Chapter 6: Intimacy
They stumbled into the house laughing, their faces flushed from the alcohol. Their voices were louder than they needed to be, but neither one noticed.
"I'm convinced you did this just so you could win at pool," Kathryn said as Tom rummaged around in the closet by the entry. She flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh.
"Did if ever occur to you," he began, still rummaging, "that I don't need to get you drunk to win a game of pool?" She paused.
"No." He held up his arms in mock exasperation and she laughed. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and joined her by the couch. He held a detox hypo in his hand, and tinkered with the setting before he used it on himself. After he was done, he sat down next to her and reset the hypo before handing it to her. She glanced at the setting. It wasn't enough to eliminate the buzz entirely, but was still high enough to prevent any adverse affects of the alcohol the next day. It was probably a wise decision, but she was still a little sad to give up her current feeling. Which was uncharacteristic for a woman who hated not being in control. She pressed it to her neck, and immediately felt her head begin to clear. "You know, if you were that desperate to win, I could have just thrown a few games." Even (mostly) sober, she wanted to rib him.
"Well what fun would that be?" He propped his head up with his arm on the couch. "Besides, it's been a while since I got you drunk with real alcohol."
To be exact, it had been five years. The crew had been granted shore leave on a hospitable planet with a friendly government. Kathryn had tried to barricade herself in her ready room, but Tom had dragged her out, threatening to transport her directly from her ready room if she didn't cooperate. They'd just lost Kes, and Kathryn was struggling to help Seven of Nine. She was exhausted and needed a break. And they both needed a good cheering up. When they'd staggered back to her quarters after beaming back from the alien bar, he produced a detox hypo from his pocket and sprayed them both with it. As soon as she'd sobered, she yelled at him for letting her transport back to the ship and then walk the seemingly endless distance back to her quarters, still drunk and trying desperately to hide it from passing crew. He'd smiled at her, and asked if it reminded her of sneaking out of the house when she was young. It had. Especially when the Ensign operating the transporter had eyed them suspiciously. Her anger dissolved, and she laughed at him. He would be forgiven for this. But only once.
"Even with the alcohol, I still kicked your tale," she taunted now. They'd had dinner at a restaurant in the center of Saint James. It was a small place specializing in seafood, and Tom had become friends with the owner. Across the street, there was a bar, and Kathryn could see the pool table from outside. They went in, and she'd won the first game decisively. When he ordered a bottle of Calvado- a hard cider made from the apple orchards that dotted Normandy- his odds improved. But not by much; she'd won three of the next five games.
He shook his head at her, smiling as she taunted him. There was a spark between them- an almost palpable burst of sexual energy. It had happened several times that night, and they would both be lying if they said their friendship on Voyager hadn't been punctuated with these moments. She wanted desperately to kiss him, had been hoping most of the night that he would kiss her. But then they'd begun to drink, and Tom silently decided that he refused to make any kind of move until they were entirely sober. It was bad enough that their only sexual experiences of each other occurred when they had no idea who they were. He didn't want to do anything unless they were fully themselves. No matter how tempting it was once the alcohol had pried free their inhibitions. He smiled gently at her, and the moment passed.
"It's late, but I'm not tired at all." She leaned back on the couch, resting her head on the cushion.
"You're still on California time. And I'm sure our nap didn't help that either." He scrunched his face slightly, an apology for making her transition to French time harder. An apology for selfishly wanting to be close to her.
"No, it probably didn't," she conceded. "But it did help my mood." She turned her head sideways to look at him and he winked at her.
"Mine, too."
They'd woken that afternoon, a tangle of arms and legs. Kathryn hadn't thought she would be able to sleep being so close to him, and had tried to just enjoy the contact. She'd underestimated how tired she was, however, and not long after Tom dropped off, she'd passed out. When she'd woken up, her leg was inserted between his more muscular ones and she was curled entirely into him, the front of their bodies flush. One of his arms was under his pillow and the other was wrapped tightly around her, his hand resting on her lower back. She thought he was still asleep, and tried to stay still, nuzzling her head further into the crook of his neck. Then she'd felt his lips against the top of her head, and she sighed, appreciatively. He'd been awake longer than she had, but didn't have any interest in going anywhere. Gavvy, too, had moved in her sleep, now lying across their legs. The dog's weight was warm but not uncomfortable, and they'd stayed there for half of an hour- a warm, contented mass.
"If we'd stayed on the planet any longer, I may have started sharing a bed with you." She'd confessed, before they moved to get up. He was surprised, but didn't show it. "Don't get me wrong. I would have needed an excuse, a nightmare or some other disturbance. And it wouldn't have gone any farther than cuddling for sometime." He waited for her to go on. "But when you flopped down on my bed after the storm and we ended up laying like this." She paused. "I think it was the safest I ever felt the seven years we were out there." He'd held her a little tighter, and then she could feel him smiling against her.
"To be clear, we didn't lay exactly like this." He lifted his arm slightly to demonstrate their positions, and she'd smirked.
"No, I guess not. But even then, my sanity had boundaries." He'd chuckled against her and she'd angled her head to look at him. "On the planet. Did you ever. . . Have feelings for me?" Perhaps it was too soon to ask. Perhaps she hadn't yet earned the right to pose such intimate questions. But it didn't occur to her, and he hadn't seemed to mind.
"Yes," he'd breathed, "or, at least, the beginnings of them." Tom shook his head slightly, becoming lost in thought. "But feeling that for you then. . . It felt like a betrayal. Like I was risking the balance we'd created, violating your trust. I pushed the feeling away, buried it under my sense of friendship and my loyalty." She'd pursed her lips, moving her head back to its original position by his neck.
"I suspect that's why it was so easy with us there. I trusted you. You never asked or expected more than I could give." Her mouth was almost touching his neck, and his body muffled her voice. "I suspect that's also why it wouldn't have taken me long to fall into a relationship with you if we'd stayed." Kathryn couldn't see his eyebrows knit together.
"But you didn't have feelings for me then." It hadn't been a question. And she knew he was right. While Tom's feelings for her began there, it was on the planet that she learned to think of him as an equal, a friend. It was only later, around the time he'd begun to date B'Elanna, that Kathryn's feelings turned. If pressed, she would have denied it. And if pressed more, she would have said that it was just the jealousy of losing the attentions of her friend; the loneliness of the Delta quadrant finely catching up to her. She wouldn't have been entirely wrong, either. But Kathryn knew now that it had been more than that.
"No, I didn't," she'd confirmed. "But it wouldn't have taken them long to develop given where we were in our friendship."
"It would have taken longer for you to act on them." Tom thought it would have taken even for longer him to lose the feeling that he was betraying her by reciprocating, but he hadn't added this.
"Probably." She'd closed her eyes and imagined their life on the planet. Waking up to him every morning of her life, his blonde hair turning to white but still shining in the sunlight. His eyes staying just as blue. "But I think we would have been happy." He pulled himself slightly up to look at her, disturbing the mass of limbs. Gavvy grumbled. Tom eyed Kathryn evenly.
"I think we would have managed. I think we would have accepted our situation and found a way to move on. But every time you caught me looking up at the stars, you'd feel a coldness settle in your chest. And every time you got a far away expression, I'd wonder if you were missing your ship, your life." His voice had been intense, but his eyes soft, and she'd stared, listening to him. "We would have loved each other, and there would have been infinite moments of joy. But there would have been just as many feelings of regret. We would have curled up at night with the fear between us that we each were a sad consolation prize for the other."
His words could have been taken as cold or insensitive. But his face was warm, and the arm that was over her held her tightly. He didn't want to approach their relationship with fairytales and romanticized 'what ifs' between them. After his marriage, he wanted honesty and openness, and wouldn't settle for anything less. She understood. Or at least, she understood enough.
Now, sitting on the couch, they looked at each other as they had after he'd finished his monologue in bed that afternoon. It was a look of affection, and understanding.
"You know," he said changing the subject, "you could go take a bath." She'd admittedly evaluated the bath tub earlier, when they were getting dressed to go to dinner. It was built to look like it was older, and had brushed nickel fixtures and elegant lines. But it was much bigger than a real period tub, being long and wide. It earned high marks in every category.
"And what will you do while I'm busy taking up your bathroom?"
"Call my father, for one. And take Gavvy for a walk." Her head had shot up, off the couch, at the mention of his father.
"I assume you aren't going to tell him. . ." He looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
"Tell him, what? That his former protégé is here spending her vacation with me, cuddling next to me in my bed?" She looked at him with irritation, and he returned the favor. She was the one who'd brought it up. "I hadn't planned on telling him that you were here at all. But if you're planning on telling him yourself, I can mention to him that you came for a quick visit so nothing looks suspicious." She paused, considering the alternatives. He stood up from the couch.
"No, don't tell him I'm here." Despite all the gossip that had spread like wildfire on Voyager after Quarra, Admiral Paris and the rest of the brass were miraculously ignorant about her pseudo-affair with her helmsman. She hadn't falsified any of her personal logs; she was just vague. Still, it was clear from her logs that she and Tom had been friends. She was shocked that other people hadn't filled in the rest. She'd been silently grateful, then, for whatever sympathy B'Elanna had shown her at the end. And now, Kathryn found herself not wanting to tempt fate. She could only imagine how delightful lunch with Owen Paris would be once he knew that she'd slept with his son.
"Okay." Toms shrugged. It was what he hoped she'd decide.
"So, what will you tell him? A lie about how you spent your day?" The faintest note of judgment was sneaking into her voice, and Tom fought the prickle of anger he felt. It wasn't like she was championing honesty at the moment herself.
"No. I will tell him the parts of the truth that I judge appropriate to share with him." His voice was far too even. Kathryn realized she was beginning to anger him, but pushed on.
"Such as?"
"That I spent the morning reading the novel he sent me last week. That I spent the afternoon at the café I took him to the last time he was here. That I had dinner with an old friend."
"And when he asks who the friend was?" Her eyebrows arched, her voice slipped uncomfortably close to her command voice.
"He won't," Tom said flatly.
"Tom, what if. . ."
"He won't," he cut her off, looking at her with thinly veiled anger. "My father is surprisingly incurious about my life, Kathryn. The fact that I was on the other side of the galaxy for seven years hasn't changed that." His jaw was tight, and she froze at the swiftness of his anger. Rarely did he allow himself to be riled by her, even when she baited him. She knew that this was her fault. His father was one of the few subjects he was touchy on, even when they were at their closest on Voyager. He continued, his eyes daring her to interrupt him. "The first day I got back to Earth, he met me in San Francisco but didn't ask anything about my life on Voyager. When I divorced B'Elanna, he didn't ask why or if I was doing alright. I took this job and he remarked that I would be better off on a ship, but didn't ask any details about what I would be doing here. He seems entirely disinterested in my friends, my work, my life. And that's the way it's been almost all of my adult life. I accept it, I've gotten past the anger. But. . ." His voice trailed off, but his expression finished the thought for him- he'd be damned if she was going to tell him anything about his father and their relationship. She looked at him apologetically, but knew better to say she was sorry now. He would dismiss it without taking it in. He wouldn't listen to her until the anger passed. In this, he and the older Paris were the same.
"I can't believe he doesn't take an interest in your life. He seems so proud of you, of your life on Voyager." Owen frequently brought up Tom when he and Kathryn were alone. She'd learned to hide the wave of pain it brought her, willing her voice to be warm while she recounted stories to him of his son's intelligence and grace. She'd often thought it was her private purgatory for all the mistakes she'd made with Tom over the years.
Tom's face softened at her words now, his glare turning into a rueful expression.
"That's always been the problem, Kath." His voice wasn't bitter, but regretful. "He tells everyone he cares about me, that he's proud of me. But he doesn't tell me." He turned, going to the hall closet to get Gavvy's electronic leash. Gavvy followed him, tail wagging. "I've learned to forgive him for a lot of things. But part of that entails me accepting things I'll never be able to change." Kathryn watched Gavvy grow steadily more excited as Tom scanned the closet and then produced the device. By the time he moved to attach the receiver to the dog's collar, she was bounding in the air, making the process more difficult. Kathryn laughed. She thought about forgetting the bath all together and going with them. Tom eyed her and surmised as much. He knew that she'd quickly change her mind again when she contemplated the inviting tub that awaited her. As expected, she stood up from the couch, moving to the stairs.
"You two have fun," she called. Tom nodded, coaxing the Gavvy through the door.
. . . . .
That night in bed, it took the two of them a long time to fall asleep. Despite the alcohol they'd drank and the excitement of the day, their bodies resisted unconsciousness given the rest they'd allowed themselves earlier. They lay pressed against each other, as they had at the end of their nap, speaking in low voices. They spoke now of all the things that had been taboo before, on Voyager. When she was his commanding officer. When he was with B'Elanna. They still hadn't even kissed. But holding each other in the dark, admitting truths long buried, neither thought they'd ever been more intimate with one another.
"When I was with B'Elanna, I didn't think I was settling." His arm was around her and his mouth was only centimeters from her ear. He didn't see her eyes shut in pain, but he felt her tense. "I'm not saying it to hurt you. I just. . . Need you to understand. I need to not lie to you about any of it." He felt her nod, saw the movement in the moonlight that faintly illuminated the room. "My feelings for her were entirely different for my feelings for you. But they were real, and I didn't consider her a second choice." She let out a breath, willing away the wave of nausea she felt.
"I understood that." It wasn't true, they both knew. She'd nursed the hope, somewhere deep within her, that he was with B'Elanna only because he couldn't be with her. How could she not? He didn't blame her, but he couldn't stay quiet about the truth either. "I suppose B'Elanna had trouble believing that after Quarra." It was his turn to sigh and close his eyes.
"She had trouble accepting it long before Quarra. We fought about it often." She shifted her head so she could see his face. She hadn't known that. He looked pained. "At the time, I thought she was just insecure, afraid of being abandoned. But now. . . I don't know. I think she and I could have been happy, could have built a life together. But, in the end, I may have been asking too much." She reached out and touched his face. She'd half expected to find moisture on his cheeks, but they were dry. He pressed on. "You know, when we first in the Delta quadrant, B'Elanna had feelings for Chakotay." Kathryn hadn't known this either. "They faded before she and I got together. But what if they hadn't? It would have hurt to be with her and know that, as much she loved me, she also loved someone else." She nodded in the dark. She couldn't imagine lying next to Tom like this and thinking he missed B'Elanna. Thinking he hadn't accepted their divorce. She held onto him tighter, and they were silent for a while.
"You know, I think the first few years of our journey, Chakotay had feelings for me." She heard Tom snort softly. He wondered if Kathryn was going to inform him next that Seven was socially awkward or the Doctor's bedside manner could have used improvement. She smacked him gently on the chest. She and Tom had never talked about it directly before, but she'd suspected he knew. At various points, Tom had given her knowing glances, or else looked at Chakotay with a little too much sympathy. "He never came out and told me. And I always wondered about it. But as much as I adored Chakotay as a friend, I never had those kinds of feelings for him." Tom propped his head up slightly with his hand.
"Do you find Seven and Chakotay's relationship. . . odd?" The turn of subject wasn't surprising. They'd been floating from topic to topic since they began talking.
"Yes," she replied without hesitation. Kathryn hadn't said so to anyone else, and had made a show of being supportive in public. But she'd found it completely mystifying when she first learned about Chakotay and Seven, and, truthfully, still did.
"It seems almost predatory." She could tell, even in the dark, that he regretted his word choice and pulled a face. She stilled him with her hand before he could retract it. Lechery and predation were the farthest thing from Chakotay's character, and Tom had come to respect the man as much as she did. She's been surprised to find out earlier at dinner that Tom still kept in touch with Chakotay and Seven now. He'd wanted desperately to make it up to Seven that he'd abandoned her when his marriage had fallen to shambles. Kathryn saw Seven frequently, but Seven never mentioned Tom. She wondered exactly how much the former drone had come to understand about human relationships.
"I know what you mean." Kathryn looked up at the ceiling. "Seven just seems so young, all things considered. So naïve about the world. And Chakotay has always seemed a bit of a sage to me. I don't really understand the connection." In the dark, Tom shrugged.
"I guess people may have thought the same thing about us, about our friendship on Voyager." She turned her head again to look at him. She could make out his pensive expression, the small rim of blue around his pupils in the dark.
"Do you ever wonder how our paths would have been different if it hadn't been you and I on that planet? If it was you and B'Elanna, or you and Harry? If it was Chakotay and me?" The contemplation fell away from his face when she asked this, and he looked almost stricken.
"All the time." It was true. "And I'm grateful that it happened the way it did. Everyday, I'm grateful." She wrapped her arms further around his body, settling her head on his chest. Through his sleep shirt, she kissed his shoulder.
. . . . .
In the morning, Tom made breakfast. He'd learned how to cook crepes, and he made a simple offering of crepes with apricot preserves. As he cooked, he told Kathryn that there would be lots of time to kick around the house. That today they should go out and enjoy the countryside, the attractions. Her hair was still damp from her shower- she'd been pleased to learn he had a water shower in addition to the bathtub- and she readily agreed as she pulled it back before it could dampen her blouse. She was setting the table, and he was pulling the last of the crepes out of the pan on the plasma stove. When she walked past him to get silverware from the drawer, she caught her by the wrist, easily pulling her to him. She hadn't expected it, and nearly lost her balance. He held her to him tightly, and then kissed her. It was a deep kiss, one that she felt all the way down to her toes. She kissed him back, and eventually he pulled away, nuzzling her ear with his nose.
"I've been waiting for you to do that since I got here," she said, smirking a little.
"I know. And I've been waiting, too. But first we were both terrified, and then we were both drunk." Her smirk got bigger, she pressed herself into him slightly.
"Ah, yes. But I'm much easier when I'm drunk, Mr. Paris." He chuckled, kissing the side of her neck. She gasped, and swore silently that he didn't play fair.
"I know. But the first time we did this, we had no idea who we were. I didn't want to start anything without all of my faculties present." He kissed her neck again, and then pulled back to look at her. "I hate that when I first made love to you, I didn't know who you were, or what you meant to me. I hate that I learned how you like to be touched, and then had to feel guilty for the knowledge." His admission touched her, and she cupped his face. But her mind latched onto his first comment.
"So, are you starting something now?" She ran her finger up his chest, but resisted the urge press herself into him again. His eyes glinted mischievously.
"Oh, I don't know." The rest of his face looked boyish, innocent. "We wouldn't want breakfast to get cold." He turned from her, picking up the serving dish filled with crepes and moving to the table.
"Tease!" she cried, hitting him on the backside as she walked around him to take a seat at the table. He laughed out loud, but didn't respond as he sat down across from her. Gavvy sat by their feet, patiently waiting for scraps.
After breakfast, they decided to go to Saint-Malo. Tom explained that many of the beaches in Brittany were cold and rocky, but the beaches of Saint-Malo were soft and lovely, the English channel stretching out in front of it as far as the eye can see. The city was an ancient port, its fortifications originally dating back all the way to Europe's Middle Ages. For centuries, the area thrived on tourism, it's streets boasting innumerable shops and restaurants.
"I didn't bring a bathing suit," Kathryn said, eyeing him.
"So, you'll get one there," Tom replied, setting the small force field that would allow Gavvy go to in and out through the back door. He didn't see the face she made. Bathing suit shopping, let alone with Tom, did not sound relaxing. She didn't respond, but unconsciously moved one of her hands to her hip. Tom noticed her posture when he turned around, making a mental note to tread lightly.
In Saint-Malo, they moved slowly along the streets, weaving their way in and out of shops. Kathryn watched with contentment as they passed people in a large café, the sun shining brightly on the rich red curtains that framed the establishment's windows. Tom had told her once, when they were wandering the streets of the Paris holoprogram, that an old French idiom for expressing that something was pleasant but ultimately fleeting was that it was 'un dejeuner de soleil': literally a sun's lunch, but more loosely, something that would quickly fade. Kathryn silently wondered if all of life could be characterized this way, and was afraid of how much time had passed her by already. Tom could feel her mood beginning to turn, even though they were both silent. He stopped in front of a shop that sold women's clothing, and she looked at him.
"If you don't want to go swimming, there's no need to buy a bathing suit." Kathryn noticed his diplomatic approach, but didn't remark on it. "But we can poke around to see if there's anything else you like." She'd mentioned, when he described Saint-Malo, that she'd be interested in doing some shopping. She hadn't really bought much of any clothes since she returned to Earth, and she finally had the desire to update her wardrobe. The place Tom had stopped in front of looked promising. They were fashionable dresses and interesting jewelry, but nothing that was too trendy or too young. They went into the shop and he gave Kathryn space to poke around her, choosing to chat up the merchant instead. The man was a Bolian, and he and Tom talked about how he chose this particular place to settle down.
By the time Kathryn had selected two sundresses, three blouses, and a pair of slacks, Tom and Bolian were talking like they were old friends. Kathryn draped the clothes across the counter, and Tom leaned against the wall beside her, introducing her to the merchant. The Bolian's blue face lit up with a smile and he nodded at her. Tom didn't look at her selections, and Kathryn knew with conviction that he'd noticed the absence of a swim suit and was refusing to comment. She pursed her lips.
"Can I help you find something else?" the merchant called to her as she walked away from the counter.
"No, I'll be fine on my own. I just need a moment." She made her way toward the side of the store, where the swim suits hung. Tom allowed himself to watch her now, but said nothing. After a few minutes, she pulled down a black one-piece; an athletic looking item that practically looked Starfleet issue. She could have sworn she heard Tom make a noise- something between a sad sigh and a forceful exhale- but when she turned around, he was studiously looking at a display of men's shirts. Still, she put the black suit back, walking down the aisle. When she reached a green two-piece, she stopped and held it up. It tied behind the neck, and had enough fabric that it wouldn't show too much above or below. But she liked the color and thought it might be flattering on her body. She frowned slightly as she looked at it, but then the frown was replaced by a look of resolve. She returned to the counter with the green suit. Tom was still up front, examining the menswear.
"You can drop the act, Mr. Paris. I'm all done now." The Bolian looked at Tom and let out what sounded like a whistle, and Tom smiled sheepishly. When they were finished, they walked along the street holding hands, Kathryn's bags tucked under his arm. They navigated their way out of the inner fortification, then out to the external street and down to the beach. Tom located a changing station where they could get into their swimming clothes, as well as secure their personal items. In the changing room, Kathryn couldn't figure out why she was so nervous. Tom had seen her naked many times, both in his professional capacity as medic and as well as his unprofessional capacity on Quarra. Her body hadn't really changed since then. It hadn't been that long ago, after all. Why she so self-conscious about getting into a swimsuit?
When she emerged, he was waiting, wearing navy blue swim trunks and holding two towels underneath his arm. Tom didn't comment on her appearance- he knew she'd dismiss the compliment anyway- but regarded her with a large smile. She smiled back, and they picked their way along the beach, walking down to the water. She was afraid it would be too cold, but he waded in first, his legs submerged in the gentle surf up to his knees.
"It's not bad," he said, shrugging. Kathryn nodded and followed suit. But then abruptly let out a cry.
"It's cold!" she screamed in an accusing voice.
"No, it isn't." He laughed and her scowl seemed to deepen. "It just isn't warm." When she crossed her arms, he splashed her.
"Thomas Eugene, you should be very careful right now. You know, more than anything, that I hate the cold." She was pointing a finger at him, regarding him with a glare that would have made Harry Kim or even Chakotay melt into a puddle in front of her.
"Well," he said, looking sincere, "the best way to acclimate to the cold is to go in all the way." She knew what he was going to do before he finished speaking, but before she could move away, he already had her around the waist and was dragging her out into the water. She was shrieking and wriggling in a completely undignified manner. She swore out loud she would make him for this, but he didn't release her. When they were far enough out that he could barely touch the gravelly bottom on his tip toes, he tossed her unceremoniously in front of him. She briefly went under water, before she emerged sputtering curses in Klingon.
"You're going to pay horribly for this, you know." She swam around him menacingly, and he splashed her again.
"Bring it on, Katie cat. Admiral Katie." She dove underwater and he went to red alert. He blocked her arms as they circled around his torso, but he realized almost too late that it was a distraction. She had a handful of his swim trunks and almost successfully pulled them down. He circled her wrist with his hands, pulling her up, and then against him.
"I don't think so, my dear." She shook her the hair from her eyes, the water splashing him in the face. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You've been trying to get me naked all day." She laughed against him, her arms circling his neck. They were now in shallow enough water that he could stand up fully. Kathryn still couldn't touch the bottom, but Tom held her up as her arms encircled him. Then they were kissing, and they both could taste the salt of the water when their lips, followed by their tongues, made contact. Her legs were tight around him, the hands that circled her back moved lower, grabbing her backside and pulling her tighter against him. She moaned in his mouth, and he dragged his lips away from hers. When he broke contact with her mouth, she came back to herself.
"I suspect," she began, biting her lip, "we should stop this before it becomes inappropriate for public." They were both submerged up to their shoulders, but even then there was only so much that was appropriate on a public beach.
"Hey, you're the one who tried to undress me." He looked at her with a lopsided grin, and she fought the urge to kiss it off his face until he was breathless. Instead, she slid down and off his body, but did so slowly. Tom suspected she did deliberately to torment him, but Kathryn's face was the picture of innocence. They swam for an hour before he turned to her and asked if she was ready for lunch. She looked at him incredulously and he rolled his eyes.
"What I mean is: are you ready to have your mid-day coffee break while I eat lunch?" She splashed him, and they made their way out of the water, drying off with the towels they brought. Tom changed back into the clothes he'd worn earlier, and Kathryn changed into one of the dresses she'd bought. It was a cream colored halter that tucked in at the waste before cascading gently below here knees. When she emerged from the changing station, Tom nodded approvingly.
. . . . .
Walking back to Tom's house, it was already dark, the streets lit gently by moonlight. They both still had random particles of sand in their clothing- uncomfortable evidence of their swim that they couldn't dislodge. Kathryn silently chided herself for letting Tom convince her to skip the sonic shower at the changing station, but slipped her arm easily into his as they walked from the transporter station. When they arrived at the gate to his house, he pushed it open, allowing her to go in first. They followed the stepping stones, but Tom didn't go up the stairs to the front door. Instead, he led her around the side of the house and Kathryn assumed he wanted to show her the yard. She'd seen it out the window but had yet to make it past the front lawn.
When they were a few meters past the front of the house, he grabbed her and kissed her forcefully. She met his kiss eagerly, and the hairs on her neck stood up when she felt his hands traveling along her torso. The material of the dress was thin. She could feel the callouses at the base of his fingers when he caressed her back with his right hand, when he circled her breast with his left. She moaned in his mouth, and forced her hands underneath his shirt. He shed it easily, but as he slipped his hands under the hem of her dress, she pulled her mouth away.
"Tom." It was a plea as well as a question. They were obscured from sight by the house and the fence. But what about the sound? Tom had said earlier that his neighbor to the right was posted to a Starfleet vessel and was frequently gone; his neighbors to the left were on vacation in South America, visiting an aunt. Tom dragged his mouth across her neck and shoulder. He bit the sensitive skin just below her collar bone.
"You worry too much." It was all the reassurance she needed. She kissed him again, roughly, before reaching for his pants. They managed to disrobe with little effort, the trail of their discarded clothing glowing in the moonlight against the dark background of his lawn. "Kathryn," he gasped, as her hand caressed him. His eyes were dark with lust and her breath was already becoming ragged. His arms wrapped around her waist, and she allowed herself to be picked up off the ground.
It had been one year, seven months, six days since the last time Tom Paris had pushed her against a wall. One year, six months, twenty-nine days since he moved slowly within her, cupping her breasts and telling her that she was beautiful as she kissed every part of him she could reach. One year, six months, twenty-seven days since she had panted his name like it was something that could save her from dying, like it was something that might actually kill her. One year, six months, twenty-six days since her legs had clamped around him, shaking violently; her eyes shutting before everything faded into white heat.
She opened her eyes, and he was stilling moving inside her, his blue eyes meeting her grey ones as his movements sped.
"I love you," he gasped, while he was still capable of speaking. He'd never said it before. Not back then. Not ever.
It had been one year, seven months, six days since she'd cried while he arched into her. But this time, they both knew exactly what it meant.