Red
by Seema
You're
surprised, Harry, aren't you?
You
didn't think we'd - he'd - actually do it. I guess that's why you're sitting in
front of me now, asking those kinds of questions - the ones that had been
nagging you for the last three years.
I admit
- I set out to get Tom, but not quite this way. I did it to Chakotay because I
wanted to win, and I didn't care. I suppose I shouldn't be so callous, so cold
and hard, but it really was Chakotay's fault. If it hadn't been for him, I
wouldn't have noticed Tom really if it hadn't been for Chakotay's moping about.
I wanted Tom so I could hurt Chakotay as he had hurt me; things don't always go
as planned, especially when you are dealing with an erratic individual such as
Tom Paris. You start out deliberately trying to wound and then you, you end up
married.
You
look shocked, Harry, almost as if you can't believe what I'm telling you.
You've been shaking your head for the past five minutes, muttering under your
breath. You keep staring at the gold band on my hand, and I swear to God, your
gaze could vaporize it right off of my finger.
If you
didn't want to know, you shouldn't have asked.
Damn.
I like
you, Harry, really, I do, and I never meant you to be caught in the middle of
this. I suppose once I started, I couldn't stop, and when I knew about your
part, your role in this whole mess, it was too late too stop. I was already
falling and your doe eyes weren't enough to stop what was happening.
You ask
how I can be so proud of what I did, what I have manipulated and I'll tell you.
For once in my life, I got what I wanted, got Tom, and had him on his knees,
tongue licking me and eyes misting with thinly veiled lust and I saw that
glimmer of something else as I raked my fingernails into his bare shoulders,
drawing blood, and it didn't matter to me what I needed to do; Tom was mine,
would remain mine.
We
Klingons, we can smell the scent of another kilometers away, and so it was with
Chakotay. He was quiet that night when I discovered his infidelity; he was
lying there in bed, the sheets tangled around his bare legs, his fingers
crawling up and down my thigh. I propped myself up on one elbow and looked at
him, noted the dilation of pupils, the puffiness of skin, the slight downward
turn of lips. And when I leaned in to bite his neck, I smelled something
unfamiliar. It was not an unpleasant fragrance; rather it was musty, sweaty,
earthy with a tinge of bitterness.
"Who
is she?" I asked very quietly. Chakotay looked at me, his eyes widening in
an approximation of fear.
"I
don't know what you are talking about," he said. He rolled over onto his
back to break eye-contact and I could see his cheeks pinking up nicely.
Chakotay is a terrible liar, always has been.
"I
don't like to share, Chakotay," I drew my finger across his chest, and
then, pressed the heel of my hand hard against his sternum; he gasped.
"B'Elanna."
"Is
it the Captain?"
"Damn,
no," he said. "She's my commanding officer."
"But
there is someone? You admit that?"
"Yes."
And
knowing that I could lose Chakotay this time, knew from the look in his eyes
that this other person was no Seska, but someone touching skin to skin just as
I did, that angered me - and excited me, in a way that I could not explain.
I
rolled over onto Chakotay, straddling him, and leaning forward to press my lips
to his. He reached up, grabbed the back of my head, pulling me closer.
"Is
she good?" I whispered as I moved my hips, pressing, rubbing, against him.
His hands moved to my waist and then down lower until they were resting on my
ass.
"He,"
Chakotay breathed. In one fluid move, he pushed me onto my back, and was
staring down at me with angry black eyes. "He, B'Elanna, it's a he."
We
stared at each other and then, he thrust into me.
There
was nothing gentle about Chakotay that night, nothing sweet, nothing tender. He
bit me, roughly massaged my breasts, and not once, did he kiss me on the lips.
And finally, he callously threw the dermal regenerator at me as he was leaving.
I
searched eyes that next morning. I watched eyes raise and lower as they met
mine and yet, none gave me any indication of who the object of Chakotay's
affections could possibly be. I watched Janeway, the way her hand would
surreptitiously touch Chakotay's forearm and he would offer a patient - but
strained - smile, almost as if her caress was nothing less than a flame to his
skin.
I admit
I watched you, Harry, because I was that jealous. I wondered if it was you who
went down on Chakotay, put your lips on him, and ran your hands up the insides
of his thighs while he came in your mouth. I wondered if it was your name he
muttered in dreams, your smile that he imagined in his fantasies.
I
wouldn't have been surprised if it had been you, Harry. After all, you are
sweet, soft, delicious; if it hadn't been for Chakotay, and then Tom, I would
have had you.
Don't
look so surprised. You know what I'm capable of; you see the evidence here on
my finger.
I
discovered who the object of Chakotay's affections was that morning when I met
you for breakfast. You were picking at your food, even though it was Earth
standard breakfast - eggs and toast - and you were playing some kind of hockey
with a bit of the egg. Back and forth, back and forth, and I don't think you
noticed I was there at all.
"Are
you all right?" I asked, because despite what you think of me now, I do
have a heart.
"Yeah,"
you said. "Sure."
That's
when my eyes drifted over to the furthest table in the mess hall. I saw them -
Tom and Chakotay - and I knew. I could tell in the way that Chakotay was
sitting, his spine curved as he hunched over his breakfast, his gaze resolutely
focused on the brilliant blue eyes in front of him; he was in a trance, unaware
of anyone but the man sitting in front of him. Tom, Tom was his usual self - debonair,
animated, talking with his hands.
And I
saw you look at Tom too, Harry, and I knew what had happened.
"I
always pick the wrong one," you said.
"Are
you talking about Megan or Jenny?"
"Neither."
"I'm
sorry," I said.
Silence
for a moment and then you looked at me, covered my hand with yours, and said,
"You love him, don't you?"
You
know how I answered this question. I said yes, because that was the truth. I
told you that I had loved Chakotay for years, even when he was with Seska, and
there I was, in the mess hall, watching my lover watching his lover.
"I'm
sorry too," you said and then you deflated immediately, air rushing out of
you, and you slumped, visibly drained of energy.
"I've
got to go," I excused myself and barely made it to my quarters before what
little I'd eaten of my breakfast ended up in the bathroom sink.
From
that day on, I watched. I noticed Tom in ways I'd never noticed; I thought if I
could understand Tom, understand the way he moved and behaved, I could get
Chakotay back.
When
Tom turned on that smile of his, it was almost as if the you and he were the
only people left in the universe. He had this way of seducing you with his
smile, of stroking you and warming you, and then he would turn away, abruptly
and coldly, leaving you wanting more.
You
know what I'm talking about, don't you?
He was
loud, his voice carrying well, and when he spoke, everyone listened. It was as
if the world stopped when Tom Paris opened his mouth and what fell from his
lips were not words like those the rest of us mortals were cursed with, but
rather it was almost as if he was serving up the very lifeblood of Kahless.
Damn, the way everyone would turn and look at him, almost as if he were some
kind of blue-veined statue designed expressly for appreciation.
He
loved the adoration, Harry. Every night, I would see him leave the mess hall
with someone different, his arm wrapped around her waist, his head bent in
towards hers. I followed him and Megan once and noted that his hand kept
straying to her ass even before they reached his quarters.
That
night Chakotay came to my quarters and I let him in without a word. He pushed
me against the wall, unzipping my uniform and I let him. He dropped to his
knees, pressed his fingers against me, inside of me. He rubbed me roughly, so
roughly that it hurt, and when that didn't work, he half-dragged, half-pulled
me to the bed. He sat down on the edge, unzipping his own uniform.
"Chakotay,"
I said in protest when he pushed me off of the bed. He didn't look at me, just
sat there with legs spread and I crawled to him on my knees and took him in my
mouth. His hands pushed down on my shoulders as his thighs tightened around my
body. I only dared to look up once and I saw his eyes were closed.
He came
that night in my mouth and without saying a word, he got up, dressed and left.
I lay there, on the floor, my mouth still sour and bruised, and I felt the
beginnings of moisture forming in my eyes.
Tom
flirts. That's what he does. None of it is serious, not really. I saw him once
with Jenny - or maybe it was Megan, I can never tell - and he was fondling her,
kissing her, and looking at her as if she were the only woman he had ever been
with. I could only imagine his voice, the way it would sound in the midst of
lovemaking; I wondered if he was like Chakotay who could never keep his eyes
open and his mouth shut.
And so
when he started tossing glances my way, I didn't think much of it. You see, I
was still hurting from Chakotay's betrayal, and I could not think of Tom
without thinking of Chakotay.
Yet,
every time I turned around, there was Tom, with that stupid cocky grin of his,
and he would always be ready with some smart remark, something that always made
me painfully stupid and tongue-tied.
I
admired the effect Tom had on people, the charm which seemed to ooze from every
pore in his body and then, the way he managed to slick his way past tensions,
making friends with an ease that I envied.
On the
Bridge, I'd notice Chakotay gazing at Tom hungrily when he thought Janeway
wasn't looking; and sometimes, I'd see Janeway look at Tom with a predatory
eye. She would go out of her way to touch his shoulder, his forearm, always
lingering longer than necessary and when she spoke to him, her voice was a
verbal caress, seductive, low, gravely, and I wondered.
I saw
them once when I shouldn't have. I had crawled my way to a conduit leading to
Janeway's Ready Room; I popped the panel out slightly and I saw them through
the crack.
The
captain was lying on her back on top of the desk, arms spread wide, throat
arched revealing a wide expanse of white skin. She was wearing a bra -
unfastened in front, white lace, and definitely not Starfleet standard issue -
and nothing else. Tom, still wearing his uniform but mostly around his knees,
was between her legs, his hands reaching beneath her hips to arch her up, his
lips sucking hungrily at her breast.
I
watched and as Tom thrust harder, I grew warmer. I unzipped my own uniform,
shrugged out of the jacket and lay there in the conduit on my stomach, waiting
for them to be done.
Janeway
screamed only once, a muffled scream because Tom swallowed it when his lips
covered hers. He staggered backwards and I swear, he must have seen the
misplaced panel because he looked right at me and his eyes narrowed. I crawled
backwards waiting for him to come after me, but he never did.
And
later, still hot and fevered, I was making my way back to my quarters, I saw
Chakotay standing outside of Tom's quarters; he looked nervous, hands clenching
and unclenching. I wondered if he knew about Tom and the Captain the way I knew
about him and Tom. He didn't see me and so I watched as the doors slid open and
Tom appeared.
"Come,"
Tom said in a low voice and Chakotay disappeared into the lair of Lieutenant
Tom Paris. I was shaking, knowing that here, I had tangible proof of Tom and
Chakotay's relationship. Damn, I wanted to go in there with a bat'leth and draw
a deep line of blood across Tom's pinkish-beige skin. I wanted to press
Chakotay against the wall while Tom watched and then, I wanted to taunt Tom,
show him what I could do, and watch him squirm. But I didn't do that.
That
was the night I came to your room, Harry, and found you practicing your
clarinet. Low, plaintive notes, mostly in the minor key. You seemed to be
distracted as you went up and down the scales, your fingers moving awkwardly. I
took the clarinet from you and put it aside. And then, I took your hand,
pressed it against my breast and said, "Please."
You
knew what I meant, and you took me to bed.
I don't
regret that encounter, Harry. You were soft against me, gentle, warm skin to
warm skin. I loved the way you stroked my cheek, pushed my hair away from my
face, and the way your lips trailed across my chest. I remember the feel of
your golden skin beneath my fingertips and your tentativeness. I think, for a
moment, we forgot why we were even together.
But I
wasn't who you wanted and I didn't want you. It was very simple; I wasn't Tom,
you weren't Chakotay. I guess we were both disappointed and that's when I made
up my mind. I wanted Tom. I wanted him so I could hurt him the way he had hurt
you and me. I wanted him to know what it was to yearn, to feel as if someone
had taken a spoon and started stirring up the contents of your stomach. Wanted
him to know that.
And
that's how it began, Harry. You see, not all things are completely selfish. I
was doing it for you too.
The first time Tom touched me, I was drunk. Damn, I was falling
all over myself in those red high heels that went with the red dress I bought
so long ago in a frivolous moment at the Academy. It was one of those dresses,
the kind you look at twice, know you shouldn't buy because of the cost and
because you also know you might as well leave your reputation at the door when
you're wearing something that bold, that red. The dress had a low neck, one
that skimmed the top of my breasts, and it was tight through the bodice,
swirling out at the waist, layers of filmy chiffon and gauze ending at the
knee.
I wore
it because I wanted excitement, wanted to somehow get Chakotay to notice me
again and make him forget Tom. But it didn't happen that way. We were in
Sandrine's - I despise that place, with its dark wood-paneling, smoky interiors
- and the whole time we were there, Chakotay hunched over his drink, not even
taking the time to look at anyone except for Tom.
So I
went to you, Harry, and let you put your arm around me. It was awkward, and I
think you still didn't know what was going on and when you handed me the first
drink, I laughed, you laughed, and Tom glared at us both, eyes narrowing. After
the second drink, you led me out onto the dance floor and I folded myself into
your embrace, grabbing you, trying to get closer to you, because I wanted the
comfort of a warm body and it didn't matter to me who it was. I would have
fucked anyone that night, really I would have.
By
drink number six, Tom had moved in, and so smoothly, I barely noticed when his
hands replaced yours and his cheek was next to mine, his breath warm on my
skin. My eyes were heavy with drink and I did not think I would last the night
- Tom made me giddy and watching Chakotay's statement grow darker, more
perturbed, that excited me in a primal way.
And
when Tom led me back to my chair, he was very quiet, very focused and there
were no quips, just a slight brush of lips against my cheek and a whispered,
tentative, "Good night."
On
Sakari - sometimes, I don't even want to think about it. I suppose it was the
excuse I was looking for, a biological, metabolic excuse to throw myself at
Tom; and it helped that Chakotay was there, that familiar black cloud of fury
hovering over his head. And even though I knew that if I wanted to win this
one, I had to hold back, I couldn't help but smile when Chakotay gave the
order; here was Chakotay ordering his lover to make love to me. I took Tom's
sweaty palm in mine, led him away, thinking terrible thoughts of what I wanted
to do to him and exactly where I wanted to break the skin and how I wanted to
darken his thigh with my mark so that everyone knew what had happened between
us.
And
when Vorick showed up, I was furious. Furious and frustrated; I could not help
but think that Chakotay had interfered, had seen my hand and known what I was
up to; and when finally, exhausted, I collapsed in Tom's arms and it was the
most curious of feelings. He held me like I was a child, cradling my body
against his, his lips close to my hairline and he kept saying in that low
voice, "It's all right, B'Elanna, I'm here. I'm here."
I don't know when chase turned into desire or when desire melted
into something resembling love. I say it that way because I've never really
felt that kind of emotion before. Well, for Chakotay, maybe, but that began to
fade after he took up with Seska and he came to me only when she or Tom weren't
available. And I forced myself not to think about my feelings for Chakotay when
I knew, just knew, that when he touched me, he was thinking of everyone else in
the world except for me.
I
always wondered how it would happen, that moment when you knew you were in
love. Always fantasized about it, but I think it happened the day I lost the
warp core, the day we ejected into space and I was looking at Tom's face,
distorted through the glass of his helmet, and I felt curiously at peace,
knowing that his eyes would be the last thing I'd see.
And
Tom? How did I know that I wasn't just another conquest?
I would
see Tom staring at me and before I would have thought it predatory, but I had
never seen him aim those same looks at Megan, Jenny, you or even Chakotay.
Damn, he was at my side often, always finding some slight excuse to help me in
Engineering and making attempts to meet for dinner.
Sometimes
I would meet him, fight him on the holodeck until we both collapsed, sweaty and
bloody, and then I would strip for him, down to bra and panties, while he used
the osteo-regenerator to fix those broken bones. He would touch my bruises
lightly before running the dermal regenerator and every time he ran his fingers
over me, I shivered.
I
didn't allow him more liberties though; broke his nose the one time he tried.
"I'm
not like the others," I told him once. And he nodded, and responded in
that hoarse voice, the one filled with sexual frustration, longing and lust,
"I know."
His
obvious concern touched me and for the first time, I wondered if there was
something behind that slick persona, that charm, that devilish smile.
So I
tested him.
I would
break our dates on occasion, finding excuses to not show up and when he would
come to find me, his voice would always be petulant, always whimpering. And he
would ask again and I would say yes, and depending on my mood, I would come or
not.
It kept
him off-balance and I think, he was a bit mad, only because I didn't fall into
him the way the others did and sometimes, I would give him a hint, give him the
idea that I might be interested, and he would rise to the bait and just as
quickly, I would whisk it away.
When he
kissed me that first time, it was wet, sloppy, almost as if he was nervous. Of
course, it was there in the corridor, right outside the mess hall where anyone
could see, and, well, they did; first the doctor, and then, I think Chakotay.
At least, that's what Tom says. Says Chakotay came out and looked hurt,
wounded. If I hadn't felt so triumphant, I might have spared a thought for
Chakotay's feelings, but as it was, I didn't.
I fled,
wiping my hands against my mouth, still feeling Tom's tongue in my mouth, and
wondering when I would kiss him again.
Damn,
it was like being a teenager again waiting for that first, magical kiss, and
thinking everything would melt away in that wondrous melding of lips.
That
night, Tom came to my quarters, his familiar cocky smile gone and there was
nothing smooth about him. He stood there, awkwardly, trying to figure out what
to do with his hands, and finally, I took him and led him into the bedroom.
When I
think about that first time, it was gentle, sweet, tentative - like you, Harry.
Almost as if he was one of those ancient explorers he would occasionally
mention from Earth's early history, and he took his time until I thought my
blood vessels would burst from impatience. He held my face in his hands,
kissing me lightly, softly, and I knew he wasn't afraid of me, only that he
wanted to spend time getting to know me. He was so grateful - that's how I
think of that night - grateful that I had actually let him in and then amazed
that I let him pull me to him.
When I
woke the next morning, Tom was still there, his bare leg over mine, his arm
over my shoulders. I lay there for several minutes, listening to the rise and
fall of his chest. And then, he woke, leaned over to look at me, his eyes soft
and worshipful. He did not speak as he ran his finger along my jawline and then
very gently, he kissed me.
I
spread my legs slightly as he rolled onto me, but he was still in the exploring
mood, his hands on my breasts, his teeth nibbling my ears. He dragged his
fingers down my chest, stomach, and then thighs, before pushing two fingers
inside of me. He stroked so lightly, so gently, nearly driving me insane. I
wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, biting down on his shoulder. When he
entered me, he kept his eyes open, intent on me the whole time.
Chakotay
never did that, Harry. Chakotay always closed his eyes, maybe because he was
imagining someone else - the captain, Seska, Tom, anyone. But not Tom, he never
took his eyes away from me. That's how I knew, Harry, knew that I would win
this one and Chakotay did not stand a chance.
You
asked about the affairs and why I let them continue. See, it's the chase that
intrigues Tom, the idea that there is something out there that is not yet
attainable; I saw how he cooled to Sue and Megan when they succumbed and knew I
would not join their not-so elite little club. So I was pleasantly aloof,
smiling alternately and sometimes fighting him. I would ignore him for days and
then, I would surprise him, usually wearing that red dress and the matching
heels. His eyes would widen when I showed up in that outfit, and his jaw would
work nervously. He would run his hands up and down my back, gently pulling down
the zipper so slowly that I would barely even feel the material leaving my
shoulders and falling down to the floor.
Sometimes,
he would slam me to the wall, aggressive and passionate, biting and scratching,
and I would wrap my legs around his waist, holding onto him, head buried
against his shoulder as he pushed into me.
I
didn't see Chakotay anymore, stopped going to his quarters, because I knew I
would not be able to keep that slow smile of triumph from curving up my lips.
Once, Chakotay came to my quarters and I didn't let him in because I wasn't
alone and I wanted him - Chakotay, my lover, my best friend, my commanding
officer - to know that ; I gazed up at Tom - his brow lightly coated with
perspiration, his breath uneven, my red-heeled foot digging into his back - and
I knew that he had been oblivious to Chakotay's request for entry. I had won
this round.
Did Tom
help with all of those holodeck programs? Yes. There you have it, plain and
simple. I asked him to. You know my talent doesn't quite extend to holodeck
programming and I don't really have the patience to manipulate all those
variables, draw out those details, and make them work.
I just
asked him one night, when we were lying in bed and he was playing with the
straps of my red shoes. I said very casually, "Do you think you could do
something for me?"
Tom's
head came up so fast, I swear, I thought he was going to hurt himself.
"I
need you to write a program for me. Orbital skydiving."
"I
didn't know you liked that."
I
rubbed my leg up against his, pressing the heel of my shoe against his shin.
"I
want it fast," I purred into his ear. "Hard."
Our
faces were very close now, noses nearly rubbing, and he was breathing heavily.
I put my hand on his chest.
"Will
you do it?" I asked, moving my hand down and settling it on his hip. It
was more of a seduction than I had wanted, but I was desperate to bleed,
desperate to hurt; Tom could give me what I needed and I didn't think I could
bear it if he said no. It was almost as if I had managed to separate myself
from body, so the prostitution of what I was requesting, it didn't seem so bad.
As Tom would tell me later, disassociation during that time was something I
particularly excelled at.
I
pushed him onto his back, straddled him, and cupped my hands on either side of
his neck.
"No
safeties," I whispered.
"That's
dangerous."
"I
like it that way. Don't you?"
So Tom
said yes, and I rewarded him that night, doing the kinds of things you know
your mother did but would never tell you about.
I paid
a price for it though - Tom's inattention. He would give me the new programs,
would not look at me, and then he would leave, maybe to see you, maybe Chakotay
- it didn't matter to me. We didn't spend much time together during those six
weeks, only because I was hurting so much and I wanted to hurt someone else
too, and Tom, well, Tom happened to be the one.
He was
sweet in some ways though, ministering to my wounds, tucking me into bed after
a particularly bad incident. He would hold me as I wept in his arms, and then
he would leave me and go fuck Chakotay.
I was
too tired to chase him now and I figured, I'd be dead soon anyway, so what the
hell did it matter?
It was
Chakotay, oddly enough, who reached out to me, and I figured he confronted me
because an unhappy Tom meant an unhappy Chakotay.
And it
was the night Neelix made me pancakes, banana ones, that Tom found me in the
mess hall. He was looking a bit red in the face, out-of-breath, his hair
mussed, and I asked him, point-blank, who had he been with?
"Chakotay,"
he said blandly, taking the seat in front of me. "I didn't think you'd
care."
"I
didn't think I would either," I admitted.
We sat
there in silence and then I said, "I don't like losing, Tom, and I don't
like second best."
"Are
you saying you tried to hurt yourself because of me?"
"Don't
give yourself that much credit," I said.
Tom
leaned across the table, took my hands in his.
"You
don't let me in," he said. "Don't you know it's different with you?
With the rest, it's just... it's just sex."
"And
with me?"
"It's
something else entirely."
I stood
up then because Chakotay had come in and I wanted to see him to see me leave
with Tom. Tom looked first at Chakotay and then at me and I shook my head ever
so slightly. Tom got up; he left with me that night.
You
told me about the girl, Harry, told me how Tom had stripped her naked with his
eyes, stared at her slack-jawed with undisguised lust. And, so secure now with
Tom, I didn't want to lose now.
Remember
you complained to me that day in Engineering? You said that Tom had been
looking at that girl, had been moving on and frankly, you were jealous. Hell,
you already hated Chakotay and I'm sure, if you tried hard enough, you would
hate me too.
I
didn't want you to hate me, Harry, but I didn't want to hate Tom either.
And
more importantly, for the first time since Tom and I locked lips, I was
jealous. Jealous of some nameless silver-skinned, blonde woman who swung her
hips for him.
And so
when Tom came that night, I was ready for him. He was expecting the red dress
and heels, but got me in full Starfleet regalia instead.
"You
do that again, don't bother coming back," I said without preamble.
"I'm tired of it. Tired of wondering who you're with each night, wondering
when I get a chance to make your schedule. You have to choose, Tom, because I'm
not willing to share, not anymore."
His
face was a study in cute bewilderment and honest to god confusion, and I really
don't think he understood what I was saying.
"Why
now?" he asked.
For the
first time, I confessed because before, when we were out there in space,
spacing out the breaths, I wanted to torture him one last time.
And this
time, I was truly saying what was real - that he had grown on me, and had
gotten under my skin in a way I hadn't thought possible.
He
stared at me, those blue eyes wide with something close to awe or desperation -
I couldn't tell. And when I was finished, my jaw quivered slightly as I tried
to keep my emotional composure. In that moment, I felt vulnerable, as all of
the barriers I had ever put up were crumbling and nothing I could do would stop
that deteriorating.
"You
hurt me," I whispered. "Please... don't, not again."
He took
my face in his hands, stroking my skin with his thumbs, and he tipped his
forehead to touch mine.
"You
know it means nothing," he said.
"Why
do you do it then?"
"I
don't know. I have to."
"Is
there something... missing?" I asked very softly. "Something that
they will do for you that I won't?"
"No,"
Tom said in that velvet voice of his. "I didn't think you really cared,
that you were just trying to get back at Chakotay."
Our
eyes met.
"You
knew?" I asked.
"I
knew."
"And
still?"
"Yes."
We sat
there on the sofa, holding hands for a very long time. At some point, don't ask
me what time it was, Tom pulled me against his chest, tucking my head beneath
his chin. His left hand was in my hair, his right hand on my back. We fell asleep
like that, curled up into each other, his heart beating an ocean in my ear.
Was I
surprised he proposed? Yes, indeed, I was. He had never mentioned it before and
I honestly thought his interest was waning; he seemed to spend more time with
you and on occasion, I wondered if he had gone back to Chakotay when I was not
looking.
It was
funny, because our positions were completely reversed this time around; he was
the one in control for the first time. But when he cupped my face in his hands,
brushed my lips with his, and I looked into those eyes, I knew it didn't matter
who decided what we would do anymore. It really didn't.
I love
him, Harry. I didn't think I'd ever say that, didn't think it would ever be
true, but it is. I love him.
So
there you have it, Harry, the plain, unvarnished truth. I can tell that you
don't know what to think. I don't blame you; I wouldn't know either. I don't
regret any of it, not for a moment, because even though my motivations at the
beginning were less than pure, where I ended up... I wanted this, have always
wanted this.
I
didn't think that it was possible for one person to make you bleed so terribly
but Tom has that effect on me. When I started out, I only wanted to punish
Chakotay and instead, instead I looked at Tom, lost myself along the way, and
now, well, you know how this story ends.
You
asked what the secret was - the secret to Tom's affections? I suppose it's
fairly simple: I asked him how his day was. You think it sounds silly, but I
learned quickly enough that Tom did not speak to hear the sound of his own
voice, but rather to be heard. And when I listened to him, his expression would
clear and he would relax, and all of those demons that taunted him would
dissipate. And one day, he started asking me the same question, listening to
me, those blue eyes intent on my lips as he absorbed every single word.
Everyone
else, they thought if they fucked Tom senseless or let him fuck them into
oblivion, they would own him. You can't own Tom or anyone else, for that matter
- it's not possible.
And if
you'll excuse me, Harry, I made a promise tonight. Promised him the red dress
and heels.
He
likes it that way.