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“B'Elanna, hand me that wrench, would you?”
B'Elanna rolled her eyes and selected the wrench Tom had vaguely gestured at from under his car. “Harry, remind me again why we're here?”
Sitting next to her, Harry looked up from the period magazine he was flipping through, shrugging. “I don't know. Because we have nothing better to do?”
“I have a thousand better things to do,” B'Elanna groused, “we all have a thousand better things to do.” She leaned over and nipped at Harry’s neck hard enough to make him give a high whimper and tilt his head back to press his lips behind her ear. “If we’re going to be recreational about it, I can certainly think of something you and I can do without him, if he insists on staying in here.”
Tom didn't bite, didn't make a sound from under his hot rod, and though Harry gave her a look that flickered with wanting, he went back to his book. B'Elanna huffed. “And I don't see why both of you insist on pretending there was no colour on 20th century Earth!” That got Harry to laugh low in his throat and turn his head to kiss her again, even though he knew he was tempting fire, the way the back of his neck smarted.
Hoping to please them, Tom had made some modifications to his grease monkey program of late, in the form of a shelf with a library of vids and magazines - temporally congruous, naturally. B'Elanna mostly refused to partake in either, the times she came to this program; Harry succumbed to boredom and had paged his way through half of the shelf. Tom had meant well. It was better than doing nothing and Harry and B'Elanna had long since lost interest in marvelling in the fact that people had used to travel almost everywhere in these 20th century death traps. B'Elanna had tried helping, pointing out tweaks where they were obviously needed, but Tom only laughed and kissed her and said she was missing the point.
They both knew why they were there, in the end. B'Elanna found it soothing - for a set period of time - Harry close enough to share her body heat and resolutely making do with what was available to him the way he always did and Tom busily tinkering, unusually quiet but for an occasional request for a tool or the odd few bars of humming. Harry was simply glad that they were content, that B'Elanna was still and her complaints held no venom, that Tom was quiet and happy; for his own part, Harry drew some peace himself from their shared isolation.
And then, every so often, they'd share a moment like this.
“B'Elanna,” Harry whispered, urgent, his laughter turning his voice just a bit louder than he'd meant it to be, “B'Elanna, you have to see this!”
The noises from beneath Tom's car paused when he heard them both start laughing, hushed.
“I don't believe it,” B'Elanna tittered, and it worked she and Harry up into a fresh bout of louder giggling.
“Remind you of anyone?” Harry barely managed.
“So he’s - he's trying to…?”
“I think he is!”
Tom was on the verge of coming to see just what was so funny - already fairly certain it was directed at him - when B'Elanna summoned him with: “Hey, Paris, come here!”
Tom slid out from underneath his hot rod, wiping his hands on his jeans as he sat up and rolled over to them; he spun in the seat of his creeper to face them with a bemused little smirk. “Dare I ask?”
Harry thrust out his magazine, with enough composure to crack, “Ask me what, Mr. Rebel Without a Cause?”
It took Tom a second or two to place James Dean, finding the name on the page, and another two to glance over the photo spread. It took him less than that to realize why his lovers were doubled over in hilarity. “Oh, come on!” he protested. It only made B'Elanna and Harry start laughing all over, leaning into each other for support. They'd be beautiful, he thought, if their amusement wasn't at his expense.
“Tom,” B'Elanna gasped, forehead crinkling as she reached out to tug at one of the sleeves of his white t-shirt, “if you were still wearing that stupid jacket…!”
Tom’s face felt like it would be as red as B'Elanna’s lips, if there were the colour to see it. “It was an iconic look!” he argued. “It wasn't just - just this guy!”
Harry shut him down, lips quirking. “Tom, I've,” another giggle, “I’ve seen you do the pose.”
“In the mirror,” B'Elanna added helpfully, “at home.”
Tom tried for a pout and his biggest, bluest (greyest?) eyes and -
“Give it up, Tom,” Harry said, “besides, it's kind of cute.”
“In a horribly embarrassing way, yeah,” B'Elanna agreed, not unkindly - before Harry and B'Elanna both cracked up again. Tom couldn't help it that time, he collapsed with them - into them - as much gripped by hysteria as anything, by now.
By the time they had stopped, Harry and B'Elanna were streaked with tears, gasping for breath, and Tom’s lungs were burning like he hadn't had oxygen in an age.
B'Elanna was the first to recover enough to speak. “Oh, that was - that…” She snickered but didn't go off again.
“All right, all right, enough,” Tom grumbled, straightening, his smile irrepressible. “I get it, everybody laugh at Paris.”
“Keeps you humble,” Harry replied.
“As much as we can,” B'Elanna chimed in.
‘We can,’ and something blazed hot and fierce in Tom’s chest - not that he has them both, but that they have each other, as well.
“Enough,” he said again, softer now. “When you two get like this, it's time to leave.” He stood and kicked the creeper back under his car. “I believe B'Elanna mentioned we might have a date?”
Tom offered his hand and Harry took it first, then offered his own to B'Elanna, who said, “I don't know, Starfleet, I don't remember inviting him,” only then she had her lips against Tom’s, teasing with a telltale hint of her teeth.
Harry tugged at her and kissed her briefly before leaning in to kiss Tom, soothing the worried at bits with his tongue. “I don't know, B'Elanna, I think there's room for one more.”
B'Elanna pretended consideration even as she was taking one of Tom’s hands and one of Harry’s. “I suppose there always is,” she sighed.
Tom, tugging them off, only said, “Computer, end program.” His car would be there another day. His car and the photo spread of James Dean, torn out and left under the wiper.