Summary: C/P;
PWP piece. Someone is kissing someone and someone else is watching.
Copyright October 2001 Cassatt
They'd been circling around each other all evening. She hadn't missed the cues, the sidelong glances, the casual touches, the bantering. Though they couldn't see her, for she'd kept herself in one of the dark corners of the bar, arriving well before they were due, she had a clear view of the two of them. She was the only other non-photonic person there. It was getting so obvious to her, tonight especially. She wondered if they were even conscious of their dance, or if anyone else had noticed it, too.
~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~
He lined up his next shot and hit the ball cleanly. "Bingo," he said quietly, watching the striped one fall in the corner pocket.
"Nice shot. Couldn't have done better myself."
He stood and turned. "Oh, I think you could have, Tom." The hairs on his forearms quivered as the man came close. Closer than necessary to hold any normal conversation. He could feel the heat radiating from him, caught another whiff of his after shave and was fully aware of his own pulse racing in response to both.
"I don't know, Chakotay, you're getting to be a pretty formidable adversary."
Tom's hip brushed against his as he walked by and even through the fabric of their pants, his skin burned at the point of contact. It didn't help that his own hip moved, seemingly of it's own volition, to follow. Soon he was lilting sideways. Their hips touched again. Immediately, everything changed.
Tom turned and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, let go of his cue stick and rested four fingers on Chakotay's belly. His breath caught in his throat. "Tom," he whispered. The fingers traveled up his chest, finding the vee in his tunic, touching his skin. His heart leapt. He had to keep his composure. He had to. He had a role on this ship.
Tom leaned closer, fanning his cheeks with his sweet breath. "What?" The fingers continued their journey, trailing paths of fire up his neck, over his chin, to his lips, where they rested again. Touching his lips. The urge to part them and suck those fingers inside was overwhelming. "What, Chakotay, I'm listening...," Tom said softly.
"Tom," he tried again. Tom's mouth was now an inch away from his ear, his fingers were still gently touching his lips. Then they moved, brushing softly, and he opened his mouth involuntarily. Tom let out a small noise and slipped one finger onto his tongue. He latched onto it like a drowning man, barely feeling Tom's mouth find his earlobe.
The sound of their heartbeats was loud enough to hear. He was working his tongue around Tom's finger, the blood rushing to his groin, his brain finally registering Tom's lips moving on a steady course, directly for his own. There was still time to prevent it. All of two seconds, maybe. Those eminently kissable lips were caressing his cheek. He couldn't stop his tongue, wishing beyond hope that soon Tom's finger would be replaced by something softer and more flexible, sweeter tasting. One second. Lips were running into fingers. Finger was withdrawing, slowly, and his tongue felt bereft. Nanosecond. His heart stopped dead in his chest. Another attempt to say this man's name was prevented. By lips. On his. Soft lips. Pressing, moving, nibbling, pressing...... his heart when it started again landed in his throat.
Tom Paris was kissing him. Kissing him. Too late. He parted his lips with a moan that was matched in intensity and pressed back. A tongue snaked into his mouth and he welcomed it. Too late, too late, his mind sang. Tom's tongue was sweet, and soft, and flexible, and as it moved against his, he swore that nothing before could ever compare to it. He was plundered thoroughly and he plundered back. Hungrily, so hungrily, they kissed, as though they really could give each other sustenance by this act, their mouths enmeshed together. Blood surged into his lap, pulsating, demanding, and he couldn't move anything save his mouth.
Then Tom pressed himself fully against him, wrapping his arms around him, pulling them tightly together, sending his tongue even further in. He lost the last, remaining, tiny, fragment of control. Spontaneous human combustion. He grabbed Tom with a groan that went straight down Tom's throat and not even a piece of paper could have been slipped between them.
~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~
She watched the meltdown and her heart ached to see it. She returned to her quarters after the two men left, their arms around each other as a site-to-site transport was initiated. Taking her usual circuitous route through the ship, she checked everything out as she did most nights when sleep eluded her. She knew they'd go to the First Officer's cabin, next to hers, and considered replicating ear plugs. But she just curled up in her favorite chair, put the throw over her and prayed for sleep. Far enough from their joint bedroom wall so that it might actually happen.
In her better moments over the
next few days she could consider what she'd witnessed as something to enjoy
- in a puerile way. Others had noticed, it turned out. There'd been
a betting pool started, but she kept her mouth shut. She could have made
a killing with one anonymous bet. She'd been the one to see it. The hour.
The minute. The second. The exact moment when everything, everything had
changed.
End.