Harry's Halloween Dance Date (K/7; P/K)
Summary: It's Halloween on Voyager and Harry and his shapely date in a silver body suit, four inch heels, dance on the holodeck at the Halloween party. Then they go to Harry's quarters, and then they . . . A PWP fantasy.
Disclaimer: The body suit, Sandrine's, the Ensign and the Lieutenant (sigh), and everything, belong to Paramount. The story is mine. Copyright 1998.
Warning and Rating: Rated R for adult language and situations. If male-male relationships bother you, please read elsewhere.
Harry's Halloween Dance Date
Sandrine's had been decorated for the old U.S. tradition of Halloween with orange pumpkins, white ghosts, cemetery headstones, a corrugated metal tank with apples in it, and lots of orange and black crepe paper hanging everywhere. Dancing, talking, and drinking groups, couples, and singles filled the dimly lit bar as the band played a slow one.
Harry held her in his arms as they danced across the holodeck floor. Her skin tight suit felt smooth beneath the hand that rested on her waist. Her blue, blue eyes were locked with his, a faintly puzzled look to her expression. Her dancing was awkward, as if unaccustomed to moving in four inch fuck-me heels to the music that floated in the room. Despite this every now and again loss of rhythm, Harry kept to the beat. Jutting breasts crushed against his chest as Harry pulled her closer to him and rested his head at home against her shoulder. In her silver suit and blond hair and his formal, black tuxedo and black hair, they were an attractive couple on the dance floor, repeatedly catching the eye of other crew as their dancing brought them into view.
When the music's tempo increased, Harry and his tall, shapely date moved over to a table, Harry's hand lightly at her back, guiding her to a darkened corner. She appeared to wobble slightly on her heels and her gait seemed to hitch as if somewhat uncomfortable walking in this situation. Solicitously, Harry held her chair while she carefully lowered her tall, slender frame on to it.
"Would like you anything?" Harry asked almost in her ear so as to be heard over the noise of the band and the crowd.
"I wish to leave this place," she told him, "Now."
"Let's stay a few more dances, it's good practice."
A baleful gaze met his dark eyes. "I am not enjoying this practice," she told him firmly.
Harry smiled at her. "I'll get us some drinks," he offered cheerfully, leaning over her chest to deliver his message. A silk mane of black hair fell into his face. When he swept it back with his fingers, his eyes caught movement not far away. There were other crew approaching their table, a petite woman with dark hair in a Peter Pan outfit and a short fireplug of a man whose usual appearance was costume enough.
"Incoming," Harry murmured. "B'Elanna and Neelix."
His date placed her head on the table, then looked up at Harry. "Ensign, it is time to leave. I wish to go to your quarters," her husky voice announced.
Harry didn't need to be asked twice, well, actually, he had been informed twice that his date wanted out of here. It seemed that he finally caught on, grabbed her hand, helped her to her feet, and plotted their getaway.
"Harry! Seven!" Neelix called out, but his cheerful expression changed to disappointment as Seven seemed to be almost dragging Harry out the door, moving swiftly, albeit less than gracefully, in her hurry to leave. When they disappeared out of the doors of Sandrine's, Neelix turned to B'Elanna. "Well. What do you make of that?"
"Hot date?" B'Elanna guessed. "Maybe they'll both get lucky."
Neelix felt bothered, "Is it my imagination, or did Seven seem taller?"
With a superior snort, B'Elanna commented, "Did you see those heels?"
With that twosome gone, B'Elanna searched the bar for other familiar faces. Her eyes landed on the Captain and Chakotay dancing to even the fast ones. She smiled as she watched their very coordinated movements dance to a body language all their own. Somehow, she hadn't gotten that same impression when she'd seen Harry and Seven and she wondered what was going on. Well, Harry was her friend, she'd pry it out of him in the morning. She kind of hoped that there would actually be something to pry out of the ensign. Based on Harry's reports so far, there was nothing to tell.
Harry and his date reached the safety of Harry's room. Once inside the doors, Harry turned on her with a throaty growl and backed her against the wall with his body. His hands reached up to her face and pulled her down for a kiss, a long intense, thorough kiss. When he finally pulled back for air, he saw her face flush with desire, her eyes glint feverishly through half closed lids.
"Hmm," she muttered, "let me get out of these shoes."
She kicked off first one heel and then the other, losing four inches in the process. Harry was kind of glad to have her more at her real height, it was easier to kiss her mouth that way. He moved back in for more and she obliged, opening her mouth to play dueling tongues with Harry. In the meantime, Harry's hands roamed down from her head to her chest. She moaned into his mouth and he pressed urgently against her body, grinding in rhythm to a slow dance beat.
Her fingers peeled away his tuxedo jacket and, once he pulled his arms away from her, they both let the jacket fall off his arms onto the floor. She worked her slender fingers on his cummerbund and on the pearl buttons to his shirt, as each item followed the tuxedo jacket.
Harry moved to reciprocate and puzzled over how to peel the body suit off of her. She wiggled impatiently and then placed her long fingers on top of his, guiding him to the hidden zippers at the back, along the sides. As Harry tugged the suit off her shoulders and down her arms, the outfit fell away to reveal a slender torso with almost no breasts at all. When the suit was free of her upper body, she used one hand to sweep a blond wig off her head, tossed it and ran a hand through the short sandy hair now freed from its prison. As Harry continued to pull the suit down, Tom began to complain.
"Harry, this is the last time I do something like this."
He shut up when Harry moved closer. Groans of pleasure came from the mouth of Harry's date. Totally free of the body suit, Tom leaned against the wall and allowed Harry to have his way with him. Amidst more groans and sighs of pleasure and only now muted complaints about what he did for his partner, Tom reveled in the attention that Harry lavished on him. If Harry's hands hadn't firmly gripped his hips he would have slumped to the floor as his legs seemed to turn to quivering leola root.
Tom wasn't sure how they managed to make it to the bed, he was only dimly aware of Harry's hand leading him somewhere. Time no longer existed, only sensation.
When the world returned from wherever it goes during such times, Harry nuzzled his lover's twice shaved chin. "You were great," he told Tom.
"Hmm," was about all the response he got from Tom as Harry rolled him unresistingly over on to his back. "Mmm, ouch," Tom protested half-heartedly. Although his feet hurt from the heels, it was just a small price to pay to feel so wonderful, so loved.
"I hope you lose a bet more often," Harry confided in a sultry voice. "You were so good as Seven."
Sleepy blue eyes felt as if they were melting in the chocolate fondue of his lover's dark eyes. Tom acknowledged the compliment, after all it had been accompanied by a warm kiss. "I surprised you, didn't I?"
"Well, you can't walk or dance worth shit in high heels, but overall your performance as Seven was . . . "
"Liked that, did you?" came the satisfied reply.
"It was . . . " Harry tried to retrieve a word from the declining functioning of his brain, ". . . very, very bad. If you ever lose a bet again. . . "
Interest perked in Tom's next murmured, "Hmm?" Then a clearer voice complained, "Just don't make me play Seven again."
Harry kissed him with what he hoped would seem like reassurance. As he lay there, the sweat drying on his skin, he knew he wouldn't recycle the body suit, nor the wig, nor the heels, especially not the heels. Tom in a Seven get-up had been such a terrific idea. After all, his lover made such an alluring Seven (even if his attitude left about as much to be desired as did Seven's). As Harry's mind began to drift, he began to rehearse what he would tell B'Elanna in the morning about his date with Seven. Boy, would she be surprised if he ever told her the truth. Idly, Harry wondered how soon it would be before Tom could be tricked into placing another unwinnable bet. Pretending to be a clueless ensign certainly had its advantages. He had Tom right where he wanted him: asleep in his bed.
The K/7 code was a decoy! I didn't want you to catch on in the very first paragraph . . .