Ignoring The Snoring
by Suz suzvoy@tesco.net

Disclaimer - Paramount own them. Ya-ha.


It is the first time I have seen you since the trial.

It is the first time I have seen you since we left the building, hugged, and went our separate ways through the crowd of reporters.

It is the first time I have felt your touch since that day.

I am stepping off a shuttle into the throng of travellers, returning from a trip to Vulcan. I push my way past a kissing couple, adjusting my shoulder bag, when I feel your presence the moment before I feel your hand wrapping around my wrist.

The bag falls, its contents spilling out onto the floor.

I stare at you.

I kiss you.

You do not seem surprised. I wonder why I don't, either.

We make love in the closest hotel we can find, giving the guide who takes us there an interesting view.

I lay on the ridiculously big bed, cocooned by the covers, watching your fascination with my shoulders and listening as you tell me you love me.

I find myself smiling at odd moments during the day for absolutely no reason. Then I will imagine your touch, and remember the reason.

I introduce you to my friends, letting you do all the cooking. It seems strange to you - I think - that I could have friends outside of Voyager, but I have managed to rekindle some old friendships and make new ones.

They judge you worthy of me. And vice versa.

Lisa asks you between the wine and the candles how long you have been in love with me. When she hears your answer, she glares at me. So do the others.

"Cheesecake?" I offer.

We end the evening by smearing each other with it. They leave before things get more intimate than they're prepared to watch.

I introduce you to my family. Phoebe calls you a 'stud muffin'. Mom says you "have nice hands, but can he do anything talented with them?"

I assure her - quite vehemently - that you can, and have.

We stand outside my mothers house, studying the darkness. A slight nervousness cracks through your usually confident exterior.

"Do you think it went well?" You ask.

I smile, caressing your waist. "She loved you."

You tell me I look beautiful by starlight.

You smell of you.

You gently shove me against a wall.

We make love, there, in front of my mothers house.

My body pays for it the next morning, but I don't mind because so does yours.

I play with your hair when you sleep.

You like to put flowers in mine when we're outside, lying on the grass, studying the sky. I love the feel of the sun on my skin almost as much as the feel of you.

You move in with me. I find the discovery of your razor next to the sink pleasing, but tell you not to use it too often. I like a man with a bit of stubble. You promise to only shave every other day.

We argue about stupid, little things, but we always make up afterwards. Or, rather, you do. I'll sit in the bedroom, quite willing to silently fume forever until you come in and apologise. I hope, some day, that I'll be able to master the art of losing my pride. Some of it, anyway.

You tell me that I did a long time ago. I slap you playfully. You grab my wrist, but quite willingly move with me when I tug you towards the bed.

It's my favourite way of losing an argument. It's the only way I'm willing to lose an argument.

Tired, naked, you ask if you can stay with me, always.

I decide to say yes.

If you can put up with my stubbornness, then I can learn to ignore your snoring.


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