by Amiroq
---
Tom leaned back in his deckchair on the beach resort, watching Harry
appreciatively as his friend watched the volleyball game. Appreciatively.
Of the women, that was, not the game; Tom doubted he even knew who was
winning. He wondered briefly if something had happened between Harry and
B'Elanna, then dismissed the thought as to good to be true - he'd
have been told, Harry was that close-mouthed.
Nah, he was just being a red-blooded American guy. It was funny, he'd
thought that over time he'd get more jealous of B'Elanna, but over
the past couple of weeks he'd learned to accept the fact that someone
else was screwing Harry blind. Oh, he didn't want the guy any less,
not by a long-shot, but he wasn't going off at B'Elanna, or even
really hating her much. Nevertheless, he was glad when B'Elanna walked
in, spotted Harry at his game, and tightened her lips slightly. Harry, the
lovable obliviot (now that was a cool word), didn't notice, and
was just in the middle of a rather damning comment when B'Elanna
reached them.
"Hey, Starfleet," she greeted him coolly, resting a hand on his
shoulder and making him jump guiltily. "Who's winning?"
He flushed charmingly, and stammered something out. "I-- um. . . uh,
I don't know," he admitted.
She just stood, hands on hips, giving him a death glare to rival the
Captain's, and he retaliated with this incredibly repentant puppy-dog
expression that, at least in Tom's opinion, was worth forgiving him
all by itself. "But I'm really sorry," he said quietly.
"It's just-- I missed you, and besides, how am I supposed to know
you're the most beautiful woman in the galaxy if I don't look at
anyone else?"
She practically melted right there, and Tom knew exactly how she felt. The
actual words didn't make much logical sense, but oh gods that
voice! Made him want to throw Harry down right there and then and boff him
til he shone. Except that he (Harry) was straight and had a girlfriend,
and he (Tom) was his best friend - and besides, they were in public.
B'Elanna sighed, forgave him, and the next moment they were curled up
in the same chair, doing their best to switch every molecule of saliva
from one person's body to the other's, and vice versa.
His masochistic side wanted him to stay and watch them, but fortunately
for his self-control he wasn't big on the whole self-pain thing.
(Although the idea of Harry all in leather with chains and a whip was
pretty damn alluring. . . maybe reversed positions. . . mmm, yeah,
definitely. Harry looked good in handcuffs. . .) Instead, he farewelled
them, all too aware that they didn't even notice, and headed for the
door.
Tom, meet Mr Right Hand, he thought drily. I think you two are going to be
very good friends.
---
End
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