Sequel to Jenn's "Heels." Blame her for this one. You can read the rest of the stories in this series at Jenn's page: http://geocities.com/seperis/voyager/points/index.html
Language and adult situations. Do not read if you are underage.
You're surprised, Harry, aren't you?
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. 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.
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.
"Is it the Captain?"
"Damn, no," he said. "She's my commanding officer."
"But there is someone? You admit that?"
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?"
"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 face 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. 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.
"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.
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.
It gets addictive, you know, knowing that someone is listening to what you have to say; you keep coming back for more, wanting more, and before long, you're looking forward to that moment when you can spill everything out to a receptive ear.
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.
~ the end ~
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