Title: Jump to the Left
Author: Dusk (email@example.com)
Rating: R, S for silly.
Disclaimer: Nothing and nobody featured here belongs to me. I hearby sacrifice a Nameless Red-Shirted Ensign at the altar of Paramount, They Who Own All.
Written 09/99. Posted 09/00.
Tuvok glared at Harry across the table in the messhall, tapping his plate with his fork. He wondered if he would ever understand what inspired Harry to make judgements of things he knew nothing about.
//You are mistaken.// he informed his bondmate stiffly.
//It *is*!// Harry insisted, leaning back and grinning widely. It was rare he found a topic that provoked the stoic Vulcan into arguing. He planned to make the most of it.
//*My* choice is a cultural classic, revered for centuries, a definitive work// Tuvok pointed out. //*Yours* is, frankly, just bewildering.//
//It's a unique work that has entertained countless people of all races for nearly four centuries!//
//You cannot possibly compare the two. You have never *read* mine.// It was frustrating sometimes how logical argument inexplicably failed to work on Humans. This Human in particular.
//I don't need to. The title is enough! Besides, you've never seen *mine*, so how can *you* compare them?//
Tuvok resumed eating the thankfully unidentifiable substance Neelix insisted was dinner. //*You* have seen it. The basic plot elements are clearly in the front of your mind for anyone to see. And I have seen enough to know that Humans have extraordinary taste in entertainment.//
"If it's so peculiar, why has it so popular?" Harry slipped into verbal speech unconsciously, waving his fork as emphasis. Narrowly avoiding being speared, Tom Paris set his lunch on the table and sat in the empty seat next to Harry.
"Hi. What's peculiar?"
Harry smirked, and Tuvok glanced coldly at the newcomer.
"Tom Paris. I am extremely displeased with you."
"Me? What did I do?" Tom protested automatically, rapidly scanning the past few days for actions that could have annoyed Tuvok. No, he couldn't think of anything.
"Thanks to your obsession with the 20th Century Earth and your insistence on sharing that obsession with those around you, Harry now believes that Tarik's 'Discourses on the Role of Logic in Alien Societies' is inferior to 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'."
Tom did his best not to laugh out loud. *That* was his latest error? "That's nothing to do with me, Tuvok. Harry was a fan way before I lent him my copy. They used to do a production of it every few years at the Academy."
"*Not* whilst I was there." Tuvok stated firmly.
"Well, you missed out." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I heard Chakotay did a mean Frankie."
Harry's brows lifted as they both glanced speculatively over at the first officer. He spent a few moments in silent contemplation before their eyes met.
"*That*, I would like to see," Harry pronounced carefully. Tom nodded appreciatively.
Tuvok glanced from one young man to the other.
//'Frankie'?// he queried Harry silently.
//One of the main characters, Dr. Frank-N-furter.// Seeing Tuvok's blank look, he sent him an image of the character. Tuvok blinked several times and felt his gaze move almost against his will over to the man in question, who was dining with the Captain, totally unaware of the interest he was suddenly generating.
"Commander Chakotay... wearing *that*..." he trailed off, speechless. No comment was possible.
"Kinda changes how you look at him, doesn't it?" Tom grinned at his reaction.
Tuvok did not dignify that with an answer.
"Think we could convince him to do a repeat performance? I could easily persuade people to take the other roles, just to *see* him do it..." Harry speculated. Yes, there were easily enough people to put on a performance....
Tom snorted. "Never in a million years. Unfortunately."
"Shame." Harry agreed, then turned to Tuvok, eyeing him for a few seconds. The Vulcan repressed the urge to shift his weight uncomfortably.
//Why do you look at me like that?//
"Just thinking..." //... ever consider wearing fishnets?//
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "No," he stated decisively.
//Oh, go on... did I ever tell you how much I *love* those beautiful long legs of yours? It'd show them off to perfection....// He leaned in, deliberately creating a mental image to illustrate the point.
Tuvok was momentarily thankful his skin was dark enough not to show the rush of heat to his face the image provoked. He glanced quickly at Tom, who had turned his attention back to the first officer, and spoke privately to his bondmate. //You have told me that before, yes. And if you ever want those legs wrapped around your head again, you will not press the issue.// He met Harry's gaze steadily. Harry drew his breath in and leaned back.
//You fight dirty// he conceded, his tone bordering on respect. Tuvok just nodded.
But we'll see, Harry thought to himself.
Later that night.
Tuvok fell back onto the bed in a sweaty, post-orgasmic haze, stretching sensuously under the weight of his equally sweaty and currently smug lover. As Harry occupied himself tracing lazy patterns around a dark nipple with his tongue, Tuvok stretched one leg up and eyed it speculatively. He had to admit, Harry had been proven right. He *did* have the legs for it.
That young man thought he could talk him into *anything*.
And he could. Perhaps one day, Tuvok speculated idly, he would stop letting his Human partner win.
Or maybe not. After all, Harry had *such* an imagination....
In the darkness, where nobody could see it, Tuvok smiled to himself.
The End (*thank*fully :))
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