Disclaimer - Paramount, yeahh....
Sequel to Twenty.
She knew. She knew the moment he stepped into their quarters. He should have predicted it and probably had but decided to ignore the fact that she would know.
And how did he know that she did?
Well, the sharp elbow digging into his neck, pinning him against the wall was a good indicator.
"Who was it?" She growled, almost spitting. "Megan? Jenny? Susan?"
His breath wheezed until she released the pressure slightly, but still kept him against the wall.
Breathing deeply he glared at her, determined to piss her off. They'd hardly had anything resembling a relationship in months. "You think I'd set my sights that low? Besides, why do you assume it was a woman?"
This time she did spit in his face. Yelling something in Klingon she released him and turned away.
Tom had had enough. He didn't care how good she was in bed. This was over.
Pacing around their quarters in a manner not entirely dissimilar from a caged animal, she continued growling. "Harry? You screwed Harry?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" He yelled, pushing himself away from the wall. Shit, that'd be like doing his own brother.
"Then who?" She demanded, facing him with her fists clenching. She was suspicious. She had to be.
Moving around 'their' quarters he retrieved a few personal items, shoving them into a holdall. "None of your business. Nothing I do is your business anymore, okay? This is over."
That said, he grabbed the last shirt he could find and stalked out of the room.
"It was over months ago!" She yelled with pure venom. The sound of something breaking - probably a photograph in a frame - was the last thing he heard as he walked along the corridor with all his belongings in his hands.
That was how they found him several hours later, slumped in a corner in Sandrines. It took a hell of a lot to get Tom Paris drunk these days, but he managed it.
When they appeared looking down at him, hovering over him, he produced a goofy smile and willingly let himself be led away and sobered up, only noticing that he was still clutching the shirt as he left the holodeck.
Seems they had 'problems' getting intimate by themselves. Man, but that was good for this ego, that they felt that by having him there that would fix everything.
Well of course he'd help. He'd thought that after the first time he'd never get close to either of them again, and this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Why the hell would he turn down the chance to have sex?
They touched, caressed, licked him. And as the other man moved behind him, Tom's fist clenched around the shirt that he still held.
He practically moved into their quarters. He thought it was amusing as hell, being the Command Team's little sex slave. No one suspected a thing, at least not yet. They would soon, he was sure of it. He wondered if anyone's opinion of him would change but decided he didn't care anyway.
Occasionally they would sit around talking. Or rather, they would talk and he would sometimes say something - usually just a few words - that sounded well thought out or pertinent, or as if he honestly cared about anything else than jumping into bed with both of them.
Mostly they had sex. They were getting good, damn good. They all got to know each others bodies better as time passed, knew from experience what would satisfy everyone. And still they hadn't asked him to leave, hadn't said they didn't need him anymore.
Whatever they did, it always ended the same.
They would wrap arms, legs, and various other body parts around each other.
He slept alone.
Infrequently he watched them. Frequently he stared at the ceiling, feeling as if he should be doing something with his hands.
He discovered that Chakotay snored.
That amused him.
e-mail // voyager fic