This is a short work based in the situation set up in 
lrbowen's story "This is the Captain Speaking" 
(and if you haven't read this go out and read it right 
this instant.  And then read it again for good measure.) 
How else could I write a lesbian love scene  
between Tom and Harry? 
 
Disclaimer as per usual: these characters are not even remotely mine,  
but when they invade my mind in the middle of the night I reserve the 
right to tell about it... 
 
Sugar and Spice and All Things Nice 
by R'rain
Paris/Kim, rated NC-17 
 
________________________________________ 

these are the descriptions of the two characters that 
appear in lrbowen's story:  
 
>Ops was still manned by broad-shouldered Harry Kim, but he  
>stood a foot shorter and had long hair pinned up in a bun.  
>He was punching console buttons, breathing hard and trying  
>not to look down at his newly prominent chest. 
 
>Tom Paris, a pretty blonde with a small, delicate figure,  
>dropped into his seat and rocked back and forth in despair,  
>clutching himself all over. 
__________________________________________ 
 
 
	Harry Kim stood in front of his mirror and let his now- 
long black hair out of its bun.  The body still felt alien  
to him, but not as much as it had when he had first awoken  
with it.  He tentatively ran his fingers through that hair, shaking  
it out; it fell past his shoulders, straight and heavy.   He  
was beginning to understand why Captain Janeway wore hers  
up.  *Used* to wear it up, he corrected himself.  He was  
scared to look closely at his reflection, but too curious  
not to.  His face was a bit more narrow now, he decided,  
letting his fingertips run along his jawline.  Everything  
was set just a little differently, giving him a definite  
feminine cast.  He was still the same person, but not. 
	His hands trembled a bit as he began to unzip his  
jumpsuit.  He got it down about two inches then zipped it up  
again, hyperventilating.  This was *not* his body.  The face  
he could handle, the hair, no problem.  But those were *not*  
his breasts.  He turned away from the mirror and ran a  
nervous hand through his hair.  He didn't want to be alone  
to deal with this, but there was no one to go to; everyone  
on the ship was going through the same thing. 
	Somewhere in the distance he heard his door chime go  
off.  And then again.  "Enter," he said, his own voice  
sounding strange in his throat.  After his first few words  
on the bridge he had tried not to speak. 
	The door opened to a wild-eyed Tom Paris who strode  
into the room quickly, his hips swaying provocatively. _What  
the hell am I thinking? He's my best friend._ Harry berated  
himself.  "Harry, please tell me I'm having a bad dream.   
Tell me I'm hallucinating.  Tell me anything!  Just don't  
tell me that I'm a woman.  *Please* don't tell me that I'm a  
woman."  Harry couldn't tell him any such thing--Tom was  
definitely a woman.  And a beautiful woman at that, with a  
gorgeous and melodic voice.  Harry had already been  
attracted to him as a man; as a woman he was almost  
irresistable. 
	Harry coughed and tried to make his voice as similar to  
his old voice as he could, "Tom," he said, "I...Gods, this  
is so weird.  Why is this happening?" 
	Tom didn't say anything more.  He just walked over to  
Harry and took him into his arms, clutching him tightly.   
Which they discovered was a whole lot different when you  
have breasts in the way and broke apart immediately.   
"Shit," said Tom, "I need..."  He laughed at himself.  "Is  
this really my voice?" 
	Harry had to laugh too, though they both knew they were  
bordering on hysteria, "It this really mine?"  The laughed  
together for a few minutes until they'd gotten it out of  
their systems, at times touching one another casually as  
they would have before the change, then pulling their hands  
away as though burned when they realized that the body they  
were touching felt completely different than it used to. 
	When Tom stopped laughing and had caught his breath he  
finally looked at his best friend.  Not the furtive looks he  
had given him on the bridge nor the hidden gazes in  
Janeway's ready room when they were changing uniforms, but a  
good hard look.  "You're beautiful," he blurted out, stunned  
at the realization.  He'd always had a sort of sublimated  
attraction to his best friend but now...now he looked at him  
and he was on fire.  Looked at her.  Whatever. 
	Harry froze when he heard Tom's words, because they  
echoed his own thoughts exactly.  Tom *was* beautiful-- 
shoulder length blonde hair, softly curved breasts and hips,  
lips and eyes to die for.  Then it just happened all at  
once--they were kissing, and trying not to let their bodies  
touch in ways that they weren't ready for.  Tom was daring  
enough to run a hand though Harry's hair, but went no  
further... until Harry reached around and lay his hand over  
Tom's pulling it down so that it rested on his shoulder, and  
then further. 
	Tom broke the kiss and backed away.  "Harry," he said,  
his high voice shaking, "What are we doing?" 
	"We're...I don't know what we're doing.  We're  
kissing...we're touching...we're...I think we're about to  
make love..."  Harry, too, sounded nervous.  How could he  
think about doing these things to Tom when he couldn't even  
touch his own body?  But there *was* a difference--he had  
done those things *to* a woman before, he had just never had  
them done to *him*.  But he wasn't a him.  Not anymore.  And  
*that* was the scary part. 
	It seemed that Tom felt the same way, "Oh boy," he  
muttered, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "I don't know  
if I can do this.  I mean, I want to.  Do I *ever* want to  
touch you, but..."  he laughed at himself again and gestured  
towards his chest, "You know what?  I haven't even had the  
nerve to even *look* at these yet." 
	Harry came closer to him, finally coming to a decision.   
He reached for Tom's jumpsuit and started to unzip it, "Then  
let me," he said softly, looking deeply into Tom's still  
blue, blue eyes and sitting down next to him, "Let me do  
this for you the same way you want to do it for me.  It'll  
be easier, with a friend.  And I know we both want this," he  
just kept on talking until Tom's heartrate slowed and he had  
stopped shaking, "I know we both need this right now.  No  
one else is here, it's just you and me."  He stopped talking  
when the jumpsuit was undone as far as it would go and  
kissed him again.  Tom closed his eyes as Harry tentatively  
touched his breast for the first time.  It was absolutely  
electric, or so he thought until Harry brushed a thumb  
across his nipple.  *That* made him jump. 
	"I can't do this," he said, "Harry, I...."  he sat down  
again as Harry's eyes caught his and he saw the gentle lust  
in them.  Lust that he knew was echoed in his own.  Slowly  
Harry reached for him again, and he didn't pull away.  In  
fact, he pulled his own grey turtleneck off over his head in  
a swift, brave motion, baring his breasts to the open air  
for the first time.  Clutching Harry's hand tightly, he  
looked down at himself, saw curves that had never been there  
before, saw two breasts that he would have though beautiful  
had he seen them on anyone but himself. 
	He looked up at Harry almost incredulously, then back  
down at himself.  "Yes," whispered Harry, "Yes, you are a  
beautiful woman, Tom Paris, and I would very much like to  
make love to you some time before morning."  With his free  
hand, Tom reached up and hesitantly touched himself, cupped  
his own breast in one hand.  Harry reached out and covered  
Tom's hand with his own again, so that they were both  
touching Tom's body together. 
	"Wow," said Tom, almost laughing again. 
	"I agree," said Harry, smiling, very slowly beginning  
to caress Tom's breast again.  Tom gasped in pleasure and  
removed his own hand, reaching towards Harry's still  
fastened clothing.  When Harry backed away a little Tom  
shook his head. 
	"This is a two-way deal," he said as Harry slowly came  
towards him again, "Let me do this, Harry.  Gods, you are so  
beautiful, please, let me..."  He unzipped the jumpsuit in  
one smooth motion and felt him through the fabric of his  
shirt.  Harry let out a small noise and gasped. 
	"Is *that* what it feels like?"  he whispered  
incredulously. 
	"Yeah," said Tom, equally in awe of the sensation,  
"Harry...."  Harry knew what he meant, and removed his hands  
from Tom's body long enough to remove his clothing.  *All*  
of it.  _I have to do this all at once or I never will_ he  
told himself. 
	Tom took his cue from Harry and slipped the rest of the  
way out of his jumpsuit.  And then they just looked at one  
another again.  Noting the differences and similarities to  
the bodies they once knew. 
Tom gaped at Harry's rather abundant chest in a way that he  
never would have dared to with any other woman.  It wasn't  
so much that it was perfect as that it belonged to his best  
friend.  And those hips, those legs.  Could he ever have  
dreamed of anything more? 
	Harry was having a very similar reaction.  Tom's body  
was petite and slender, but with a wiry strength to it that  
Harry had always found attractive.  He had the urge to just  
take Tom into his arms and love him all night long,  
protecting him from the rest of the world.  It amused him  
that Tom could quite possibly be thinking the exact same  
thing about him. 
	"Well," said Tom, and Harry was surprised to note that  
he was becoming familiar with his Tom's new voice, "I'm glad  
that part's over with." 
	"So am I," admitted Harry, "You're more beautiful than  
ever." 
	"So are you." 
	"Tom..." 
	"Harry..." 
	The time for tentative exploration had passed.  Harry  
wrapped his arms around Tom and the fell onto the bed  
together, not caring that their breasts were pressed  
togther, their crotches together with the familiar bulge  
absent.  The sensations were so much more diffuse now, not  
so centered in a single organ, but there was still a sort of  
throbbing down there, and a growing wetness that felt  
familiar and alien at the same time.  They kissed with a  
passion that had been reserved previously for fantasies and  
wet dreams. 
	Tom was the first one to let his fingers explore  
downwards, feeling Harry's hips and ass, then reaching  
around, entagling his fingers in the small patch of pubic  
hair.  He waited until Harry was comfortable before reaching  
any further to run his fingers along the smooth slick lips  
of Harry's sex, letting them go deeper into the folds and  
then out again.  Harry moaned loudly into Tom's mouth as he  
teased his clitoris, overwhelmed by the sensation.  Tom knew  
that neither one of them was going to last long the first  
time, so he pulled away long enough to take Harry's hand and  
pull it down with his own to his own sex. 
	"Tom," whispered Harry, "are you sure?"  Tom answered  
him with a kiss, and as Tom began to touch him again he  
touched Tom.  Everything was where he remembered it being,  
it was all there.  He didn't have as much experience as Tom  
did, but he knew what to do.  He let his fingers stroke  
through the folds while his thumb pressed small precise  
circles around the clitoris.  He knew he was getting close  
and bit Tom's lip to let him know, but Tom didn't stop so he  
took that as a sign that Tom was as close as he was.   
Without taking his thumb away from Tom's clitoris, he slid a  
finger deep inside him begin to stroke slowly.  Tom inhaled  
sharply and instantly plunged two fingers inside Harry's  
possibly virginal sex, stroking in and out.  Harry screamed  
silently in orgasm and gave a last hard thrust against Tom's  
body, which sent him, too, over the edge.  Slowly their  
motions tapered off and the held one another close, never  
ceasing their tender kisses. 
	Neither one of them knew quite what to say.  "Tom,"  
began Harry, his breaths still coming quickly, "That was..." 
	"Incredible?" teased Tom, running a hand though Harry's  
long, black hair. 
	Harry laughed lightly, "Yeah," he admitted, "but that's  
not what I'm trying to say.  I feel...better...now, but..." 
	"Harry," said Tom tugging on his arm, "C'mon, let's get  
up." 
	"Get up?" he protested, but he followed Tom off of the  
bed, his hand clasped in Tom's.  Then he realized where Tom  
was going.  "No," he said, stopping dead, "No, Tom, I  
can't." 
	"You can," said Tom, "if I can do it you can do it." 
	"*Can* you do it?" 
	"I don't know," said Tom, "but we're going to have to  
try."  Harry reluctantly agreed and followed Tom to the  
mirror, hardly able to look at their naked bodies, but he  
did, first looking at Tom.  He (she?) had a pleasant flush  
to his cheeks, erect nipples, reddish marks where Harry's  
fingers had gripped a little too hard, and a slight dampness  
all over.  She was, in essence, beautiful.   
	Then he looked at himself.  His brown eyes looked back  
at him, the hesitancy that he saw in them his own.  His own  
skin was flushed with heat and arousal, his hair mussed up,  
his skin becoming slick with sweat.  He realized that he was,  
indeed, looking at himself...and he wasn't all that  
uncomfortable with what he saw.  He watched as Tom put his  
arms around him, his own expression conveying the same  
realization as Harry's.  They *were* the women in the  
mirror.  And they were okay. 
	"Come on, Harry," said Tom with a comfortable smile,  
"let's go back to bed." 
 
-end-