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Whatever Neelix is making, it doesn’t look at all fit for human consumption. It doesn’t even look fit for Klingon consumption. B’Elanna doesn’t want to take her chances. She heads for the replicator instead, then pauses, because in all her hunger, she didn’t actually think what she wanted.

Her gaze scans the mess hall as she thinks, searching for inspiration. Several tables are already taken, but most seem to be eating Neelix’s half-stew, half-blob, although ‘eating’ might be a stretch. More accurately, most people have that on their tables but aren’t touching it. Tom and Harry are over in the corner, sharing a plate of spaghetti.

B’Elanna does a double take when she realizes they really are sharing. There’s only one plate between them, though they both have forks, and they seem to be taking turns wrapping noodles around their utensils. Harry lifts a forkful to his mouth, only to stop and laugh when Tom tells him something—probably a cheesy joke. Harry shakes his head and smiles at Tom with the same glowing intensity that B’Elanna often does. Tom smiles back, eyes twinkling and dimples showing. B’Elanna’s seen that look before.

She watches the way Tom leans over to wipe a fleck of tomato sauce off Harry’s cheek, and the way Harry instantly blushes but doesn’t look away. Their eyes seem permanently connected. Harry says something that makes Tom’s grin grow even wider. If B’Elanna didn’t know any better, she’d think they were flirting.

She’s not even sure she does know better. She knows Tom would never cheat; she does trust him. But it wouldn’t be cheating just to notice how cute Harry is, how nice it is to hear his laugh, how clever and funny he can be. Surely Tom’s aware of all that. And B’Elanna can’t help but wonder if Tom’s ever thought about it further—if he’s ever daydreamed about leaning in, closing the short distance between them, and pressing their lips together.

She can easily picture them kissing over their plate, forgetting all about their pasta in the quest to taste each other’s mouths. She knows just how good Tom is at kissing—he’d have Harry completely captivated. Harry probably tastes delicious. He seems like he’d be sensitive, so easy to stimulate, and he’d probably moan when Tom’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Then he’d tilt and move in loser, hand reaching Tom’s, fingers toying with the hem of his sleeve while contemplating pulling it all off.

She can even imagine Harry ducking beneath the table, crawling between Tom’s legs, and proving what a good ensign he can be. Tom would toss his head back, breathing hard, running his fingers through Harry’s silken hair and moaning Harry’s name. But then he’d tilt just enough to notice his girlfriend standing at the end of the hall, and he’d toss her a lazy smile, purring about how good Harry’s mouth is and that she should take her turn next. B’Elanna’s not sure if she’d indulge or just content herself with watching. Both sound like good options.

The computer beeps, as though to reminder her that she’s blocking the replicator. She startles and barks, “Pasta.”

“Please state desired noodle shape.”

Rolling her eyes, B’Elanna amends, “Just give me whatever Lieutenant Paris ordered.”

“Lieutenant Paris did not order pasta within the last twenty-four hours.”

“Fine! Whatever Ensign Kim ordered.”

The computer beeps again, and a plate of generic Terran spaghetti materializes in the slot. B’Elanna collects it and marches over to her boyfriend’s table, just a little too late—Harry’s already getting up. He flashes her a smile and a short wave before leaving. B’Elanna slips disappointedly into his emptied seat.

She sets her plate down next to Tom’s half eaten one, and Tom quips, “Good choice.”

B’Elanna watches Harry leave the mess hall. When the doors have shut behind him and there’s no chance of him overhearing, she leans in and asks, “Do you have any sexual interest in Harry?”

Tom’s eyes go wide. His mouth actually falls open. Then he pulls himself together and splutters, “Of course not. B’Elanna, I’m completely committed to you. Harry’s just a—”

“Tom. I’m into it.”

Tom abruptly switches to, “On the other hand, I’m not saying I’d never go for it; I mean, he is pretty hot—”

B’Elanna snorts at how quickly he backtracked. But she agrees, “Super hot.” Tom sighs with obviously relief. She decides for both of them: “We should have a threeway. Now let’s figure out how to get him on board too.”

Tom blinks, then laughs, “I love you.”