Author:  Polly Bywater
Title:  A Ware That Will Not Keep
Series:  Star Trek Voyager
Pairing: Paris/Tuvok
Rating: R
Beta:  Akilah
Summary/challenge:  Cave story
Part of the Cliche Fuh-Q-Fest at http://www.kardasi.com/Cliched/Index.htm
Feedback:  pollyabywater@yahoo.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/polly_bywater/index.html
Disclaimer:  Paramount owns all, sees all, hears all.  All hail mighty Paramount with the traditional salute of our people... the upthrust middle finger... either hand will do.
Warnings/Spoilers:  m/m sexual situation.  Bad language (bad Tommy!)  No spoilers.
Notes:  This story is mostly dialogue, which is a style I've wanted to try my hand at writing for a while, so be warned by the implication there.  Thanks to my ever-patient husband and best friend, who cheerfully lent his expert opinion towards theorizing about the potential consequences of too much oxygen on the Vulcan respiratory system.  Sorry I didn't work in the giant flying bugs, dear heart.  Maybe next time.

A Ware That Will Not Keep

'Breath's a ware that will not keep.'  -A.E. Housman, Reveille


"Crap.  Damn.  Shit, hell, and son of a bitch.  I can't believe this is happening.  Talk about stupid... this takes the fucking prize."

"Really, Mister Paris, I hardly believe indulging in profanity will assist us in this situation."

"Believe me, Mister Tuvok, it won't hurt."  A deep sigh.  "Are you all right?"

"I am... relatively unharmed."

"It's the 'relatively' that worries me."

"It is merely a... flesh wound, Lieutenant.  Do not concern yourself."

"I wish I could see for myself."

"I regret that the ambient light in our present location is insufficient for your needs."

"Shit, Tuvok, that sounded like sarcasm.  I'm not blaming you because the fucking cave entrance collapsed."

"..."

"Look, I'm sorry.  I'm not angry at *you*.  I'm just... angry."  Another sigh.  "Thanks for pushing me out of the way, and I'm sorry the equipment got buried.  How long do you think it will take them to find us?"

"The presence of dodecahedral isorbidium and xanthratic omulite in the cave walls will render ship's sensors ineffective, as it has done our communicators.  A manual search is unavoidable.  In addition, the sheer number of caverns to be searched will delay our rescue exponentially."

Sound of fingers scratching through hair.

"So, you're saying it's going to take a while."

"That is correct."

"Shit."

"Indeed."

"..."

"..."

"Well, look on the bright side, Tuvok.  It's dry, it's warm, and we have an air current coming from somewhere, so at least we don't have to worry about suffocating, plus the atmosphere on this planet is almost fifty percent oxygen anyway, so we should be fine for as long as it takes."

"Unfortunately, Mister Paris, your assessment is incorrect.  *You* should be fine.  However, there is a potential complication of which you must be made aware."

"What kind of complication."

"It has to do with Vulcan... biology."

"Uh..."  koff koff  "You mean... the biology of Vulcans?"

"I assure you it is not what you are apparently thinking, Lieutenant Paris."

"Sorry, sorry.  It's just... when you said... I thought...  Sorry.  What aspect of Vulcan biology are you talking about, then?"

"Perhaps you are unaware that the atmosphere on Vulcan contains rather less oxygen than the Terran Standard room air mixture... seventeen point six three five percent, to be precise.  While I have adapted, with the use of pharmaceutical intervention, to the human norm of twenty-one percent oxygen, the percentage of oxygen and the corresponding humidity of this world's atmosphere will have deleterious effects on my health within a matter of hours."

"What kind of effects?"

"Within four to six hours my autonomic respiratory drive will become depressed and my respirations will gradually become increasingly shallow.  Within eight hours sections of lung tissue will collapse due to atelectasis.  Within twelve hours I will develop pneumonia, which if left untreated, will lead to my death, probably within twenty-four to thirty-six hours."

"..."

"..."

"There must be something we can do to prevent that.  Can't Vulcans consciously control their respiratory rate?  What if you-"

"It is likely I will develop some degree of mental incapacity due to hypoxia and hypercapnea.  I would therefore be unable to maintain control of my breathing patterns, which will speed my eventual decline.  In any event, rapid breathing in itself is not the answer, although that will slow the progression of symptoms.  Deep breathing is a more effective remedy."

A long silence ensues.

"Then *I'll* make sure you deep breathe."

One eyebrow arches audibly.

"How do you propose to do that, Mister Paris?"

"You let me worry about that, Mister Tuvok."

Some time later, Tom awakens from a doze to find Tuvok breathing in slow, shallow puffs.

"Tuvok.  Tuvok!"

"hmm... what?"

"Take a deep breath!"

"what?  stop shakin' me."

"TAKE A DEEP BREATH NOW, MISTER!"

A long, gasping breath is heard, then another, then a third.

"Tuvok?"

"Thank you, Mister Paris."  Deep breath.  "My condition is stable for the moment."

"You've lost a lot of blood from that 'flesh wound', haven't you."

"Yes.  It is no longer bleeding, but it does... complicate the situation."

"Where exactly *is* this wound?"

"My left upper arm."

"Hmph.  You could have said something.  I would have bandaged it earlier."

"That is not necessa- Lieutenant Paris!"

"Relax, Tuvok, and hold still while I take your shirt off."

Clothing rustles, there's a rip, and then a low hiss as a wound is wrapped.

"Sorry, Tuvok.  I know that hurt."

"Paris, you may cease these incessant apologies!"

"OooKay!  I'm not sorry anyway.  You should have asked me to wrap it sooner."

"..."

"..."

A rather exasperated-sounding deep breath follows.

"I apologize, Lieutenant, for my inappropriate show of temper.  You are quite right.  I should have informed you of the extent of my injury and requested your assistance."

"Wow.  That's incredible, Tuvok.  In the entire history of Vulcan and Terran relations I think there are only two recorded instances of a Vulcan apologizing to a Terran!"

An indefinable noise emerges from Tuvok's vicinity.  It sounds suspiciously like a snicker.

"Tuvok, are you *laughing*?"

"Certainly not."

"Uh-huh."

Another long silence, but this time Tom is paying attention when Tuvok's respiratory rate slows and becomes shallow.

"Tuvok.  Tuvok.  Wake up!"

"'m'wake, damn it."

"Tuvok, I hardly believe indulging in profanity will assist us in this situation...  come on, now, take some deep breaths... 'damn it' is right... this isn't working.  Tuvok!  TUVOK!"

"hhuh."

"Okay, Tom, think.  Tuvok needs to breathe deeply.  He needs to be stimulated... oh, shit no, Tommy boy, wipe that thought right out of your head...  Well, it would definitely be stimulating...  Look at it this way, I'll either get a commendation for saving his life or I'll spend the next fifty years in the brig."

A wet tongue laps trails over a bare chest, pausing to taste a stiffening nipple.  Strong teeth give it a tug, which results in a sucking gasp of air.  Another nip, another gasp; this one sounding decidedly shocked.

"wha-  Mister Paris, *what* are you doing?"

"Tuvok, I think under the circumstances you'd better start calling me Tom... My God, you taste good.  I had no idea."

"Lieutenant, have you lost your grasp on reality?  This is not logical behavior."

"My grasp has never been better."  Tom demonstrates this rather graphically, and is rewarded with a strangled moan and yet another gasp.  "I'm being entirely logical.  You need physical stimulation to remind you to breathe... and you can't get up and exercise because you've lost too much blood... so I'm bringing the exercise to you."

"But you do not- you are not- this is not-"

"Tuvok, I *do*, I *am*, and this *is*, so just lie back and enjoy it, why don't you."

"Vul- *oh* -Vulcans do not engage in recreational sexual activity."

"I don't think... mm, sweet," *gasp* "Vorik's been informed... but that doesn't matter.  This isn't recreational, it's medical... and as the doctor's assistant, my recommendation stands.  I can't let you get sick and die.  Just close your eyes and think of the Federation... or better yet, pretend I'm someone else.  I'm used to that."

"Tom.  Come here."

Supernaturally hot hands frame a flushed, but still cooler face, gently drawing it within reach of a lush, seeking mouth... and for some minutes, there are only the sounds of wet kisses, followed by a matched set of gasping respirations.

"You do me much honor, Thomas Paris, and I have no need to pretend you are anyone but who you are... a man of good character, possessed of singular courage, a kind and generous nature, and an exceptional spirit.  Additionally, you are quite aesthetically pleasing.  What you offer is a privilege beyond compare, and I would be an imbecile to deny you."

"..."

"..."

"Tuvok... I... that's the most... *thank* you.  You're not just saying that to let me down easy, are you?"

"I have no intentions of letting you down, easily or otherwise."

More sounds of clothes rustling, then a startled yelp ensues as Tuvok makes his intentions very clear.

"Oh... God, that feels... feels so *good*, Tuvok!  Christ, your mouth... so hot...  Wait, let me..."

Yet more rustling of clothing commences, amidst some squirming and shifting of positions, and if Tuvok were not Vulcan it might be said that he yelps, too, as a cool human mouth engulfs his steamy flesh.

The forgiving darkness hosts a variety of soft moans, tiny whimpers, and eventually, muffled groans, as satisfactory- *satisfied* -completion is jointly reached.  Each leaves the other breathing heavily of air that never smelled so sweet, laden with the moist scents of shared pleasure.

"This was a well-reasoned and effective plan of treatment.  Your logic was impeccable."

"I'm honored."

Shortly thereafter, chinks, clunks, and thuds are heard from the direction of the erstwhile cave entrance.  Clothing is unhurriedly straightened, a bandage is checked, and touches linger rather longer than required, strictly speaking.

"Tom!  Tuvok!  Can you hear me?  Are you in there?"

"We're here, Chakotay!"

"Thank the spirits.  Are you all right?"

"Tuvok is injured, but we're okay."

"We'll have you out in a few minutes!"

"No problem!"

A shaft of light breaks the gloom, and blue eyes fix uncertainly on an impassive face. 

"Tuvok, I..."

A full mouth quirks in a faint, but genuine smile, and an elegant brown hand reaches for its paler mate.  Gently twining fingers say much more than mere words, but the words are offered freely anyway, inducing relieved sighs.

"Perhaps, after I am released from sickbay, you would favor me with your presence, Tom.  I find that I breathe more easily with you near."

"I'd like that, Tuvok.  I'd like that very much."


End
23 Sept 03