spring. Harry flicked a glance at his face, it was stony, unyielding, no acceptance or encouragement visible.
His own arousal curled in his belly. Greg felt so good. This felt so right. He wanted this, he wanted to feel those full lips on his, to twine his tongue around Greg's, needed to press himself into Greg's arms.
Taking a deep breath, Harry gathered his courage around him and leaned forward. "Greg," he said quietly.
Greg turned his head a fraction, but it was enough. Harry wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him toward him. For a second, their breath mingled in the small space between them. He saw Greg's eyes, startled, shocked... then Harry closed the final gap and fitted his mouth to Greg's.
~ *~ *~ *~
Greg's mind was working again. It had jump-started the moment Harry slid soft lips over his own, and snaked fingers up into his hair. He was on the edge of a very high cliff, and Harry Kim was the ocean below. He wasn't going to jump without some sort of understanding of why the man he was in love with was sitting next to him, kissing him, beginning to close the space between them on the couch. His heart was hammering. His knees were tingling. His hands were itching to touch, too, but they stayed at his sides.
Greg pulled back and looked at Harry. Really looked at him. He saw a flash of confusion, then wariness, but underneath it all was want. Greg's heart rate sped up even faster. Harry honestly wanted him. He made an instantaneous decision. He could handle this -- he would accept what was being offered, whatever it was. He had to accept it; he would space himself if he didn't. But before he could think any further, Harry started to withdraw.
Quickly, Greg touched Harry's cheek, then cupped his face. "Don't," he said gently.
Harry bit his lip, hesitated, and nodded incrementally.
Sweet relief flooded Greg's senses, and he made the very conscious decision to stop thinking. His eyes were locked with Harry's; the air was thick with tension -- it was almost palpable. He ached for this man, deep in his bones. Harry was still waiting, so near that Greg could hear his breathing, could smell him, could see the glint of light reflected in his irises. How he wanted him.
Greg moved, leaning in, covering Harry's mouth, kissing him with purpose, and intent. Kissing him the way he'd always wanted to, thrilled to feel Harry matching him in intensity, kiss for kiss. His stomach dipped, his hands came alive, his blood started to race through his veins. Harry was wrapping his arms around Greg's neck, pulling himself closer, their mouths pressing closer, too, kissing harder, and faster. Then Harry made a noise, a small moan or a slight whimper -- and Greg's blood began to pool in earnest below his waist.
It was the most natural thing to part his lips, and lick the edge of Harry's. He'd done it hundreds of times before, so automatically that he was completely unprepared for the overwhelming flood of arousal that hit when Harry opened his mouth enough to let him in. Their kisses deepened in a rush. Greg's head started to spin; Harry tasted just as good as he'd always imagined he would. They moaned almost simultaneously. They needed more body contact -- Harry tried to climb onto Greg's lap and Greg tried to help him, pulling them into some semblance of alignment, trying to get them closer.
Harry was doing something to the front of Greg's shirt. Their mouths were still locked together, tongues frantically sweeping in and out. Greg reached between them and found Harry's hand. It was shaking, working on the buttons of the dark red shirt, getting mostly nowhere in the task. He stilled the hand, covering it, holding it to his chest. He broke the liplock, and opened his eyes. Harry looked a little stunned, but Greg had no intention of letting him think. He unbuttoned his own shirt, watching Harry's face, and the look of pure lust there was enough to make Greg want to rip the man's clothing right off and throw him on the bed.
Harry's eyes drifted down to Greg's chest, something Harry had seen so many times before, something he appeared to be looking at for the first time. He touched it with both palms, and Greg hardened further as he felt the caress. He almost couldn't take it. He almost wanted him to stop the exploration, stop the movement across his nipples, stop the fingers trailing down to his belly. Almost.
"Har," he said finally.
Harry's eyes darted directly to his, as if he'd been woken from a trance. Rather than answer, Harry kissed him, hard, thrusting in his tongue, and coherency fled Greg's brain. Then the kiss stopped. "Take me to bed, Greg," Harry said, the yearning clearly heard. Greg brushed a shock of jet black hair off of Harry's forehead, and nodded, unable to say anything, unwilling to deny either of them.
~ *~
Clothing had been shed quickly in the drive to feel skin on skin on a soft mattress. Somehow they'd managed. Boots and socks had been toed off, pants dropped, shirts tossed, underwear stripped, all the while each watching the other. Greg's heart was pounding so hard he worried he might pass out. Harry out of that blasted underwear was a sight he'd never forget. The jutting erection that had been revealed was as beautiful as Harry himself, and had been shown without embarrassment. On the contrary -- Harry took the three steps that brought them together. Skin to skin. Hardness against hardness. Hands beginning to move. Mouths devouring.
Greg broke the kiss, pulled them down and rolled them, overwhelmed at the feel of Harry against him, fully and completely. Writhing against him, moaning in his ear. Greg rolled them even further, until Harry was underneath him. He took his mouth in a penetrating kiss, feeling Harry's arms wrap around his back, and his hips thrust upward. He was sinking into him, hardening almost painfully. His brain intruded, as he wondered for the first time what he should do -- what Harry would want to do. He knew full well that the man under him had never experienced male love.
He stopped kissing him, pulling back enough to focus. Harry opened his eyes and Greg's heart fluttered to see what was there. More than want, or pure lust. The softness he was looking at, the emotion pouring out of Harry's eyes was more than he'd ever expected. A burning began, deep in his chest, as he let his own feelings suffuse his being. He couldn't control them any longer, and he didn't want to. He loved Harry Kim with everything in him. He would make love to him, lavish it on him, show him.
~ *~
Greg's imaginings of Harry's body, the softness of the skin, had been too briefly confirmed during the fiasco. Now there was time to enjoy it, to taste it, to learn all of the places that drove Harry just a little bit closer to the point of no return. Greg revelled in the lessons with a passion he hadn't felt in... much longer than he cared to remember. He kept moving over Harry, with skilled hands, and a constantly travelling mouth. He would kiss him, deeply, every few minutes. To remind Harry who was doing this, who was making him feel like this, who was bringing out the moans, and the thrusts, until Harry started to use his name -- and then he kissed him because it felt good, and right, and he needed it desperately. To remind him that it was Harry he was tasting. Harry was in his bed. Harry was under him, and in his arms.
He hovered over Harry's belly, wanting to take the soft and rigid cock into his mouth, so badly. Wanting to give Harry the ultimate pleasure. Harry's hands stilled in his hair, but his hips thrust just enough to bring the head closer to Greg's lips. Greg almost smiled, but he was more intent on watching a bead of precum form, feeling a surge of lust to see it. He ran a hand up from between Harry's legs, slowly, then grasped the erection, and slid it into his mouth. He heard and felt Harry moan, as hips bucked under Greg's other hand. He held him down, gently, firmly, and did one of the things he knew how to do best.
He gave Harry's cock all of the love he felt, licked it, sucked it, took it in deeply, then less so. Toyed with it, teased it, lavished it with attention -- all the while feeling Harry writhe, his hands running through Greg's hair almost frantically, then more slowly, mirroring whatever Greg did. Greg could feel himself oozing, on the bed, on Harry's leg, he was so hard. He was in heaven. Harry was right on the edge, and he didn't want to tease him any longer. He wanted him to come. He deep-throated him, and dragged his fingers behind Harry's rigid sacs, circling his opening. Harry was calling his name, in a gutteral groan, when his entire body stilled, then thrust, and he climaxed, shooting down Greg's throat, over and over. Oh, god, I love you, was all that Greg could think. All that he could feel.
When he moved up, and Harry wrapped himself around him, and kissed him intensely, deeply, clutching him, Greg thought he might come, too, he was so overwhelmed. Harry rolled him on his side, and with his tongue sweeping the inside of Greg's mouth, he touched Greg everywhere he could reach, caressing him, driving him near mad, then taking him in his hand and stroking. Greg was so close, so damned close, and Harry's fingers, those graceful fingers, were working him with ease. Greg grabbed the back of Harry's head and locked their mouths together, and Harry only moaned in response.
Yes, Harry, do it, Harry, just like that.... He moaned too, and mumbled Harry's name into the man's mouth, felt himself begin to float as his climax approached with devastating speed. Oh, God, Harry.... The orgasm ripped through him as he thrust hard into Harry's hand, and the man continued to kiss him, devour him, and he pulsated against his chest. He wanted Harry closer, so he wrapped his arms around him and pulled, until they were tightly bound, and the ropey streams of his climax were spread between them.
They stayed that way, until Harry untangled himself, got a towel, and cleaned them both off. Their eyes locked together. Greg found that he didn't want to ask, he just wanted it to happen. Then Harry yanked the covers out from under Greg, climbed into bed, and pulled them back up and over the two of them. Greg took him in his arms and kissed him, languidly, deeply. Harry felt so good. This felt so right.
The man broke the kiss, and with one last look deep into his eyes, Harry turned in Greg's embrace, pushing his back against Greg's chest, snuggling in with a contented sigh. Sated, sleepy, overcome, Greg hugged him tightly. Harry's breathing began to even out, and he stopped rubbing Greg's hand where it had rested on his stomach. Greg inhaled, taking in the scent of their lovemaking, and the unique smell that was all Harry. He could die now, and rest in peace.
~ *~ *~ *~
Harry woke slowly, the warm fuzz of sleep giving way to alertness. The computer's wake up call was sounding as usual, but his bed seemed different. The mattress was harder. And it was warmer than normal in the room, overly so.
When his pillow stirred underneath him, his memory returned with a jolt. He was in Greg's quarters, and his pillow was a hard, hairy male chest. His hand rested on Greg's stomach, and at Harry's indrawn breath his hand drew back, brushing lightly on a steel-hard erection. He raised his head.
"Good morning." The owner of the erection was regarding him lazily, lips tilted up in an inviting smile, catlike and content.
He was beautiful. Harry's chest tightened as he stared back. God, he was incredible. For a few moments he lost himself in the dark eyes. The smell of semen still hung faintly in the air, the grassy-sour smell redolent on the sheets. They were lovers. Or nearly lovers. The liquid rush rose in him again, as he remembered their night. Greg, taking him in his mouth, himself, bringing his lover to the same heights. The memory rushed over him, and he drowned in its sweetness for several moments.
Greg regarded him silently when he didn't answer. Maybe, thought Harry, he shouldn't be here. Maybe he was supposed to leave. What was the protocol between men anyway? His eyes slid away from Greg and he shuffled his legs, drawing back from the solid, tempting body next to him. If anything, Greg's silence intensified, draping heavily over the bed.
"I'm, er, on Alpha Shift. I better go." His words sounded awkward in his ears. Harry made to rise, then hesitated, sitting on the bed. He wanted to lean over and take Greg's mouth, slant over those full lips and kiss him, see if the faintest hint of semen still lingered in his taste. For a dizzy second his mind spiraled him back to the night before, and the image of Greg taking him in his mouth, sucking on him, unselfishly giving his pleasure. He swayed, the rush of pleasure to his groin preventing him rising, in case Greg saw how aroused he was. In case that wasn't the done thing between men. But oh, how he wanted to rest his head on Greg's chest again, feel the connection between them. It was there, that connection, he was sure of it. The rush of emotion that had surged over him last night as they made love was real, it wasn't just the sex. It was something valid and true. Something that they could build upon and let grow into something more. Almost like falling in love.
But now, in the artificial daylight, things seemed harsher. The tenderness was evaporating, Greg was looking at him like he was an intrusion. Harry's hand shook where it rested on his knee. Shit. He didn't know what to do. If this was a woman, one he had bedded for the warmth and the mutual passion, a caring extension to their friendship, he would still be curled up alongside her in the bed, and Alpha Shift be damned. At least, it could wait for a few minutes while he kissed her farewell and maybe made plans for another night.
It shouldn't be any different with Greg, but it was. Shit, Harry thought again. It seemed to be the only word in his mind that made any sense. Maybe this was a mistake, after all. It had seemed so right last night. Greg had drawn him skillfully into a new lovers' dance; it had been... nearly perfect. But, this morning... it was all falling apart on him and he couldn't handle it. Hell, he didn't want to have to handle it.
Abruptly Harry stood. His pants, where had they fallen in their passion last night? He was on Alpha Shift, he needed a shower and the need to hurry wiped his mind of all other concerns.
Greg didn't move, simply lay with the sheet low on his stomach, tented by his erection. "Harry," he said.
"What?" Harry's eyes slid away from him awkwardly. Escape was the only thing in his mind, he wasn't good at small talk, and the tension building between them was becoming oppressive. He fumbled for his underpants and it took him three tries to get his leg through the second hole.
"Where's my shirt?" He found it, crumpled on the floor, kicked haphazardly into a corner, forgotten in the rush to undress. "I can't walk back to my quarters wearing this!" Even to himself he sounded petulant, a spoiled little child whining about the trivial.
"Take one of mine. Top drawer." Greg indicated with a wave of his hand.
Harry grabbed the first one he laid his hand on, a soft navy one. It was too large, and hung low on his shoulders, swamping him. How appropriate.
Close to the door, he turned. "Uh, thanks," he said. The words seemed hopelessly inadequate. Thanks for giving me the best night of my life, for making me feel I'm loved, for making me feel.... fuck, for making me need you. Even if now, it doesn't seem you meant it at all.
Greg had left the bed, padded on soundless feet over to the door. He hadn't bothered dressing, comfortable in his nudity. In a surprisingly gentle gesture, he touched Harry's cheek.
"Harry, you okay with this?" he asked quietly. "Do you regret what we did?"
For a moment, Harry swayed into the touch, then the confusion swallowed him again, and he stiffened, drawing away from Greg's hand. "No," he said, but even to his ears the word lacked sincerity. "No." A stronger syllable this time. "I don't regret what we did."
Greg's eyes shuttered, a veil drawn over his face from the inside. "I see." Quietly spoken. "You don't have to explain, Harry. I understand only too well." Turning abruptly, he stalked over to the bathroom. Harry watched the shift of muscle under the golden skin, his mouth dry. What had he done?
"Let yourself out," Greg threw over his shoulder. "We can't have Janeway's golden boy late for Alpha Shift." The bathroom door swished closed behind him, signaling the end of the night.
Without a word Harry turned back and walked through the door.
It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
~ *~ *~ *~
Greg entered his quarters and went directly to the refresher, ripping his commbadge off and tossing it on the bed along the way. He'd had an excruciating alpha shift, with Crewmember Lawrence annoying him in the morning, Gerron staring at him across the mess hall at lunch, and Tuvok deciding that the second half of Greg's day should be spent doing weapons inspections. Throughout it all, he'd been running on a horrible mixture of adrenalin, dread, and near depression, with a shot of anxiety to boot. He was exhausted.
He stopped halfway through removing his uniform jacket, having only unzipped it, and leaned against the wall, resting his forehead on one arm. No, I don't regret what we did..., Harry had said, but his demeanor had told Greg something completely different. That Greg had even felt the need to ask tore at his heart. That he hadn't believed the answer was so much worse. To think of how he'd felt for those few blissful minutes as he was waking up with Harry in his arms -- any lesser man would surely go insane.
He continued the task of getting undressed, stuffing his uniform into the chute. He followed this by stripping the bed and removing all traces that Harry had been on the sheets, sleeping on the pillow, curled up under the covers. He stuffed everything into the refresher, too, with renewed energy.
Taking a het man to bed was always a bad idea -- he knew this; he knew it like he knew his mother's name. A very bad idea, for in the cold light of artificial day a het man will always wonder what the hell he'd done the night before. That Harry had appeared to be willing, and wanting, and even emotional meant nothing. He knew this, too.
He pulled out some pants and a tunic, not caring what they looked like, yanking them on. His rations were a little low, from replicating that damned shirt, but he made himself some dinner anyway. Another trip to the mess hall was not an option. As he ate the tasteless food, he considered calling Chakotay, to talk. But that would mean telling the man what had happened, what he'd allowed to happen, how much of himself he'd given to Harry. The thought of that made the food in his stomach sit heavily. He pushed his plate away, no longer interested in feeding his body. He let his head fall into his hands, no longer willing to see his own quarters, not wanting the memories to be triggered.
It all came down to one thing, in Greg's beleaguered mind. Why the fuck had Harry come to him in the first place? Out of the blue? Wanting to go to bed with him? What was he -- an experiment for Harry to test out his sexuality? A flash of memory haunted Greg. Harry's face, looking up at him from the pillow, eyes shining with emotion, cheeks flushed with arousal. Greg's throat began to close. He coughed, and swallowed hard to stop it, wiping his face with his hands, then took a deep breath. The thought of Harry only using him just didn't seem possible, and yet -- that was exactly how he was feeling. A cold pinpoint of anger formed in his gut.
He asked the computer for Harry's whereabouts. The ensign was in his quarters, and alone. Greg ignored the flood of hurt that was waiting to overtake him. Harry hadn't called him, or come to find him, or left him any message -- all day. Fuck that shit, he thought. He shoved his chair away from the table and went looking for his shoes.
~ *~
The door to Harry's cabin opened after just a few seconds, and Greg stalked through it quickly. His heart lurched as he made eye contact with Harry, but he didn't let that stop him from what he'd come here to do. The other man had opened his mouth, but he jumped in first.
"One question for you, Harry," he said with force, "why did you come to my quarters last night? I mean -- why exactly did you decide to come and seduce me? Why last night? Why at all?"
Harry's mouth had snapped shut within a nanosecond of Greg opening his. The man was beginning to blush, and Greg had last seen Harry do that in bed -- a thought Greg quashed with speed and determination.
Harry put both hands on his hips and took a deep breath. His lips were set. "Why?"
Greg waited, assuming there would be more. When there wasn't, he answered, "Yes, why? I think I deserve to know that much, at least. You haven't said a whole lot since you sat yourself down on my couch last night..." He stopped abruptly. Memories again. The air was suddenly thick with tension, and Harry's blushing continued.
"Well, I... I don't exactly know how to answer that, Greg." Harry was biting his lip now.
"Try," he responded sarcastically.
Harry took another breath. "I wasn't thinking about anything at the time, other than that I wanted to go to bed with you, I wanted us to have sex...."
Greg interrupted, anger inflaming him, "You thought, what, that I'd be someone to experiment with?!"
"No, that's not...."
Greg talked over him, not wanting to hear any rationalizations, "You think that I'll just go to bed with any willing man who wants to find out what it's like?! That I'm that shallow?! Gee, Harry, thanks for the consideration!"
"Greg, I...."
Greg interrupted him again, feeling his world crashing down, "Why the fuck didn't you just make a god-damned appointment while you were at it?! At least then I would have known what the hell I was getting into!" He stopped for breath. His heart was pounding.
Harry's eyes were blazing. "Are you finished? Fuck, Greg, if we have a relationship, am I going to have to get used to not getting a word in edgewise in my own defense?! Shit! Do you want to know how I feel or don't you? I'm assuming that's what you came here to find out...." Harry's eyes burned into him. "Shit."
Greg's brain was flailing right then, having stopped entirely two sentences back. His heart rate increased another notch. "Relationship?" he asked.
"Oh, now you want to know what I was going to say?" Harry replied, but the burning in his eyes was changing from anger to something else entirely.
Greg looked down his nose at him, trying to maintain his own anger, not ready to concede anything until he knew. "Relationship?"
"Can we please sit down?" Harry motioned to the couch, then sat himself.
Greg followed, keeping eye contact at all times.
"Greg," Harry said, "I didn't know how I felt when I walked into your quarters last night. I'm sorry -- I never meant... I don't just have sex, you should know that." He looked down at his hands, which were working together. "I wouldn't hurt you deliberately."
Greg quelled the urge to cover those anxious hands with his own. "I know," he admitted. He did know that, somewhere deep inside. Harry looked at him again with relief. Greg waited.
Harry breathed deeply. "But whatever I was thinking, or feeling, then -- how I feel now, how I felt last night," he hesitated, his voice dropping, "while we were making love, Greg, what I felt then was very real. I don't know if I'm in love with you, but my feelings for you are... so strong. I want the chance to find out what they are." He hesitated again, for a long moment. "Yes, I want a relationship with you. I want time with you. I want... I want to love you."
Greg closed his eyes against the wave of emotion that was overtaking him. He didn't know what to say, he didn't even know what to do. How could he say no to this? But could he handle it? Could he take that risk? What if it never happened? What if Harry never felt anything more than he did now? What if....
"Greg," Harry said quietly.
He turned his head and looked at him. He saw what he'd seen in his bed, and it was beginning to have the same effect. He breathed deeply. Then Harry reached up and ran a hand through Greg's hair, down to the back of his head, pulled, and kissed him. Gently, reverently, but the feel of those lips on his and body memories hit Greg with a burning jolt. Harry pulled back gradually.
"Please, Greg," Harry said, looking deeply into his eyes. He stood up and held out his hand. "Come to bed with me," he pleaded softly. "Make love with me...."
Greg could see the vulnerability shining beneath it all. How he loved this man. He couldn't deny them a chance, he just couldn't. He stood, too, and took the hand offered.
~ *~ *~ *~
For a fractured second, Harry had thought that Greg would refuse. He'd inadvertently hurt Greg, that much was obvious, but that was no excuse. He should have trusted his gut, kissed him this morning when he left his bed, given in to the urge, leaned over and taken his lips. Shown him clearly what the night had meant. Instead, he'd misinterpreted Greg's silence as indifference, or as the normal end to a night between men.
But now... Now, as he entwined Greg's hand in his and led him toward the bedroom, he could feel Greg's silence for what it was. Excitement, barely reined. Just inside the bedroom door, Greg tugged him to a stop and turned into his arms, taking his mouth with a tender ferocity. Small, nibbling kisses deepened to a dark, drowning passion, love freely given and a promise. Oh, what a promise. When Greg's hand curled around to his backside in a possessive gesture, Harry couldn't hold back. He knew what Greg was implicitly asking by the caress.
"Yes, Greg, please." It was a shaky sound, half breath, half moan, but his vocal cords seemed paralyzed by the same driving need that held his body in a binding sway.
"Say it, Harry, please. I want to hear you ask me." Greg's words, rough with urgency, penetrated into his mind. "Say it, Harry..."
His eyelids were falling closed, the drugging kisses continued, interspersed with Greg's urgent words. Yes, his mind was screaming, but the passion and the need made it impossible to speak. Every voluntary function was shut down, seized up, and only the involuntary needs of life were left. Breathing. Sweating. The shake of his legs, supported by Greg's hard thighs. And kissing Greg.
"Say it, Harry..." Greg breathed the words one more time, softly, so that the whisper of breath ran over his lips, feathered over his cheek.
"Make love to me." The words were so soft, that at first Harry thought he had spoken them only in his head. "Make love with me, take me, brand me as yours. Take my body, fill me, love me."
The indrawn rasp of Greg's breath told him that he had indeed, spoken them aloud. Suddenly he was alone. He reeled with the suddenness of desertion, one thought forcing his way up through the clouded layers of his mind. This was all a pay-back; Greg had wanted to make him beg and now he had left. Harry wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to suppress the sinking feeling. But then Greg was back, taking his chin in one hand, staring into his eyes, building the connection between them again.
"I hadn't gone, Har," he whispered. "I just had to replicate this." He held up a small tube. "Lube."
Harry's knees buckled again, this time with sheer wanting. He moved forward, into Greg's space, and deliberately began to unbutton his shirt, exposing the golden skin, the curls of dark hair. One kiss, open-mouthed, pressed into the hollow of Greg's throat. A second, butterfly-light, where the pulse beat in uneven rhythm. Another button, another kiss. A swirl of tongue on the flat male nipple. Greg moaned, deep in his chest, and Harry redoubled his efforts, delighting in his power, needing to make Greg realize how much this meant to him, how true were his feelings.
The shirt hung loose, and Harry pushed it off Greg's shoulders, claiming his mouth in another kiss, deeper, fiercer, more needy than the last. His fingers went to the button of Greg's loose slacks, but Greg stilled his questing fingers.
"This is for both of us, Harry. We've all the time in the world and nothing to prove. Let me love you too." And then his fingers delved down, underneath the waistband of his loose slacks, cupping his ass with possessive fingers, even as his mouth slanted over Harry's with deliberate precision.
Harry was drowning again, falling into the kiss, losing himself in this man. When Greg's hand rose and slipped the buttons on his shirt, he assisted him, pulling the shirt out of his pants, tearing at the final button. He wanted that skin-touch, the chest to chest merging of their skin tones, to feel Greg's heart beat in counterpoint to his own. For all that the kiss was so urgent, the mesh of bodies was slow. Greg stroked careful fingers down Harry's chest, down to the waistband of his pants. A gentle drift of touch over his swollen sex below, then he was sliding around, once again cupping Harry's ass and pulling him toward him. Chest to chest, belly to belly, sex to sex.
Too much, too soon, never enough, never slow enough. Harry's mind spun through the myriad emotions, the lust and the need and the wanting all fusing seamlessly together, overlaid by the caring and the love of this man. His soon-to-be-lover. Soon, very soon.
With shaking fingers, he undid the fastening of Greg's pants, pushing them and his underpants down over his hips. Greg bent, swiftly removed shoes, and clothes, then straightened, gloriously unashamedly naked. And undeniably aroused.
Harry reached out and encircled the hard golden shaft. Thick, hot and waiting. He let Greg remove his final clothes, and once more they closed the gap, pressing bodies together, so that their cocks were sandwiched between their bellies, rubbing together in a glorious friction. Harry moved tentatively, striving to increase the pressure, but Greg shuffled him away, towards the bed.
"Here," he said. "We'll make love in your bed. And tomorrow morning, we'll wake up here together."
He toppled backwards on to the bed, dragging Harry down with him. He circled lean fingers on Harry's thigh, rubbing the sparse hairs, circling closer and closer, in dragging slowness, towards his cock.
When he bent towards Harry, his intent clear, Harry pushed on his shoulders. "No," he said. "Let me taste you."
Greg's breath rattled out of him, and in a deft movement he flipped them, so that he was underneath, Harry draped over his chest. Reaching down, Harry rubbed up high, finding the sensitive spot underneath the swollen sacs, rubbing and pushing. The golden cock seemed to pulsate, swelling even more, the head wet and glistening. He bent his head and took Greg in his mouth, stretching his lips wide over unfamiliar rubbery contours.
Salty and sweet, grassy and fresh. The moisture oozing from the tip burst onto his tongue. The essence of manhood, freely given. He sucked gently, wanting to give the same intense pleasure Greg had given him last night.
"No..." Greg's tortured whisper curled into the air. "No, Har, stop..."
Harry pretended not to hear, wanting to taste Greg's total pleasure, wanting to feel the thick ropes of semen explode onto his tongue, taste the salt and the tang, and the maleness.
Hands descended down onto his shoulder and gently pushed. "No," Greg repeated more forcefully. "I want to be inside you."
The yearning in Greg's tone was Harry's undoing. And there would be another time, many more times, for this. He nodded jerkily and moved away.
Greg raised up, pushing Harry over onto his back. 'Lift your knees."
Fingers tickled him, pushing insistently between his cheeks, one questing, exploring, then gone. Harry closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, willing his heart rate to calm. God, how he wanted this. The finger again, this time cold, lube covered, pushing, entering, curling around inside him. Another, tickling, stretching, and aaahhhh, there, the ripples of pleasure, unexpected and intense.
Then, a flurry of movement, the questing fingers gone, and Greg was raising up on his knees. A kiss, a meshing of mouths to prelude the most intimate kind of loving.
"I'll be gentle." He heard the promise, and knew it for truth. Greg wouldn't hurt him, and god.... his belly turned over, liquid heat pooling deep in his groin. Harry rolled over, drew up onto his knees. His cock was so hard that he thought if Greg so much as touched it, he would come hard and hot all over his lover's hands.
Then Greg was behind him, smoothing gentle hands down his spine to his ass, parting his cheeks.
The stretching was intense, a hot, heavy fullness, discomfort, eased by the slippery lube. And then the discomfort dissipated, and Harry was left with the joy of fullness, of penetration. So this was what it felt like. His eyes closed, the better to absorb the sensations, the newness, the rawness of emotions that welled up in his chest. And just when he thought it didn't get any better, Greg started to move, a gentle see-sawing motion. A red haze of arousal pounded in his head, oh god, oh god, oh god. Greg's hand slipped around, touching his cock, and stroked its trembling stiffness.
His orgasm was fierce, bursting out of him in a guttural shout, spilling over Greg's hand. The haze in his head cleared, and he felt Greg's careful thrusts disintegrate into jagged movements. Once, twice, and then Greg was coming too, a heated gush of seed, planted deep inside.
A gentle kiss to his spine. Greg rested his head on Harry's back for a moment, before disconnecting. The bed creaked as he left, returning almost immediately with a warm, damp cloth. Gently he wiped the fluid from Harry's ass, soothing the rawness. Then he pulled back the bedclothes, and slid between, pulling Harry over to join him.
"God, Har," his voice was a whisper. A finger drifted down Harry's cheek to run over his lips. "That was incredible."
Harry settled over next to him, on his side, his face tucked into the curve of neck and shoulder. Contentment stole over him, a blanket of peace, easing his turbulent emotions. He wanted to lie here and be held forever, against Greg's heart.
"You okay?" Greg's voice whispered. "Har... say something."
There was concern in his tone, and something more. The concern of a friend, the tenderness of a lover, and... with a start, Harry realized he was hearing the indefinable something that spoke of true caring. Greg cared for him. He'd never said, not exactly, but Harry sensed it to be true.
He gulped, a wave of emotion catching him unawares, and his shoulders heaved.
Greg turned, raising his chin so he could look into his eyes. "Har...?" Definitely worry in his voice now.
Harry tried to smile, but it was tremulous. He tried once, twice, to get the words out. It was important that he let Greg know what he was feeling. "Greg, I..." He swallowed. "Greg, shit." His fingers curled into the hair on his lover's chest. "I can't put it into words," he said softly. "But I never expected to feel that connected. Or for it to be that intense." He dropped his head and let his lips hum the words on Greg's chest. "Or to feel that close to you."
Strong arms tightened around him, and a long sigh lifted underneath his lips. "Thank you. I wondered. I just didn't really know."
"And now you do?"
"More than I did. Enough for the moment. Just don't stop telling me."
"I won't."
"Good. Or I might be forced to take drastic action."
"I won't." Harry repeated the words, delighting in the solid sound of them. He was in a relationship now, for better or worse. Someone to lie with, to hold. Maybe, soon, someone he would love."
Greg swiveled around slightly, one hand burrowing underneath the pillow, pulling out the soft, worn pajamas he found. "Have you any idea how much I wanted you that night on Valmora when you made me hand you these? How god-damned gorgeous you were? How much I wanted to stay that night."
"No." Harry breathed the word. "I had no idea. None."
"Well, you do now. I'm staying, Harry. Staying tonight, and I'm going to hold you through the night. And in the morning..."
The joy and lust curled through him in equal measure. Tonight was for warmth, closeness, and sharing. Maybe the first tentative steps on the road to love. And tomorrow...
Tomorrow, they were both on Beta Shift.
~ *~ *~ *~
In the two months since they'd first spent the night together, Greg had seen many sides of Harry Kim. He'd assumed there wasn't much to this man that he didn't know about, no deep layer of thought or feeling that was still a mystery. However, the anger emanating from Harry at that moment was something new. Greg amended that -- this level of anger he'd never seen. Calm Harry, cool Harry, passionate Harry, loving Harry had nothing on the intensity of this man. He followed his lover through the door of his own cabin.
"Harry," he placated. "Come on, it was innocent."
Harry spun on his heels. "Innocent?! There's nothing innocent about that man's motives!"
Greg tried desperately to keep his smile hidden. "I don't care about his motives. You know that...."
Harry pointed his finger at Greg's chest. "He wants you! Still! He never misses a chance to get a hand on you!"
"Harry, love, what difference does it make what he wants? And besides, you're totally off base here. Gerron is just a friend. He's affectionate with his friends." He lowered his voice, "Come on, we were having a good time. Tom hasn't even opened his presents yet." He reached out and caressed Harry's waist. "Come on," he murmured.
Harry huffed and gazed into his eyes. There was still fire behind the black. "You're mine, Greg," he said with heat, "mine. And if he doesn't respect that, I might have to do something drastic."
Greg smiled, and pulled them closer together. "Like what?" He dipped his head and languidly kissed the side of Harry's neck, hearing the hitch in the man's breathing. His pulse responded. "Tell me what you'd do to him...."
"I'd shove him out an air lock," Harry said in a low, almost ragged, voice. His arms went around Greg's shoulders and he began to rotate his hips into Greg's.
"What if you couldn't get him near one?" Greg sucked on an earlobe conveniently found near his lips.
"I'd program the computer to short circuit when he touched his console, shooting him with enough of a jolt to burn off his eyebrows...." Harry tipped his head, giving Greg more neck to kiss, and tightened his hold.
"And you'd do this because...." Greg prompted. One of Harry's hands moved up into his hair, carding seductively. With great effort, Greg stopped himself from kissing this man senseless.
"Because I love you," Harry answered easily. "And like I said, Gregory -- you're mine. I've a good mind to go back to the party and sit on your lap," he ground his hips with a bit more force, "and shove my tongue into your ear, right in front of him...."
That image was too much, and Greg took hold of the back of Harry's head and kissed him with intensity, deepening it immediately. Harry gripped Greg's hair, and moaned into his mouth, pulling them even more tightly together. Greg was rapidly losing any semblance of control; he was about to lift this man by the waist and carry him to bed. He pulled back before he totally lost it, wanting to wait until later to ravish him.
"How about we go back to the party, and celebrate your best friend's birthday?" he managed to ask. "And if you want to sit on my lap, I certainly won't stop you."
Harry was panting heavily. "You won't stop me because...."
"Because I love you," he said. "And everyone knows it. So who would we shock?" he teased, breathing deeply to calm his heartbeat.
Harry smiled slowly, his fingers still moving through Greg's hair. "The captain, for one. Tuvok for another."
"Tuvok?" Greg snorted, "how would you know?"
"Ah, the eyebrow." Harry waggled his.
Greg laughed. "Point taken. So, what do you say, Har, huh? Let's go back."
Harry pretended to think about it. "You certainly are anxious to get out of here."
"I'm looking forward to the lap dance," he answered in mock seriousness, rubbing the man's lower back in slow circles.
Harry cocked his head. "You doubt my sincerity."
Greg shook his, and stopped the back rub. "Never," he said softly.
"Good." Harry caressed his face and their eyes locked for a very long minute. "I love you," Harry said in a voice suffused with emotion.
"I know."
The man he loved with everything in him smiled, and stepped out of the embrace. They smoothed their clothes, and while Greg thought about a naked Neelix to curb the bulge in his pants, he took Harry's hand and walked them out of his quarters. If he ever could have imagined that he'd live to see this day, or the sixty days before this one, or the possibility of hundreds more ahead -- he'd have thought himself insane. If he ever could have believed he would love Harry Kim freely, and more intensely than he already did -- he'd have thought he was in heaven. He was neither crazy nor on another plane. He was right here, and Harry was right here with him.
He let go of Harry's hand and draped an arm around his shoulders, needing to feel just a little more contact, a little bit closer. Harry grasped his waist and squeezed, just enough. They headed for the holodeck.
~ *~
"Harry, Greg!" Tom's exuberant shout greeted them as they re-entered the holodeck. Harry saw his best friend, surrounded by a pile of gaudily wrapped presents, waving at them from a booth on the far side of Sandrine's. "Where d'you go?"
Greg's arm around his shoulders squeezed a little harder, pulling him closer to his side as they made their way across the room toward Tom.. "Gonna tell him, Har?" Greg growled playfully in his ear. "Tell him exactly what we were doing--and saying--right before you do that lap dance for me."
Harry dropped his own hand down, squeezing Greg's ass. "No. Not yet."
As they reached the booth, Chakotay grinned up from his lover's side. "We nearly sent out the search parties when you fled the party so precipitately."
Harry grinned easily. "Sorry," he said. "Just a little domestic crisis. Nothing that Greg couldn't handle."
"I bet." Tom's smart rejoinder brought laughs from several of the guests. "There's room here, Harry, if you squash up a bit. You might have to sit on Greg's lap though."
At Greg's muffled snort of laughter, Harry whirled to face him. "Well?" he asked teasingly. "I won't ask if you put Tom up to it."
Greg ignored the curious stares of the others and slid into the booth next to Chakotay, dragging Harry in next to him.
Tom was right, thought Harry. It was a tight fit. Not that he was complaining. His thigh was jammed up next to Greg's hard one, his shoulder tucked under a protective, loving arm. He draped his hand over Greg's inner thigh, teasingly close to his lover's obvious arousal, and let his fingers stray over the soft material.
"Harry..." A softly whispered warning in his ear. "If you don't stop that you're going to have to explain, for a second time, to Tom and Chak as to why you left so quickly."
"Then I'll tell them," Harry whispered back. "I'll tell them that it's because I love you, and you couldn't wait to get me home to make love to me. And then I'll tell them about a certain lap dance, and I imagine that by then you'll have dragged me out of the holodeck and back to our quarters, and then I'll kiss you slowly, deeply, just as you like and..."
"Harry..." Greg's voice sounded hoarse, disbelieving. "Did you say our quarters?"
The silence stretched. Tom and Chakotay's banter, Tuvok's measured tones, the captain's rich laugh, and the chatter of the holodeck all faded as he studied the man he loved. Our quarters. Maybe they should be. Maybe it was time to make that final commitment. Greg was looking at him, and his thigh was taut underneath Harry's hand.
Harry's heart swelled so much he wondered how his chest could contain it. Funny how things worked out in life. The way the cards fell. Eight months ago, he had been heartbroken. Pining for an alien woman, left behind with her people. Then, he had doubted whether he would ever really know what it was like to love and be loved, without reservation, without doubt, with total trust. To wake every morning, and know that whatever the day may bring, whatever shifting stars Voyager would journey through that day, that the one immutable thing was the love of another person. And now... Now he had Greg. He was happier than he had ever been. More secure. There were no boundaries to their love. Wherever they went, they would go together. A couple. Together.
Harry looked around the holodeck. He saw Chakotay and Tom, B'Elanna and Ken Dalby, the Doctor and Seven. Many of the Voyager couples he counted as his friends. They had made the commitment, bound their lives together to live each day as it came. Together. His gaze fell on young Gerron. Total trust. He turned to Greg.
"Yes," he said. "I did say 'our' quarters. I love you, Greg. Will you move in with me?"
Greg's answer was there in his shining eyes and heated kiss. And the approval was there in the roar of applause from his shamelessly eavesdropping friends. Even the captain was smiling, and Tuvok's nod of approval for his security officer conveyed the impression that the Vulcan thought the union was a sound and logical one.
"Love you, Harry." Greg's words, for his ears alone. And there was nothing sweeter than words straight and true from the heart. Nothing that could compare. Harry returned them gladly, whispers of love and desire, strong words, fierce and binding words softly spoken. He repeated them in a litany of love, over and over, until their friends reclaimed their attention, dragging them back into the here and now.
Harry leaned in for Greg's kiss. "Our door will always be open for friends, and Gerron can be our first dinner guest," he whispered.
Again, Greg's smile lit up his eyes.
THE END
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