A Life Half-Lived

"You're so vanilla, you could be an ice cream cone."

At least, that's what Tom Paris had intended to say.

"Wha?" asked Harry Kim, trying to unstick the side of his face from the bar. "Wha's an ishecrim con?"

"Din fuckin shay that," said Tom, opening one eye to direct a bleary glare in the direction of what he thought was Harry's head. Or it could be the lump of coal-black fur that the alien had sported on its neck when it started their bar tab. "Sid ishecrim con."

Typical fucking Federation. You'd think they could come up with a universal translator for drunks. But no. Lizards that chirped like birds, birds that had an entire vocabulary in variations of an eight- tone scale; these could prove their sentience by chatting up the nearest human. Or ask for a nice cup of birdseed. But two drunk guys trying to tell their bestest buddy their fantasies? Not a chance.

"Yah transhlator's on the bink, uh, blink," said Tom, lifting his arm (which had mysteriously tripled its weight) and giving Harry a good smack on the ear where the translator was implanted beneath the skin.

"What?" asked Harry, his ear ringing from the unexpected assault. "Someone fucking hit me."

"That's ? better," said Tom. It still sounded too slow but he guessed he could just talk a bit quicker. His tongue was numb and seemed swollen when he tried to close his teeth on it. He did still have teeth, didn't he?

"You're so vanilla, you're that thing that I suck on when I really really want vanilla. You know. Big white knob. I like to lick it really slowly with my tongue. Is my tongue still there? You know what I mean. Haza."

"Doan call muh Haza," mumbled Harry into the bar top.

"Now mine's on the blink," said Tom, slowly and carefully, before smacking himself on the head.

---

"Please."

Tom had never begged quite so prettily before, or with as much feeling.

"Please don't make us watch any more."

Kathryn Janeway's smile was an icepick, sharp and brutal, in the frigid atmosphere of her ready room. "But we're just getting to the best part."

A flick of one rigid finger paused the holo playback. "I bet you two would like that hangover antidote now."

Tom looked longingly at the hypo in the captain's hand, as she tapped her left knee with it. Her fingers were so white that Tom feared she would crush it in her rage, and leave them without relief for the rest of what would probably be a short lifespan. He risked a quick, miserable look at Harry, whose face was a peculiar shade of green. Shit. If Harry threw up on the captain, their brig time would jump from thirty days to thirty years.

"Maybe you gentlemen missed the course on alien diplomacy at the academy," she said, rising to stalk over to the rubbish recycler. The hypo with the hangover remedy hovered dangerously near the slot.

"Perhaps you attended the course where you accept an open-ended bar tab from an alien host, get so drunk that you wet yourselves?" - Tom looked down at his grubby uniform with open-mouthed horror � "?and single-handedly cause a diplomatic incident that leads to your ship's expulsion from a star system."

Tom hung his head in shame. Surreptitiously, he sniffed himself for the telltale smell of urine. Surely, he hadn't?

"Mr Paris," screamed a voice right in his ear. "Are you listening to me?"

Tom's ass left his seat and not even the noisy sound of Harry vomiting nearby could reduce his embarrassment.

"I'm so, so sorry," he whispered.

"Oh don't be," said Janeway, her voice suddenly pleasant. "When we get the next datastream from Earth, we'll be able to send this holo from the bar's security cameras back to form an instructional video � CLEAN THAT UP MISTER."

Tom jumped again. Harry scrabbled on the floor, while Tom tried not to look and, more importantly, to shut down his sense of smell. "Let's watch some more, shall we?"

"They said it was synthehol," whimpered Harry.

"Oh, they did, did they? And you couldn't tell the difference after one mouthful? Well, Mr Kim, what if I tell you I'm a big tall basketball player? Would you believe me?"

They all waited with interest for Harry's answer.

"No, ma'am," he whispered at last, giving her a photon shot of puppy dog eyes.

"Then you'd be wrong," said Janeway, grimly. "Watch this."

She pitched the hypo into the air, a good clean shot straight through the recycling slot. Rubbing her hands with satisfaction, Janeway restarted the holovid. Tom found it easy to resist giving her a high five.

"Ahm gonna get Chakty drunk. Then he'll fuckn do it," proclaimed Holo Tom, waving his arms wildly in the air.

"Do wha?" slurred Holo Harry, head swaying in time to some unheard music.

"Shtick that � shtick that � you know � that fucking thing � on end of his sharm?"

"Sharm?"

"Fuckn echo."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

Janeway hit fast forward. "This goes on for some time," she said.

Was that a smirk that she hid by turning around and grabbing her coffee?

"What's a sharm?" whispered Harry, quickly, while the captain's back was turned.

Tom hid his head in his hands and wished his fair skin didn't blush so easily.

"*This*!" Holo Tom started to scream, swinging at Harry with his balled up fist and missing by a good two feet.

"Wha? Wha?" shouted Harry. "Doan fuckn `it me, asshole."

"'m not *hitting* ya, ya dumb mothfucka. It's ma *fisht*."

"Excuse me, sir, we don't allow fighting in this establishment," said a seven-foot alien having a bad hair day.

"Ahm not *'itting* `im," snarled Holo Tom.

"You are *trying* to, sir."

"Nah. Showin `im ma fisht."

"I get it," crowed Harry. "Ya want Chakty ta fisht ya. That's so gross. Gross Tahm. Gross Tahm. Tahm's an old grossy."

Janeway hit fast forward again. Holo Tom smacked his head over and over on the bar, at double time, while Holo Harry staggered in what appeared to be a victory dance.

"Aint `nough drink in the fuckn un'verse to get his fat arm up ya fat ass," howled Harry, spinning on the spot after Tom tried to knock him over and instead turned him into a whirling top.

"Tahm wans Chakty ta fisht `im," chanted Harry, over and over again.

"What is this fisht?" asked the alien, eyeing the staggering pair with a look that could only be described as dubious.

"Show ya," snarled Holo Tom, making a grab at Harry that somehow connected, sending him sprawling ass-up on top of the bar. Tom curled his right hand into a fist and reached for Harry's uniform pants with his left.

---

It was quiet in the brig, with nothing but the hum of the forcefield for entertainment. Every now and then, Tom could hear a stifled noise. It was either Harry suppressing sobs in his cell, or Ayala trying hard not to laugh at the security console.

"Harry," he tried again. "I didn't *do* it. You'd feel it if I'd done it. Believe me. I didn't even get your pants down."

Ayala started to howl at his console, drumming his feet on the floor.

"And you can fuck off too, Ayala," shouted Tom, hurling his datapadd at the forcefield and watching it spark on the floor. Shit. There went his only pastime.

"Oh good one, Tom," snarled Harry. "Piss off the guy who feeds us, why don't you?"

"Shh," said Ayala, punching a button on the panel in front of him. "It's on again."

Tom was going to find the person who had downloaded that holovid to the ship's net and personally demonstrate to them why it was better to insert your fist one finger at a time. As soon as he got out of the brig. *If* he got out of the brig.

The door swished open and Tom watched Ayala do a double-take and then disappear quickly out of sight.

Oh shit. Shit shit shit.

Tom didn't look up from the contemplation of his knees.

"Hello Tom," came the silky voice of Chakotay from just outside his forcefield, smooth as honey but tight with anger. There was a clink of glass on glass. "Would you like a drink?"

He could be sensible and talk his way out of this if he just didn't look up?

Wow. Those ebon eyes, blazing with anger, were putting out more heat than that supernova Voyager passed last week. Sensible pilots would have skirted it safely but Tom liked to fly right at danger and frig its pretty asshole.

"Sure, thing, Commander," he drawled. "If you've got something worth drinking. A thick creamy cocktail, maybe? The good stuff, that slides down the back of your throat with a slight tang of salt."

Tom tried not to let the loud groans from the neighboring cell distract him, nor the sounds of a forehead making repeated contact with a sparking forcefield. "Nothing to do with me, nothing to do with me," was the accompanying mantra, asserted loudly between each fizz of contact with the security screen.

"Computer," ordered Chakotay, fists clenched so tightly that the glass actually shattered in his grasp, "erect a soundproof screen around Cell B."

Tom went into instant medic mode, teasing forgotten, when he saw the blood dripping from between Chakotay's clenched fingers.

"Shit, your hand, just let me?"

But it seemed that the commander hadn't stepped through the forcefield with the aim of seeking medical attention. Tom felt the breath whoosh out of his guts with the force of the impact, as Chakotay slammed a hand round his throat and levitated him through the air to hit the back wall of the cell. Eyes goggling, fingers scrabbling at the band of steel round his throat, Tom noted with a bizarre sense of unreality that Chakotay's blood was staining his turtleneck red.

"I'll never get that out," thought Tom, unable to believe on some level that his stupid, crass mind would choose those as his last words.

"You thought you were being clever, Paris, humiliating me like that?" whispered Chakotay in his ear, close enough to nuzzle it. Tom's lungs dragged the smell of his sweat and anger in deep, as he labored to breathe. "Well, guess what, I didn't find it very funny."

Just as Tom was trying to take another tortured breath, a fist impacted his solar plexus so hard that he thought he'd black out.

"More throwing up, due to alcohol," his mind quipped when Chakotay dropped him, 160 pounds of long lean muscle crashing to the floor and lying in a filthy heap, retching helplessly all over himself.

Instinct took over and Tom's foot shot out to hook itself around the commander's leg and flip him backwards, even as his body struggled to drag air instead of vomit into his lungs. Chakotay went down with a dull thud, arms flung wide, a bottle of what looked like good scotch wasting itself by shattering against the cell floor. Tom was up and on top of Chakotay a second later, getting in as many punches to his midriff as he could before being flipped sideways in his turn. They rolled over and over, pounding each other with their fists, occasionally connecting with an elbow or kick.

Chakotay howled when Tom's knee made the sort of acquaintance with his balls that Tom's mouth would rather have made, and he took advantage of the commander's curling into a fetal position to feel up his ass and thighs. Clearly, his mind was still semi-drunk, as this allowed Chakotay time to recover and get in a few good smacks to his face and chest.

Tom didn't like to think it but they might have killed each other eventually, had not their muscles suddenly weighed the equivalent of several g-forces, pinning them to the floor.

Shit. A security dampening field. They made your body feel like it had been a beanbag for giants, and that was on a good day. Guts roiling, cock hard enough to cut diamonds, vomit flecked on his chin, blood and broken glass all over the floor; this was not one of Tom's good days. He thanked whatever deities protected hungover pilots that Chakotay looked just as bad. Except he still looked hot. Damn him. And damn Tom's twisted libido for being turned on by this.

"Gentlemen," sighed the captain. "If Mr Kim hadn't given the alarm, you might have seriously injured each other."

Tom could just make out her foot by rolling his eyes, since he couldn't move his head by even a fraction of an inch. He was pretty certain, however, that he didn't have it in him to really hurt Chakotay. She was wrong about that, he knew it deep down in his balls, where his instincts told him that he wanted to do something else to Chakotay altogether.

"I don't know who I'm disappointed in more. Commander Chakotay, I don't think that was quite what Crewman Paris had in mind when he wanted `Chak'ty' to *fist* him. Yes, I did say *crewman*. You, mister, are busted so far down the chain of command that you're going to salute amoeba. And you, Crewman Kim, are busted for tattling on your comrades, so you needn't look so smug. As for you, Commander, you're going to stay exactly where you are for the next twenty-four hours. You might at least think about what it means to want someone so desperately that you get blind stinking drunk with your best friend about it, and cause a scandal live on an alien world's global net."

The sudden release of the dampening field gave Tom a chance to breathe again, which hurt through the dull throb of his aching chest and gut. The captain threw a regenerator into the cell and they both watched it skitter across the floor to lie innocently among the broken glass.

"Fix each other up," said the captain. "Consider it an exercise in bonding."

---

Twenty-four hours. Tom would never have believed that a human being could stay completely silent for twenty-four hours. No grunting, no sighing, and certainly no talking � not even a fart to convince his cellmate that he was human. Chakotay had simply glowered in offended silence until Tom was climbing the walls, begging an hysterical Ayala to let him out. His pleas to Ayala were treated with the same contempt by Chakotay as everything else. At least they'd regenerated each other's bruises, and Ayala had given them a hand-held vacuum to clean up the glass. Then it was unrelieved silence, punctuated only by Tom's increasingly desperate conversations with Ayala and then, when the security officer put earplugs in, with himself.

`Crewman' Harry was sulking as well, presumably coming to terms with his unexpected demotion. With neither of his companions in crime willing to talk to him, Tom began to hold a conversation with himself about exactly what he wanted Chakotay to do to him in bed, and how often. Not even that got a rise out of Chakotay, but it did get one out of Tom, who then found himself powerless to do anything about it.

"You just went to the head," complained Ayala, leaving him to adjust himself as discreetly as he could in full public view of security and the world. Who would've thought he'd regret a verbal fantasy about how Chakotay should tie Bad Boy Tom to the bed, smack him with his belt, and then fuck the shit out of him for hours, like the machine sex god he so obviously was.

Tom adjusted himself and settled back to talk about helms he had known and loved.

It was a very long twenty-four hours.

---

"It'll never work," said Harry, forgetting to give Tom the cold shoulder in his anxiety not to get caught up in another harebrained Paris scheme. Next time, the captain had threatened, their sorry demoted asses would get kicked off the ship.

Tom shrugged and spooned more glop into his mouth. He looked furtively around the mess hall, making sure that no one was in hearing range.

"You didn't see the look on his face," said Tom, sure his own was a weird mix of amused anger and horniness. "Commander Holier-than-thou, who never had a drink in his life and can look down his overly cute nose at the rest of us just because we like the odd tipple."

Harry's indignation expressed itself in wild stabs of the air with his fork. He didn't seem to know which point to address first. Chakotay's cute nose? Tom confining himself to an odd tipple? And, his fork appeared to be saying, what the hell was a tipple anyway?

Tom allowed a tiny smirk to flash in Harry's direction.

"But Tom," he spluttered at last, still waving his fork like a baton, "sure you can seduce a man into a bed, but not into a bottle. Well, *you* can you get a man in bed, you smug bastard. That's so not the point I'm trying to make."

"Which is what exactly?" asked Tom, following the fork with fascination, feeling like a crazed child wanting to open up for the airplane. He really needed to do something about this oral fixation. Like suck Chakotay's fat cock, for example. Mmm.

Huh? What was Harry saying?

"?and even if that's not the case, did you think that maybe he's an alcoholic? You wouldn't want to trick an alcoholic into getting drunk."

Tom laughed, he couldn't help it. "An alcoholic? Harry, this isn't a soap vid. Of course he's not an alcoholic. He's had a drink or two in Sandrine's. He just never lets his tight-ass guard down for a sec and gets drunk like a real human being."

"Okay, so the alcoholic theory might not go over in the weird Tom Paris world of makebelieve. But you can't do it, Tom, you can't corrupt Commander Chakotay. He's � he's � *Chakotay*. The man's incorruptible. Oh no. Oh fuck no. That wasn't a dare. Tom, get that crazy son of a bitch expression off your face right now. If you so much as?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Tom murmured, throwing a friendly arm round his shoulders and squeezing hard. "Relax. No one's gonna put us out the nearest airlock."

"No," squeaked Harry, escaping before Tom could get a proper hold on his neck, and darting to his feet. "There is no *us*. We are so far from being an us that we would be � well, we wouldn't be `we', we'd be you and me. In opposite corners of a very very big room. Not even close enough for a loudhailer. You're on your own, Tom."

Harry would have been baffled by the wry smile that flitted across Tom's face, if he'd stuck round long enough to see it. "I know, Harry, I know."

---

Operation Chakotay Drunk opened with what Tom thought was a very clever gambit.

"Hey, Chakotay, would you like a game of pool? Just to show there's no hard feelings."

Sandrine's was crowded with the usual mob of crew and holopatrons, but Chakotay had taken to turning up so often lately that he was almost a regular. He'd saunter in with his ass on display, wearing jeans so tight they looked like underwear, with his big, heavy cock outlined for all to see. The ensemble was capped with a black t- shirt, spray painted on his chest to show off every muscle, and a hot furious glint in his eyes. If he didn't know better, Tom would've sworn that Chakotay was teasing him.

"Rack em up, Paris," said Chakotay, bending over to select a cue, gluing Tom's eyes to his ass so hard it made them water. Holy fuck. The man's ass could be marketed as an incendiary device. Tom was amazed it didn't spontaneously combust. Swigging back his scotch, he tried hard to remember how to play pool but the basics were escaping him.

That's right. Rack the balls. Lean over to line up a shot, careful to display bubble butt to best advantage. Flex cheeks. Inhale. Await molestation.

Chakotay didn't jump him, however, and instead had already sunk half the table before Tom remembered The Plan.

"Care to make it interesting, Com � urgh?"

"Urgh?" repeated Chakotay mildly, still stretching with the cue above his head, chest and abs rippling till Tom wanted to dive in and start licking. Chakotay's t-shirt had ridden up to expose his hard belly. Tom whimpered and swallowed more scotch. The commander looked like a gymnast, poised and beautiful, about to start a routine with his pool cue.

"I hope you're not about to propose a bet, Crewman?"

"So," said Tom, recovering his wits by the expedient of looking away from Chakotay and staring at Chell over by the bar. "If I bought a pitcher of beer and the loser had to drink it all, you wouldn't be interested in getting your ass kicked any more?"

"It won't be my ass getting kicked, Crewman," murmured a voice that seemed to be licking the back of Tom's neck. He shivered and tried to pretend that he hadn't noticed, when Chakotay suddenly invaded his space and glued himself to Tom's back and ass.

Ouch. Chakotay poked him with something hard. Unfortunately, it really *was* a pool cue.

"Your turn, Paris."

Chakotay continued not to molest him, but was doing this breathing thing that seemed to make the t-shirt move up and down, rubbing against his nipples till he might as well have been a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest.

"Shit," said Tom as he missed an easy shot. Damn commanders and their testosterone, filling up the air with sex and swagger. "I can't believe I fucking scratched."

Chakotay laughed, and it was actually a nice laugh, without the undertone of contempt that Tom had come to dread.

"You'd better believe it, Paris. Get ready to down that pitcher and crawl on home. Care to up the ante? Loser agrees not to replicate a hangover remedy, and winner gets to wake the loser at 0600 tomorrow for a nice long jog on the holodeck."

Huh? What had happened to Tom's bristling antagonist from the brig, all hurt pride and wounded fury? Someone seemed to have swapped him for this relaxed bastard in too-tight jeans, laughing at Tom with a hint of mischief and a grin that promised hours of dirty fun between the sheets.

Not that Tom minded, but he could've been sent the memo or something. He tried not to think about that fuck-me smirk on Chakotay's lips, as the commander sank all his balls and saluted Tom with his pool cue. Tom saluted him right back, and held his hands in front of his lap to hide it. He didn't even mind when he had to chug that pitcher of cat's piss that the Federation called beer, and fell over in an unromantic heap at Chakotay's feet.

The commander helped him up, both men swaying slightly in time with Tom's sea legs, and whispered a sweet nothing in his ear.

"Don't mess with me, Paris, you'll lose every time. See you at 0600."

---

The second campaign of Operation Chakotay Drunk was launched at a very auspicious time. Tom was casually mooching around the resort, hoping no one noticed the way his circling pattern was bringing him closer and closer to his quarry's deckchair. He was walking rather carefully, legs still sore from his early morning marathon. Chakotay, a man without remorse, was splayed under a sun umbrella, naked unless you counted that wisp of material that no self-respecting thong would call kin. His bronzed chest glistened with sweat in the artificial heat, running in little mouth-watering trickles down his gut to drench his thong, forcing Tom back to the bar again and again for a refill.

Finally, after an unnerving half hour of nonchalance and erections, he was close enough to administer his coup-de-grace. Chakotay was sipping some unlikely Neelix concoction in a huge glass, complete with little umbrella and a cherry on a stick. Tom pretended to trip over a sunbathing Dalby, giving him a good kick while he was at it, and sprawled with all his weight on top of Chakotay.

"What the fuck?" roared the commander, before blushing as Naomi Wildman screeched with laughter.

Tom was almost too busy to notice, getting in a quick lick across Chakotay's chest as he pretended to shake his head with grogginess. His body was full length on Chakotay's, pressed groin to groin, letting the commander feel how hard he was inside his speedo. Rubbing himself sensuously against Chakotay like a cat, Tom was almost purring when he found himself dumped unceremoniously on the sand.

Not even sand in his ass crack could bring him down. Tom had tasted Chakotay's sweat and nearly got himself off with frottage, and it was just the icing on the cake. Chakotay was furious, spluttering and ranting at him, all heaving chest and clenched biceps, having missed the gentle hiss of the hypospray as Tom injected his butt full of alcohol. If he wasn't going to drink it, then he would get it up the ass, and if anyone asked questions � well � Tom'd just say that Chakotay had been knocking back Neelix's cocktails faster than Janeway jumping on Seven.

There was no effect yet but it was a slow release injection, designed to simulate drunkenness after a period of sustained drinking. Soon, though, Chakotay would be telling dirty jokes and doing the sort of things that he'd have to apologize for next morning.

The nasty disco music that Neelix pumped through the resort speakers was suddenly interrupted by the wailing of the red alert klaxon.

"Red alert. All senior staff to the bridge," ordered Janeway over the com.

Typical. Nasty Delta Quadrant aliens did Tom in, every single time. Chakotay would be weaving soon, even as he led the stampede to the turbolifts, his buttocks jiggling with the thong strap nestled where, if there were any justice in the universe, Tom's tongue would now be playing. The ship could not afford a drunk first officer, so Tom took advantage of the crowded turbolift to goose Chakotay and administer the antidote.

Shit. Chakotay's glare was aimed right at him. The commander knew exactly who'd just bumped and fondled him.

Before Chakotay could tear strips off Tom for inappropriate behavior with a senior officer, Voyager lurched under what must be some serious alien firepower, and he was sent careening back into a very solid pair of arms.

"Greg Ayala," he murmured. "I'd know that cheap aftershave anywhere."

"Hey Paris. That a hypo in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"

Tom looked across the lift into the sober eyes of his commanding officer and wished he'd been stranded on a ship with fewer assholes.

---

The heavy backpack was not the worst feature of tramping up a hillside. Who would have guessed that the taciturn Chakotay turned into Mr Cheerful, when faced with a hard walk, heavy load, and swarms of biting insects?

Tom adjusted his pack and tried to mop the sweat off his forehead surreptitiously, damning Chakotay and the captain under every labored breath. Apparently, Janeway had detected signs of interpersonal conflict in her senior staff (no kidding!) and had prescribed lots of healthy bonding as the solution. Tom and Chakotay, in particular, had attracted her personal attention.

If he closed his ears to the loud droning of the midges, Tom could still hear her voice at its most officious, hauling them over the carpet a couple of weeks after their release from the brig.

"I thought you sorted things out in the brig but, if anything, the tension in the whole senior staff is getting worse. Most of it focuses on you two," she'd snapped, audibly grinding her teeth. Tom had entertained fantasies about her coming to sickbay with a toothache during the rest of her lecture. He'd just got to the point where the EMH was offline and he was poised to drill without anaesthetic, when it became painfully obvious that she was awaiting a response from him.

"Um. Sorry, Captain. I'll do better."

"Damn right you will," she'd nodded. "As of now, you and Chakotay are rostered off at the same time. You will share all your leave time. I don't care what you do. You can get in the boxing ring and pound each other there, for all I care, but you will? Work. This. Out. Do I make myself clear?"

The inevitable chorus of "yes ma'am" didn't seem to appease her.

So Chakotay shadowed Tom at Sandrine's every second night, while the rest of the time they used Chakotay's holoprograms and did healthy outdoors things. Tom had already noticed that his uniforms were fitting a little looser, though that could just as easily be the ten mile run at 0600 every morning. Tom was getting faster, too, and the commander's ass was no longer such a coveted blur in the distance.

Despite the frequent bar visits and pool games, Tom was no nearer his objective of getting Chakotay drunk. The commander showed no signs of drowning his inhibitions with alcohol and fucking the shit out of him.

Tom's libido was taking a battering, with cold showers on Sandrine nights and sheer physical exhaustion every other night.

The worst thing about the whole nightmare, apart from the sniggers of the crew, was that Tom was actually starting to enjoy it. He found himself on automatic pilot, changing course absently on the bridge, looking forward to a night of hiking, rowing, or swimming. No boxing, though. By unspoken consensus, they'd decided not to risk getting in the ring together. Tom plotted his way around star systems and meteor clouds by day, wondering if Chakotay would strip down to his shorts beside the campfire and tell ghost stories, like he had the other night. It was absurd to look forward to such things, like a cherry teenager who didn't know any better. Yet Tom found his heart racing as he'd changed into his sweats and hoisted his pack, jogging along the corridors to the holodeck so he wouldn't miss a second of their time together.

"Pathetic," he growled at himself.

"What was that?" asked Chakotay, turning to look back at him.

Tom always took the rear on their hikes, so he could admire Chakotay's ass. "I've got your six," he'd chortle to himself, wishing it were true.

"Oh for fuck's sake," was Tom's only reply, nearly slipping off the narrow path as he swatted at a dive bombing insect. The loose gravel was treacherous and he would have fallen if Chakotay hadn't reached out to steady him. Tom felt ridiculously pleased at the hard pressure of Chakotay's fingers on his arm, and then cursed himself for his own juvenile stupidity. This wasn't a holo-romance. It was two officers ordered to spend time together so they'd learn to relax a bit more in each other's company. Like it or not, they would have had to have been total bastards not to develop at least a small tolerance for each other. Tom was willing to concede that neither of them were *total* bastards and that Janeway's plan, damn her, could have worked, if only one of the men hadn't had the obsessive hots for the other.

There was no getting around the sexual tension. No matter how many regs forbade it, Tom's cock got hard for Chakotay. It got hard when Chakotay bent over to tie his bootlaces. It got hard when the commander went all superior officer and invaded his space to lecture him, practically nose to nose. Tom's suicidal genes wanted nothing more than to close the remaining inch and kiss Chakotay senseless.

Tom's cock was stiff and aching when Chakotay told him stories about his tribe. Even that couldn't turn him off, the low sensual voice rumbling away until Tom nearly came in his pants. He got hard when Chakotay sweated, stinking up the air like a locker room. Harder still when there were visuals, the stretching of a t-shirt over a taut chest, the smack of a heavy fist on the ground after a hundred crunches. Once, when Chakotay dropped to do press-ups in the mud, his camouflage pants stained with earth and sweat, Tom pictured himself underneath that pile-driving body until he got so excited that he really did explode in his pants. Embarrassed didn't begin to cover it.

He'd fled the holodeck, leaving a gaping Chakotay to call after him without response.

Tom phasered his sweat pants out of existence, obliterating forever his stains of shame.

It made no difference, however, since he wasn't prepared to send his cock the same way. Instead, he found himself getting madder and madder, which was not presumably what Janeway had intended.

"Computer, delete all insects," he ordered now, shrugging off Chakotay's steadying hand and glaring at him till the commander turned around and resumed their hike. The disappearance of swarms of nipping tormentors was a blessed relief.

"It's all part of the authentic experience. I thought you liked to get these things exactly right."

After days in close quarters with Chakotay, Tom was able to detect the suppressed laughter in his bland, neutral tones. He'd been surprised to learn how often Chakotay was secretly amused, when Tom had previously thought him a bit of a "Herbert", as they'd called squares in the 23rd century.

"Besides," added Chakotay, "the safeties are on. You're not in any *real* danger. Still, if you can't handle it?"

"Computer," sighed Tom, "please restore the finger-sized, bloodsucking insects."

Five minutes later, as they reached the crest of the hill, he observed, "They seem to be allergic to Indians."

"Yeah, right tribe."

Chakotay's laughter followed Tom behind a rock as he pretended to answer a call of nature. As soon as he was out of earshot, he instructed the holodeck to reprogram the midges with an exclusive taste for the natives of Dorvan V.

"You and me both," he sighed gloomily to himself as they resumed their march.

If Chakotay noticed that the insects were biting him now, he was too manly to comment on it.

"Where are we going?" asked Tom at last after a long stretch of silence. It was at times like this, too tired to be more than semi- hard, that Tom found Chakotay restful. There was no small talk, not even competitive grunting. They were just two men putting one foot in front of the other, enjoying the burn in their chest and legs, feasting on a beautiful sunlit view of the river valleys spread out below them.

"Actually, we're here," said Chakotay, dropping his pack on the ground and collapsing beside it, panting hard. That was how he would look after sex, all splayed and flushed, misting the air with a fine spray of sweat. Tom collapsed beside him and tried not to think about it.

"Oh no," he groaned, "not another dig."

The signs were all around on the hilltop for his reluctantly practised eye. A mound that had been disturbed recently, piles of dirt, and a tarpaulin stretched to protect a piece of ground from the elements. Chakotay was an amateur archaeologist and he'd already dragged Tom along to a couple of digs. He liked the computer to program random sites, so that he could play historical detective and identify the culture, then have the fun of uncovering and classifying its buried treasures.

At first, Tom had expected gold and silver.

"It's not Treasure Island," Chakotay had snorted, looking at him with a grave, sweet expression and secretly laughing eyes.

Tom had spent the next hour trying not to relive an old holoprogram called "Long Dong Silver", bending over the way Jim Hawkins had, to find out exactly what Long Dong could do with his crutch. When he'd finally snapped out of it, Chakotay was happily unearthing bits of clay and playing with the universe's ugliest broken pots. Tom had almost given up on Chakotay then and there. He couldn't see himself with a man who spent hours piecing together an old cup, which had been trashed a thousand years ago because it had been crap even then. Gradually, though, he got lost in Chakotay's face, and his neck prickled at the intensity of those dark, dark eyes as he showed Tom how to classify pots. It was as if Chakotay had a faery glamour that transformed everything he touched, making it magical. Tom wrote Fairhaven soon after, telling himself that it wasn't natural and he was damned if he'd go on another dig with the boring loser.

"We've got time to do a couple of hours," said Chakotay, "before it gets too dark to work. Unless you're really hungry and need dinner first."

Tom was starving after the long hike but he could tell that Chakotay didn't want to waste a second of daylight.

"We can eat later," he replied. "What is this place?"

Chakotay was already hauling back the tarpaulin, barely waiting for Tom's answer. The man recovered quickly from strenuous exercise � another plus in a lover.

"It was a Roman villa, I think. We've really lucked out with this one. Come and look at this."

Tom shouldered his pack aside and stood up slowly, not wanting to seem too eager. He paused to enjoy the hilltop view, admiring the rolling countryside, swathes of blue water cutting through green fields and leading to a distant blur on the horizon, that might have been a town.

"Oh god, don't let it be another midden," he prayed silently.

Chakotay was absorbed in an unpromising square of loose-looking earth, with a small sliver of something Tom couldn't identify poking out of one corner.

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously, as Chakotay fell to his knees with a beatific look on his face. "If you start praying to it, I'm out of here."

Chakotay patted the ground next to him absently and Tom dropped into place, having done it so often now that it seemed perfectly natural. He wondered if Chakotay had noticed how easy they were becoming together, and how unexpected it was to Tom. If it weren't for the little matter of his constant hard ons, he'd think they were friends.

"This is a floor mosaic," explained Chakotay, snagging his pack and producing a couple of small devices the size of a sonic toothbrush. Tom reached for one without thinking, and then cursed himself for being such a dork. He could've spent the next two hours watching Chakotay bend and contort his hot body all over the place. His cock liked it a lot when Chakotay did fieldwork, especially when he had to bend over things at ground level. Instead of which, he'd just tacitly accepted a job. Moron.

"This looks like a transporter de-gauzer."

"It's very similar," said Chakotay, powering up his toothbrush thingy and bending over the large square of loose earth. Tom listened with one ear while he ogled Chakotay's ass with both eyes and the whole of his brain.

"There's centuries of dirt and detritus packed into the mosaic, and we have to beam it away, molecule by molecule. Just like de-gauzing the transporter. They used to have to do this with brushes and chemicals, but this is a much less destructive way of uncovering the mosaic without damaging it."

"You don't de-gauze the transporter by hand, though," objected Tom, fearing the worst. "Unless you're on punishment detail. Can't you just kinda beam the whole lot of dirt and impacted stuff away all at once?"

Chakotay grinned up at him from where he was grubbing in the dirt, looking for all the world like a kid in his favorite sandbox. "No. You don't use a sledgehammer to drive in a nail."

Tom's imagination was doing sick things with the thought of Chakotay driving and nailing, and he missed the rest of the explanation. He was quite sure it amounted to: blah blah blah ? no substitute for painstaking manual labor ? blah blah blah."

"All right," he surrendered, moving over to the opposite side of the unearthed mosaic and settling down with the de-gauzer. "This could take hours."

"Days," corrected Chakotay. Tom was sure his bowed head hid a huge grin.

"We could be doing this for *days*?"

Tom looked longingly over at his pack with its fried chicken, salads, and beer, none of it touched by Neelix's fair hand. Couldn't they just skip ahead to the time when Chakotay stripped off for the night, and they ate cold food in warm bedrolls, looking up at the stars and thanking the captain for unlimited holodeck time to bond? Chakotay slept in just shorts, his tasty nipples like a brazen invitation in the flickering firelight. Tom was usually too tired to do more than yawn and fantasize about scooting over to the other bedroll, showing the commander what could be done with strong teeth and a very willing mouth. He'd like to chew on those nipples for hours, licking and biting them over and over, until Chakotay's eyes rolled back in his head and he came from that alone, the pleasure arcing in electric fire from nipples to cock.

Instead, Tom looked forward to hours of beaming molecules of dirt away from little painted squares.

"I'm gonna get you so drunk you won't live it down till we get back to Earth," he threatened.

Chakotay did look up then, face split with a huge smile. "And *I* am going to sweat every drop of alcohol out of your body."

Their hands touched occasionally as they worked, and Chakotay was generous with his smiles. Tom had always thought him a forbidding man whose rare smiles were kept for his chosen few, close friends like Greg or B'Elanna. He was pleased to be wrong about this. He'd been on the receiving end of enough harsh smirks and even some bedroom grins from Chakotay, but few instances where his face relaxed and his lips stretched in genuine warmth. He got a lot of them now and tried not to think about what they did to his insides.

"Look at this. It's called eggshell blue," said Chakotay, with the kind of soft gasp Tom was more used to hearing from men with their cocks in his mouth.

He grinned at Chakotay's enthusiasm and then realized with a start that his chrono showed a couple of hours had gone by since they'd started their work, and he hadn't even noticed. A small square of the most fragile, delicate blue was now on show at Chakotay's end of the mosaic, the color of washed out eyes near the end of a life. Tom didn't know why it made him feel that way but he shivered with the sadness of it.

"Just think. No one's seen this for millennia, except us," said Chakotay.

"It's not real, it's just a hologram," said Tom, harshly, and regretted it at once when the commander's face fell.

They worked for a while longer but their hearts weren't in it and the twilight was turning into evening. Tom didn't object when Chakotay covered the mosaic with the tarpaulin, doing it carefully so that nothing touched the exposed square of painted stone.

"Shit, my back," he complained, muscles screaming in protest when he stood up. Bending over was all very well for sex, but not so much fun for hard work.

Chakotay smirked at him, good mood apparently recovered. "Is that your way of telling me you want a massage?"

"Yes," said Tom quickly, already picturing it in his head.

Chakotay was a considerate guy. He'd warm the oil first, rubbing it between those big strong hands, before using them to take possession of Tom's body. He'd probably start with the shoulders, teasing them with gentle strokes, rubbing in smooth, circular motions until they relaxed and the tension melted right out of them. That would encourage Chakotay, feeling through his fingertips how Tom responded to him, and he'd start deep massaging of the spine and lower back, working out the knots, making Tom groan though he'd try not to. Maybe Chakotay would get a bit rougher after that, really pushing in deep with his palms and pounding him till Tom's hard cock was fucking the ground with the force of it. Then he'd go south, easing Tom's shorts down with tentative fingers, dribbling oil between the mounds of his butt and waiting, agonizing, begging with his eyes for permission to touch him there.

Tom moaned.

"That must really hurt," said Chakotay, fishing around in his pack for � ah, a phial of what looked suspiciously like massage oil. Tom wondered if it could double as lube.

"You wanna do this before dinner?"

Tom's mouth had stopped working but he was able to manage a jerky nod.

"Relax, Paris, I know what I'm doing. Just take off your top and lie down on your bedroll. I'll warm this oil first and then we can get started."

"Janeway to Chakotay."

Huh? That wasn't the sound of slick fingers getting ready to pound his body. That was more like voices, one of them the captain's. Not good.

"Chakotay here."

"Commander, I just wanted to talk to you and Tom about the team building exercise scheduled for tonight. I've had to move it forward a couple of hours. Report to my quarters at 2000. I'm sorry about the short notice."

"Shit," said Chakotay, who never cursed. "That's in twenty minutes."

Tom closed his eyes and pretended there was still time for his massage, if not the hot monkey sex he'd wanted after it. Maybe *during* was an option. They were on the clock, after all.

"There's just time to grab a shower and snack," said Chakotay.

The rustling behind Tom sounded like a phial being put back in a pack.

"Sorry, Tom, you'll have to put that back of yours under the sonic shower."

Damn Janeway. She had the timing of a social pariah.

"What the fuck's team building, anyway?" he groused, sitting up and putting his top back on with great resentment. "It better not be crap like falling backwards off a table, and trusting Torres to catch me."

Chakotay shot him an amused glance. "*You'd* better hope not."

"Hey, you'd catch me. Wouldn't you? Chakotay? Wouldn't you?"

A smirking silence was his only answer.

They packed their gear quickly and saved the program, working together with that ease that struck Tom all over again as something unexpected and maybe fragile. By the time the exit appeared in front of them, reminding him of the dull reality waiting outside, Chakotay's smirk had become so obnoxious that Tom had to cuff him lightly on the back of the head and demand to know what was going on.

Chakotay allowed the blow without retaliating, which worried Tom all the more. His grin was evil, there was no other word for it.

"Nothing you should worry about, Tom. The captain thinks that team building should work to the strengths and interests of all the team. In that spirit of � inclusiveness � she's picked what we're going to do tonight in honor of our Chief Pilot. C'mon, can't you guess?"

You're going to bend me over the briefing room table, whip my ass, then fuck me while they squirm with envy.

Tom was almost certain he hadn't said that out loud.

"Yeah, you guessed it. We're going to play drinking games."

Tom laughed all the way back to his quarters, plotting mayhem with every step.

---

The captain's quarters were dimly lit, with candles, snacks and bottles of wine scattered tastefully to create a party atmosphere. That is, if you were in to old-people parties. It wasn't Tom's usual scene. He preferred the kind of gathering where he wasn't likely to find his father lurking behind a potted plant, but he was under orders. Tugging at the neck of his tightly buttoned dress shirt, Tom spotted himself briefly in one of Kathryn's many mirrors. His white silk shirt looked natural on him, and the dress pants were the kind his mom had called snug. He'd worn this sort of getup to a thousand of the Admiral's parties and it always put him in a bad mood.

"Tom, welcome," said the captain, gesturing him further into her living area and handing him a glass of wine.

He took a slow appreciative sip and felt better. This was the real stuff, not that synthehol crap that he'd half expected. Now he just had to worry about embarrassing himself or Chakotay during whatever drinking games were planned. For some reason that Tom still hadn't discovered, Chakotay seemed to have forgiven him for the horrors of the Tom/Harry drinking vid, still playing daily on the ship's net. He wasn't going to push his luck and risk a relapse.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, surveying the sadly diminished senior staff, looking trapped and uncomfortable on Kathryn's low leather sofas. Tom was the last to arrive, having taken extra time with his hair, while Chakotay was already sprawled in an armchair, looking like he'd spent the day doing nothing more strenuous than reports, his hair still damp from the shower.

"Tuvok has the bridge, so Mr Ayala is here for Security department head," said Janeway, helping him over to a spare seat on the sofa next to Harry, and kind of manhandling him into it. If he didn't know better, Tom would've sworn that she was taller than him and outweighed him by fifty pounds. Such was the force of a command personality. Now he was stuck next to Harry, who was still barely speaking to him after all these weeks. Ironically, Chakotay had forgiven him much quicker than Harry. Not that there was anything to forgive, of course. It wasn't Tom's fault that Harry couldn't hold his liquor.

"What about the doc?"

Janeway shuddered, almost imperceptibly but Tom spotted it.

"I didn't think � that is, the doctor is needed in sickbay tonight. He has patients that he can't leave."

"Sue Nicoletti still has that cold, then?" asked Tom, blandly, challenging her with a raised eyebrow.

Oddly, the captain backed down and gave him a quick grin. Tom zeroed in on her half-empty glass, wondering how much she'd already had to drink.

"Right, now that we're all here," pointed look at her chrono, " we can begin. The purpose of tonight's gathering is to play a little game that will break some of the ice that seems to have crept into relations among the senior staff."

Janeway's glare was severe but impartial. It encompassed them all, and no one queried it.

"I don't intend this to be a session of accusations or excuses. Instead, we're going to relax, drink some wine, eat nice food (all replicated, I assure you), and learn a little bit about each other that we don't already know. I want us to have fun. We're going to play a game called "I've Never". You have to say something that you've never done, that you think others might or might not have, and everyone who has performed that action has to take a drink. There are other rules but I'll clarify them as we go."

Tom understood her intentions as soon as he heard which game she'd chosen. They'd all got very uptight with each other lately, and some had come to blows (he tried not to blush at that thought). This game was designed to surprise people, make them see each other in a slightly different way, embarrass them a little and unite them through humor. It was classic textbook stuff. Tom suspected, though, that Janeway had forgotten a crucial and possibly fatal point. The Starfleet-approved version was supposed to be played with synthehol. The fake booze kept it a gentle, bonding kind of game, relaxing inhibitions enough for people to admit to mildly embarrassing things. With real alcohol and actual drunkenness? the game could be a nightmare of humiliation, rejection, and anger. And the funniest thing since stand-up was invented.

Tom tried not to choke on his wine, laughing himself silly at the thought of their faces next morning. His efforts attracted Chakotay's attention, earning him a quizzical smile.

Shit. Maybe it wasn't so funny after all.

"Um, Captain," he started, but she cut him off, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"We are all going to play this game, Mr Paris, with no exceptions. B'Elanna, we'll start with you."

Torres looked like she was drawing in breath to do a Klingon battle cry, but Chakotay intervened before she could, placing a firm hand on her arm and squeezing tightly.

"Kathryn," he said, mildly, "I would prefer to drink spirits."

"Be my guest," the captain replied, "my replicator is your replicator. Would anyone else prefer something other than wine?"

B'Elanna took a vicious swig of her special tankard of bloodwine and for a second Tom was convinced she'd spit it out on the captain's authentic Persian rug.

"I've never drunk your pale-as-piss human wine."

Tom shared a rueful look with Ayala as they both drank from their glasses in response. Chakotay, who hadn't made it back from the replicator yet, informed them over his shoulder that he'd take a drink as soon as he had some decent whiskey programmed into the machine. Everyone else chugged their wine and looked expectantly at Seven, who was seated next to B'Elanna.

"This activity serves no useful purpose. I should return to Astrometrics and scan for planets with appropriate plant life for our depleted stocks."

Tom gulped more wine, while the captain tried to explain to Seven that the "activity" would help to bind them into a stronger collective. "We don't have telepathy and we have to *tell* each other things. That's how humans get to know each other and form the bonds of a collective."

"I have never played this game before," shrugged Seven, looking around expectantly.

Chakotay thumped a bottle of whiskey on Kathryn's polished oak table and sprawled in his chair, legs spread, inviting Tom's eyes on a quick reconnaissance mission to check out the promising-looking bulge. It was fucking huge. But, then, he knew that already.

Everyone drank except for Seven and B'Elanna, and then it was Harry's turn.

"I've never slept with my captain," he said, inventing new meaning for the word `sly' as his eyes flickered around the group.

Janeway and Chakotay didn't look at each other, but they both took long swallows of booze. Tom drank too, as did B'Elanna and Seven. Shit. There was no question as to who Seven must have done it with, since the only captain she'd ever had was Janeway. Tom concentrated on that and tried not to think about whether Chakotay had slept with his current captain.

"Define `slept with'," said Ayala, glass suspended halfway to his mouth.

Tom stared speculatively at the big Maquis security guard and then over at his former captain, Chakotay, who was studiously not looking at anyone.

Harry rolled his eyes and giggled, already drunk on half a glass of wine. He wasn't really a kid any more but he still acted like one, and Tom found his protective big brother instincts falling for it every time.

"I meant `slept with' as in had � er � you know. Sex. With. Didn't have to be actual sleeping involved."

Ayala drank and Harry blushed. Shit, it was only the first round. Harry would never have said that if he'd been drinking synthehol. Damn Janeway, this was gonna get ugly.

"Your turn, Tom," said the captain, undressing Seven with slightly unfocused eyes, making it clear that more `sleeping with the captain' was in store for tonight. Tom wondered if she'd started on the wine long before the others had arrived.

"I've never been a Maquis captain," he said, smirking at Chakotay.

The commander's answering grin promised retribution, but he drank without a word.

"I've never slept with a man," said Ayala, glaring at Harry.

Harry was halfway out of his seat before Tom could pull him back, still spluttering with outrage.

"Define *man*," screeched Harry.

Fuck. Those two were so doing it. His best friend and he'd had no idea.

"A man," replied Ayala, speaking slowly and staring into the depths of his wineglass, "is an adult male, past the age of majority, who doesn't act like a fucking twelve year old."

Harry took a vicious drink and refilled everyone's glasses, his hand shaking. Tom downed his in one go and held it out for more. He was picturing Harry and Greg together and they'd be *hot*. He could almost taste their sweat. Harry would be a screamer and Greg, he'd be like some big silent machine, merciless in his fucks but cuddling him afterwards. Tom wondered when it had happened. Maybe when they were in the brig. Shit, that was hotter. Harry all helpless in his cell and Greg dropped the forcefield, sauntering in all casual, groping himself and letting Harry see the outline of his growing cock. Harry'd be clueless and naﶥ, not working it out till he was on his knees with Greg's cock halfway down his throat.

"I've never slept with Chakotay," said the captain, and then shook her glass in an appalled manner, as if she'd never intended to say it. Somehow, though, Tom was sure she'd said it for his sake.

Chakotay was stunned, his turn to rise half out of his chair before settling back with a furious glare.

Everyone was watching carefully, determined not to miss a single response. Tom took a slow, deliberate mouthful of wine, practically inhaling the whole glass and shoving it at Harry for another refill. B'Elanna drank as well. Shit, so did Greg. Chakotay was a slut, back in his Maquis days. Hell, who wasn't, with death and the Cardies hiding behind every star?

"I wish to be clear whether we are using the same definition of `slept with' as Crewman Kim's," announced Seven.

Noting the inquiring glances, especially from the captain, she shrugged. "I had my first experiences with planetary weather as a human, after I left the Borg. The away mission to Pleniston VI was a two-day one. We were forced to make camp during the weather phenomenon known as a thunderstorm. While I am accustomed to loud noises and flashes during battle, I was not � prepared � for the sky to perform such functions in a random and continuous manner. Commander Chakotay advised that the weather would be improved if I got into his sleeping bag. There was no foundation in logic for such an assertion, but it was nevertheless true. The ferocity of the storm abated after he � he put his arms around me. We slept."

Kathryn smiled at Chakotay. "You don't have to drink, Seven."

Chakotay took a long time with his question, as if deciding whether or not to embarrass the captain in retaliation. Finally, the black look faded and he grinned at Tom.

"I've never broken the warp ten barrier."

Tom groaned and drank deeply, while everyone else saluted him.

"Is it my turn again?" asked B'Elanna, on to her fourth tankard of bloodwine. Her regard was still fixed on Tom and it was rather jaundiced. "You and Kim were disgusting you know, in that bar. I've never � what the fuck are *you* looking at � *I've* never had sex in a bar."

"Neither did me and Tom," squeaked Harry quickly, looking not at Torres but at Greg.

"Bet you have though," she added with a very self-satisfied air.

Everyone drank except for Seven and B'Elanna, who straightened up from her half-slouch and waved her tankard wildly at them. "Shit. This I've got to hear. You've all had sex in a bar? Even you, Kathryn? Kahless! Tell. Tell. Tell."

Torres kept chanting and defied all attempts to sedate her. In the end, Harry was looking tearfully at Ayala and pleading to be allowed to go home, when the captain finally got it together enough to intervene.

"Sure," she muttered, "why the hell not? Sick of this game anyway. Stupid damned game. Gonna delete that team-building database. Stupid bloody database. Take him down a peg or two. Shouldn't know though. Not supposed to find out. Stupid bloody game. Why the hell not? I need another drink."

Chakotay was laughing quietly in the corner, a big fat silly grin on his face. Tom itched to wipe it off by plastering himself all over the fool and kissing him, sucking his air till they both passed out.

"Let's play a new game," said B'Elanna. "You guys each tell us about how you had sex in a bar, and we all promise to forget it in the morning. I never remember anything after the fourth tankard anyway. Whaddaya say?"

"I'm not gonna do it," objected Harry, who was now sitting in Ayala's lap, trying to smooch him. "It's too embarrashing."

"Embarrashing?" crowed Tom, swigging some more wine. "Hazza, you drink like a girl."

"What?" demanded Kathryn and B'Elanna in scary stereo.

Seven just looked confused. "Do you not have a penis, Crewman Kim?"

"Fuck off, Tom. At least I'm not in love with the First Officer."

It was like a bucket of cold water. Worse. Tom could feel the ice in his veins, almost stopping his heart. How could Harry fucking say that in front of everyone? How could he?

Chakotay cleared his throat but Tom refused to look at him, terrified of seeing pity or something worse.

"Okay then," said Kathryn, stepping into the awkward lull in the conversation. "New game. We each tell the story of how we had sex in a bar. Then we vote. Best story gets two weeks of free replicator rations from the losers. And we all promise never to refer to this night, ever again. Agreed?"

There were desultory murmurs that could've been taken as consent, but Tom was too busy seething and looking daggers at Harry to care.

In love with the First Officer. That was bullshit. Sure, Tom had a bad case of the hots for him, but it wasn't love. He'd get dicked and then he'd dump him. That was all there was to it. Stupid Harry, with his pipe dreams of romance and happily ever after. Ayala was right. He was just a kid. Tom would show them. He'd tell them a story that would scorch their panties. In love, indeed.

"I'll go first," he offered, discarding his glass and drinking straight from the bottle.

"In England, down to Canterbury they wend," murmured Janeway. "Knock yourself out."

---

*THE PILOT'S TALE*

"He likes blonds."

I knew I was in trouble as soon as I heard those words coming out of Seska's unloving mouth. Of course, I didn't know who she was at the time. I recognised her as a Bajoran from the nose but not much else. Drab leather, smelling of burnt wires and old spaceship, she looked like any other loser in the Captain's Arms. There were plenty of Bajorans haunting the place in those days. I'm telling you, if any self-respecting captains still had their arms, they weren't drinking in that establishment.

I was between jobs, as the saying goes. Caldik Prime was a distant, wine-soaked memory, and I'd pulled out of the worst of my tailspin. I'd been working as a freighter pilot, doing short hauls on the frontier, as far from Earth and Starfleet as I could get and still be flying a warp craft. I knew that another ship would come along soon in need of my services. Good pilots were rare in the DMZ � still are, for all I know.

Anyway, whatever this bitch was selling, I could tell I didn't want any.

"Fuck off," I greeted her.

Her face kinda shifted and she got this big, insincere smile. "I hear you're a pilot, looking for work."

The Captain's Arms was a bit of a recruiting office, which was mainly why I hung out there. The beer was good and they did a beautiful steak, rare and juicy � real meat, I think, not replicated. Spacers down on their luck were common so I had a phaser in my boot, but most people left me alone. If I wanted company � well, I was blond and easy on the eyes, so I'm told, and I didn't lack for offers.

The man with the bitch was big as a barn and twice as solid. He looked kinda dumb � sorry, Greg, but you did. Anyway, looks were deceiving. He was the one that slipped me the mickey, as I figured out later.

"Relax, we just want to talk to you," he said, sliding on to the barstool next to mine, like a big friendly bull. I thought briefly about doing him but decided against it. You know the type, Latin good looks and thick, glossy hair, all muscles and dick. I could tell he liked it rough and I wasn't in the mood. As for the woman, I wouldn't have touched her if you'd paid me. Well, it depended how much, I guess. I was a working boy and my services were for sale. Not that I ever sold my body.

"We'll double what you usually get," she said.

"What are you drinking?" asked the guy at the same time, like they were double dicking me.

"Sorry, guys, not interested," I said.

I'm not sure why I disliked them so intensely at first sight � well, her rather than him. I suppose I have a good instinct for people. Which is ironic, really, since he was the one who drugged me.

"Whatever you make, we'll double it."

"Interesting," I said, settling back in my seat. What I wanted, more than to settle my bar tab, was to make enough money to get the hell out of Dodge. I'd decided to head for the Klingon Empire, see if I couldn't get involved in one of their wars. Not that I was actively suicidal, but I liked the idea of flying a bird of prey.

As it turned out, there was a war much closer at hand, looking to recruit me.

"You don't know how much I make. I might be out of your league," I pointed out, accepting the beer from the brick shithouse. Big mistake.

I sipped it slowly, savoring it on my tongue, following their eyes as they both watched me swallow. Oh yeah, they wanted me all right.

"A hundred Bajoran credits a month, and the chance for some real excitement," said the woman, grinning like a hyena. "Are you handy with a phaser?"

"If I'm as good as you've obviously heard, then I'm worth three times that," I pointed out casually, trying not to let them see how excited I was. "A hundred Federation credits a month, two months' in advance."

"Two months' in advance!" From hyena to banshee, her screech was worse than her smile. I decided I really hated this woman and there must be better jobs just round the corner.

I was about to give them the slip when the guy smiled like a big kid, all charm, and told me to drink up. "Oh yeah," he said under his breath, "Captain's gonna *love* you."

"Look," I said, draining my free drink and getting ready to blow them off, "why don't you try Cerisa. She's a halfway decent pilot and good in a firefight."

When I tried to stand up, the bar started to spin like a centrifuge. Shit. I thought I'd had too much to drink, but there was a strange aftertaste in my mouth and they were laughing at me like they'd been expecting this. I couldn't even squeak when they put their arms around my shoulders and made as if to help their buddy out. I'd been suckered like a greenhorn and was furious. I tried to catch someone's eye but no one noticed; just another drunk being helped home by his friends.

"Guess what," whispered the guy in my ear, like he was murmuring sweet nothings. "We're a pressgang. And you, my friend, have been pressed."

Fucking hell. The last thing I remembered was the bitch elbowing me in the ribs, and then everything went dark.

When I woke up, I felt less hungover than I had for months. They must have had some good shit, I thought, and enjoyed feeling halfway normal for a change. That was till I tried to move my hands � yeah, I wanted to check my hair, okay? I realized I couldn't move them because, and this was the fun part, I was spreadeagled and chained on some psycho's bed. This was worse than the Academy hazing, when I woke up in? But that's another story.

I could hear the sound of voices and loud music nearby, and realized I was still at the Captain's Arms. There was enough light for me to recognise one of the backrooms, where patrons who wanted a quickie could have their fun for a credit an hour. I wondered if my new friends knew about the holocameras. At least I could shout and get help, I thought, but that was when I discovered the gag. It was some kind of filmy material that I couldn't identify, and I hadn't even noticed it till I tried to shout and it swallowed the noise like a dampening field.

Great. Gagged and chained to a bed and � yup � when I looked down at myself, it was definitely stark naked, unless you counted the big red bow tied round my dick. That really pissed me off, because the bow was so large it made me look kinda � small. Which is just not true.

I must've been awake for about half an hour when the door finally opened. No telling how long I'd been out before that, so I was really starting to panic. My new friends from the bar came in, bringing the smell of smoke and stale booze with them, and the deafening noise of too-loud music used to mask desperation and fear. Oh yeah, they had someone else with them. The guy from the bar was steering him with his big body, covering the new man's eyes with his hands.

"Surprise!" they said.

"We got you a present � pilot and fucktoy all rolled into one," added Big Boy, taking away his hands from the other man's eyes.

"Enjoy him," said Bitch, "you're paying enough for him. A hundred credits a month � that's more than I make."

The new guy was a fucking hunk. He made me tingle from my scalp to my toes, and I wanted him to lick me all over and fuck me through the bed. I don't believe in love at first sight, but I do believe in chemistry. And we had it, in spades. He was sex on two legs, and what a pair of legs. Thick as small tree trunks, and really strong looking, like a seven-foot Klingon could tackle him and he just wouldn't go down. It was weird but my fear evaporated like sweat in the desert. It was gone, just like that. I knew this guy wasn't gonna hurt me � at least, not unless I wanted him to.

He was tall but not as tall as me. Latino or some kind of Indian, I thought, with a stark, angular tattoo on his forehead. Thick dark hair topped a really handsome face, with black eyes full of soul, a strong nose, and a cupid's bow mouth. It promised dimples and kisses, and I wasn't disappointed.

Nothing was said for a minute. You could've cut the tension with a phaser. He looked kinda mad, but I wasn't sure if it was at them or me. Shit. I hoped I hadn't gone through the ignominy of getting drugged and pressganged, not to mention stripped by Bitch and Big Boy, just to be rejected at the end of it.

Then, I think he surprised us all by darting forward and undoing the bow, taking a good long look at my cock. I couldn't help it. The damn traitorous thing felt his eyes on it like fingers and it started to twitch and grow.

He smiled then. "You like this," he whispered, looking like a kid at Christmas.

"Get out," he said to the others, "and shut the door."

I tried to tell him that shutting the door wouldn't do any good � holocameras and all � but I had this gag thing going on, so I just lay there looking helpless and needy. He took my cuffed hand in one of his own and gave it a squeeze. His were square and solid, the hands of a man you could depend on, the type you took home to mom. But his eyes � oh god, they were telling me how he was gonna drive himself into me till he pounded mine out of their sockets.

He trailed his fingers up my arm, stroking lightly, making me shake so hard that the cuffs rattled. How I wanted him. I couldn't understand the intensity of it, like nothing I'd ever felt before. When his fingers reached my neck, he brushed them against my throat, feeling me swallow over and over. It was almost a relief as well as a horror when he removed them, but he was bending over me a second later. He blocked the light, a big dark shadow getting closer and closer. I closed my eyes only to have them fly open when lips replaced his fingers on my throat. He nuzzled me like he loved me, murmuring soft words that I couldn't hear, licking his way up the sensitive skin till his mouth was on mine. He smiled at me, almost a snarl, baring his teeth, and then plunged down. I thought he was gonna bite me but he did something to the gag with his teeth instead, clenching them in it and jerking it out. I didn't know how it was secured and knew even less how I felt about it being gone. I think I *wanted* to be powerless, so I didn't have to make any of the decisions in that room.

"My name's Chakotay," he whispered into my open mouth. His tongue traced the outline of my dry lips, sharing his moisture with me. I thought that if I was dying in the desert, it couldn't have tasted sweeter. "What's yours?"

"Proton," I told him. It wasn't even a lie, not in my head.

He laughed, puffing the air down my throat, then followed it with his tongue. The man was a damn good kisser, I had to give him that. I wasn't capable of coherent thought when he stopped to look quizzically down at me.

"If you don't want this, it stops here and now."

"You'll let me go?" I asked, trying to hide my desperate disappointment.

"Well, I do need a pilot," he temporized. "So I'd still want to hire you. But yeah, I don't want unwilling crew. Or an unwilling man in my bed."

"It's not your bed," I pointed out.

His grin was lovely, stretching his mouth and crinkling those deep dark eyes, making them less scarily intense, more like a pool where you know you can stick to the shallow end if you need to. And I needed to, I've always known that about myself.

A loud snick and the chains fell away from my wrists and ankles, leaving me free to stretch and move. I did a number on him, making a show of stretching my arms over my head till his eyes were popping and he had to kiss me again. I enjoyed being pinned to the bed by his weight. He kissed me for what felt like hours. Let's just say that he must've used up at least one credit of the room's hire by the time he was finished. When he stopped, it was only to take off his clothes. I love the feel of leather sliding over my skin, so I was almost disappointed when he began peeling it all off, but the payoff was even better.

His body was beautiful, sculpted like something out of the Renaissance. Of course, he was living a harder life back then, and he was pared down to muscle and bone without an ounce of fat. I know I groaned out loud when the pants came off, and I saw his cock for the first time. It was out of proportion for such a large man � it was way too big. What a fucking monster. I was moaning and twisting from side to side at the thought of having it in me, connecting that powerful body to mine, big enough to make me feel possessed and owned when he fucked me.

Someone tried to come in round about then; a drunk from the bar or one of his crewmates, I didn't know, but Chakotay threw a boot at him and he took off, cursing. We both laughed, and it broke the feeling of tense anticipation that was eating me up from the inside out. I kinda sagged, and he sensed the mood change. He was gentle, lying next to me on the filthy bed in that shithole bar, stroking me with his hands till I was hard again and begging for it with every stab of my cock at the empty, useless air.

Chakotay sucked my nipples and washed me with his tongue, like he was a big cat or something, purring while he explored my whole body from head to toe with his mouth. Everywhere except where it would do the most good, on my poor aching cock. I broke at last, pleading with him to do something, anything, to push me over that unbearable edge. I wanted to come so badly I could feel the sap rising in my dick, but nothing could push it that final inch to explode out of me in hot relief.

"Chakotay," I begged, chanting his name over and over, as if I hadn't just heard it for the first time that night.

Finally, when I thought I'd scream or go mad, he opened his mouth wide and took me in to the root. It was wet and sloppy and skilled as all hell. I felt like he was rubbing my dick with broken glass, it was so extreme. I shouted when I came, flooding his mouth till he'd swallowed everything I had to give. He sucked me dry and kissed me after, sharing my juices with me. Tasting myself on his tongue felt more intimate than anything I'd ever done. It scared me a bit, that sex could feel that way.

He kept kissing me like he couldn't get enough of it, but I could tell he was looking forward to the main event. I could see it in his eyes, all dark and smoky, and in the way his fingers were stroking my thighs, inching their way underneath to get at my ass. I rolled over for him, taking him with me since he wouldn't break the kiss. He brought his strong, blunt fingers to my lips and I sucked them in, getting them good and wet. The first one slid home in one go, slippery with my spit, and its buddies weren't slow in joining it. When he had three fingers inside me, still kissing me like we were doing a lovefest or something, he started to fuck me with them, getting me so hot that my cock forgot it'd just shot a gallon of come down his throat, and stood up to join the party. I couldn't believe I was hard again already, and nor could he. The way he was smirking, he knew who deserved the credit for it.

There was lube on the bedstead and he poured a generous amount all over his cock, massaging it in with the fingers of his free hand, still fucking me with the other. I couldn't have helped if my life depended on it. All I could do was lie there, sweating and moaning, tossing my head around and begging him to fuck me. I needed it so bad, I was starting to shake. He soothed me with his slicked up fingers, carding them through my hair, which should've been a mood killer but wasn't. He could do anything to me, and all I wanted was more.

When he was ready at last, my legs were soon hooked over his broad shoulders and he was poised at my entrance, holding me suspended with effortless strength. He was waiting for permission, I think.

"Just do it," I screamed at him, not caring if they heard me in the barroom, where the holocams would be showing us anyway.

Chakotay drove all the way into me in one smooth, plugging motion. His hips battered my ass with the force of a cannon, and he fucked me harder than I'd ever been fucked before. Part of me was scared I'd have to spend the rest of my life standing up. The rest of me knew it had come home at last.

"Fuck me," I shouted.

And he did. He drove in and out with an unpredictable rhythm. I never knew quite where or how my insides would be mashed next. Then he leaned over to kiss me, forcing more of his weight on me, and smashing his cock hard up and down on my prostate. It was like an electric current between his cock and mine, transmitted through my battered ass, making us both scream. I could hear him shouting as if through water, his lips biting at mine, ramming me, making me shake like jelly. I pounded his back with my feet as he fucked me, harder and harder, till I knew he'd leave bruises on my ass and had permanently marked me inside. I was his. I was gonna want more and more of him, as much as I could get.

He bit my throat when he came, marking me again, shooting in me so hard I thought he'd taste it in my mouth next time he kissed me. His silky belly was rubbing against my dick as he plugged me, and that was enough to bring me off, coating both of us with my come. Later, he licked it up and fed it to me like ambrosia. That was after he'd wrapped me in his arms while I lay comatose, so shaken I couldn't move. He held me and I forgot we were in a seedy bar, fucking for an unseen audience and a job. For a minute there, it was just the two of us on a ratty old bed, and the best fuck I'd ever had. It was enough, for a lifetime or for the next five minutes.

He was stroking my back and ass, spooned up behind me, when he asked for my real name. I was half asleep and unable to think. He must've fucked my brain cells to death.

"Tom Paris," I said, sleepily, forgetting in his arms that I was a disgrace to the uniform, booted out of Starfleet.

His fingers just � stopped. He was still touching me for a second or two, and then that was over as well. I heard him stand up and the rustling of a one-night stand trying to hurry into his clothes.

"Get dressed," he said. I've known warmer fridges. "The job's yours. We need a pilot that badly. But be warned, Paris, you follow orders and you never, ever cross me. You do and you're dead."

So much for the afterglow. I realized then that he must have Fleet connections, and things like honor and service mattered to him. I wondered who I was signing up with.

"What," I quipped, restraining my shaking hands from finding my phaser and obliterating him, "you're not gonna buy me breakfast?"

"You disgust me," he said, my insides still leaking off his cock. I watched him tuck it away in black leather, like he was sentencing us both to prison. "But you'll get your price."

I wanted to let the killing rage out and strangle him with my bare hands, or at least turn my back on him and walk away with whatever dignity I could salvage. But I needed the money, so I gave him my best smirk and licked his boots. Literally. I thought he was gonna kill me when he snatched them off me. He got the point, though, and calmed down. He couldn't afford to walk away from me, any more than I could from him.

I bent over to hunt for my pants and heard the sharp, involuntary intake of breath behind me. I smiled then, knowing he'd be back for more. Next time he fucked me, he'd know exactly who he was doing and hate himself for it. I found my boots and fingered the knife I'd stashed in one of them, looking forward to it.

Then he surprised me all over again.

"I'm � sorry, Paris. I was an asshole. You'll get fair treatment on my ship. It was just a � a kneejerk reaction to the name. Every man deserves one chance to prove himself and you'll get it. Just don't expect me to like you, okay?"

It was more than I'd expected, though less than I deserved.

"Fair enough. I don't like you either. So, breakfast? They do a good plate of eggs and bacon."

He didn't crack a smile. "I'm a vegetarian," he said coldly.

That was when I thought we might be doomed.

---

Tom wasn't sure how to classify the smile on Chakotay's face. It looked almost � reminiscent.

Everyone else was either avoiding Tom's eyes or glaring at Chakotay. Kathryn wiped away a tear � or it could have been a trick of the light, Tom wasn't sure.

"My mouth was so sore," said Chakotay at last. "My tongue was swollen and my cock was raw for a week. It was fantastic."

This pronouncement was met with total disbelief, and a snort of laughter from Tom. Chakotay had surprised him constantly since their stint in the brig, doing the unexpected, keeping him guessing. It made life more interesting, if nothing else.

"D'ya want me to beat him up for you?" B'Elanna demanded of Tom, almost taking out Harry's eye with her tankard as she waved it wildly in the air.

"Do you think you could?" responded Chakotay instantly, that weird smile still twisting his lips.

Ayala secured Harry more tightly in his lap and relieved B'Elanna of her mug, all with a professional smoothness that kept Harry undisturbed and left Torres gaping at him, as if she wasn't quite sure what had happened.

"Didn't I have a drink?" she asked, bewildered.

"More than one," responded Seven. "I was not aware that Commander Chakotay had a sexual liaison with Crewman Paris before they joined the Voyager collective."

"I have a short attention span," said Tom. "I may have forgotten to mention it."

B'Elanna transferred her glare from Chakotay to Tom. "That's it. All men are pigs!"

"'m not a pig," mumbled Harry into Ayala's shirt.

"Of course you're not," soothed Ayala, patting Harry's head absently. "You're a little piglet."

"'m not a piglet, neither," said Harry, wriggling in Ayala's arms but unable to escape their tight hold.

"Oh for fuck's sake," said Kathryn. "B'Elanna's not going to beat anyone up, Harry's not a pig, and I *am* going to put Chakotay on report. You, mister, are going to clean the plasma manifolds by hand for the next month. Consider it a lesson in the sort of behavior I expect from my officers."

"'m not a piglet, neither," moaned Harry, apparently determined on that point. "Besides, you should put Greg on report too. He can't just go round drugging people. Can he?"

"No one's on report, nobody's drugging anyone, and it's my turn to tell a story," said Chakotay, firmly.

"How about just a couple of days with the manifolds?" offered Kathryn. "Yod in his pants in two seconds flat.

"How about a war sim on the holodeck? Tom and I against you and Seven. Ship to ship, street to street, you pick the scenario and we'll bury you. Then we'll see who's got fat and lazy."

"You just bought yourself a whole can o' whup ass," replied the captain. "Somebody kill me. Did I just say whup ass? Note to self. No more drinking games. Ever. In fact, no more drinking of any kind."

"Who said anyone had got fat and lazy?" asked Tom. "All I said was you were a bit leaner and meaner back then. In a totally hot way, of course."

"I believe the words used were `pared down to muscle and bone'," said Seven.

Chakotay didn't reply, since he was too busy fending off a drunken attack from B'Elanna.

"That's what you took out of what Tom said? That he thinks you're *fat*? I'll give you pared fucking down. With my fucking paring knife," she shouted.

"I thought we were gonna have another story," said Harry, unlatching his mouth from its campaign to nibble Ayala through his leather top.

"B'Elanna, get off Chakotay and let him tell his story," ordered the captain. "We've got all day tomorrow to beat the crap out of him."

Torres subsided reluctantly and Chakotay tugged his tight t-shirt back into place, looking around to make sure he had everyone's attention before beginning.

Tom closed his eyes and heart but not his ears.

---

*THE MAQUIS CAPTAIN'S TALE*

It had come to my attention that the Maquis background checks were less than thorough. We'd had our eye on Tom Owen, as he called himself, for a while before Greg and Seska made contact in that bar. It was a total shock to find out that his real name was Tom Paris and he had a history with Starfleet. A less than reputable history, I might add.

The first time I saw him, I thought he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He was lying there on that filthy bed, chained and naked, a piece of prime cheese in my own personal rat trap. Not the most flattering of images, but that's how it felt. I was being hunted like vermin, spies on every side; a cell leader with a lot of lives depending on me, and there I was faced by Temptation with a capital `T'.

He looked lost. I know that kidnapping and chains can do that to a man, but they don't make the kind of lost inside that takes a lifetime to find your way out. He was a rat in a maze not of his own making. I thought: what the fuck? We may as well be trapped rats together. So I laid him down and made love to him, holding him afterwards, lying to him that he'd found his way home. I think we were both buying it, till he told me his name was Tom Paris.

I was just about out of Starfleet when the Caldik Prime scandal broke. The ink was barely dry on the Federation-Cardassian treaty when the truce was broken in the DMZ. A lot of admirals came down with a case of voluntary blindness, but it's hard to ignore the killing when it's on your own doorstep. I'd just heard that my father was dead, murdered by the Cardassians, and that a resistance movement was being formed to protect Earth-colonized worlds in the DMZ. I saw the news about Caldik on the net, while I was flying a stolen runabout home from Starbase 9, but they kept Tom's picture out of it. His face and identity were concealed to protect the innocent � that is, his admiral father. It was the worst kept secret in Starfleet, and soon enough the name of `Paris' was doing the rounds. We heard about it from Maquis intelligence. I felt the same contempt for a man who'd lied about how his friends died, to protect his own skin, as I did for the pricks who signed my world away to `neutrality' and left it to the wolves. The Federation, Starfleet, Tom Paris, they were one big bogeyman in my personal nightmare.

So, amazingly enough, I didn't recognise him when he was underneath me, taking me inside him, accepting everything I had to give; bruises, come, kisses, all of it. I think that high stress, living on a knife-edge, does ugly things to people. After I'd had Tom Paris in the backroom of a bar, I became two different men. One of them saw Tom as a beautiful man, knocked around by life but still standing, with the most fuckable ass this side of Risa. The other saw a liar and a cheat, a man who didn't have what I thought was the `right stuff', and who was probably either a plant or easily suborned to become one.

But I'd promised him a chance to prove himself. Call me all kinds of crazy � Seska certainly did, when she found out who he was.

Who am I kidding? I could no more have let him walk away from me than I could've stopped breathing. He was hot, trying so hard to be tough, with a sweet mouth that bruised so easy from my kisses. I wanted to fuck him over and over, then fuck him some more. I hadn't felt lust like that since I was a teenager. I guess I thought we'd be lost together, instead of on our own, for a while. I wanted to mark him, tattoo myself on his forehead, make him mine and protect him from the whole damn universe.

"Chakotay, you're in love with him."

That's what Greg said to me one night, after a long, comfortable screw.

"How can I be in love?" I asked. "I don't even know who he is."

"I didn't say you could be *together*, I just said you're in love with him. So get to know him. Find out why his soul makes yours thrum like a bell."

Yes, he did say that. Greg's always been a bit soft. With his size, he can get away with it.

So I watched him carefully, keeping my behavior neutral and professional, seeing if he'd sink or swim with the Maquis. There was a bit of trouble at first but most of us had a questionable past. We had this kind of unspoken rule. So long as you kept faith with the cause, it didn't matter who or what you'd done before enlisting. Tom was no exception, but I kept a close eye on him. We lifted weights and wrestled in our tiny gym, ate meals together when we could, and generally watched each other for suspicious behavior.

"You're supposed to be fucking him, not married to him," said Seska, who'd wanted me dependent on her for companionship. She knew she couldn't satisfy me sexually, so she'd found me a blond to fuck in between candlelit dinners and walks on the beach with her. Of course, nothing was what it seemed. She was an agent who had to keep me close under her control, while Tom was entirely innocent of double-dealing.

She didn't know what to make of my growing obsession with Tom. I used Maquis intelligence to get his files from the Starfleet database. I wanted to know everything about him; home life, Caldik Prime, what he ate for breakfast on his first starship assignment. I read his files and lounged with him in the rec room, shooting the shit about sports, the war, who'd scored the most at the Academy. He won, coming in with two more upperclassmen than me. Still, I had a disadvantage, being restricted to men only.

We think we know someone but can we really? I had thousands of bytes of electronic data, and the evidence of my own eyes, ears, and hands. He went everywhere with shields on full, photons armed and ready. Mercurial didn't begin to describe him. He'd be laughing with Dalby one minute, sulking the next, but he didn't let anyone close. No one got in. He didn't sleep with anyone either � I had his quarters rigged to record all comings and goings. But me, he let touch him. No one else. He let me kiss him in the rec room, during the graveyard shift when we had to stitch our eyes open with coffee and thread. We didn't have sex but I knew he wanted to.

Trust. It's such a fragile thing. I could've broken him easily. I could see it in his eyes and it made me hot and confused and scared out of my mind. I don't scare easily but he frightened the shit out of me. He wanted to give me everything and I wanted to take it, so desperately that I dreamt about fucking him every night. My body remembered how he felt under me, how he moved against me, how his insides gripped me like a silken glove and made me scream with pleasure. I wanted to take him, drag him into my cabin and tell him that he was mine, that it would be that way until that inevitable day when the Cardies or the Federation sent us both to hell.

None of this showed on my face. I've learned to be careful, to tell the world nothing unless it knows me well enough to read it in my eyes. But I touched him a lot. Pats on the back, swats on the ass, even soft gentle kisses on the lips. That's how I used to show approval in the hothouse of war, crammed into a small ship that's passed its use-by date, with my `family' underfoot. Geron knew what it was to feel my arm around his shoulder when he was so lonely he couldn't stand it. I'd kissed Seska when she needed it, gave Greg the dicking of his life when he survived a near-miss, and even slept with B'Elanna � hell, it was just like sex with a man. But I didn't sleep with Tom. For him, and maybe for me, it mattered too much to risk it.

Tom came to my cabin one night after a rough firefight, maybe a month or so after he joined us. We'd lost a third of the crew and I was so angry that I was punching the cabin wall, smearing it with my blood and tears. He didn't say anything, just regenerated my fist and pulled me into bed. I remember him taking off my boots, so gentle, and getting into bed with me. I put my arms around him, as if he were the one who was hurting, and we fell asleep like that. We didn't talk about it the next morning, when he brought me coffee and fresh, hot buttered bread. He sat there and looked at me and I realized that I knew enough about him now to make up my stupid mind.

So I dumped the files, called off the twenty-four hour watch, and decided to trust him. That must have been when Seska realized he was a threat to her influence, and began leaving false data trails that would incriminate him after his capture. Not that I found any of this out till years later, when Seska and Jonas were dead and the old records finally gave up their secrets. All thanks to Tuvok, ironically, who stole it from us for the Federation databanks.

Nothing seemed to change at first. We continued to eat our meals together, and I always took him with me when there was a mission planetside. He saved our lives a time or two with his flying, though I had to bawl him out for taking showy risks. We played cards in the rec room with the others, and afterwards, lying on the same sofa, I told him about my home, my father, and how it felt to be an orphan to war. He smirked a lot, said he was an honorary orphan too, and I should pull my head out of my ass. Man, but he made me crazy, pushed all my buttons and then did it again just for fun, till I didn't know whether I wanted to smash him or fuck him.

We kissed a lot more. Long, heavy make out sessions in his cabin or mine, but we were both unwilling to go further. I wasn't sure why, till I realized one night that it was me who still had my shields up, not him, and that he was waiting for me to notice that and let him in.

One good thing from stealing his files was that I'd found out the date of his birthday. He was gonna be twenty-something, I can't remember what now, the day before I had to send him on his first solo mission. He was walking on air, realizing that this meant I trusted him at last, and he'd get to deliver the cargo of arms and medical supplies without someone holding his hand or watching to make sure he didn't defect. Seska was relaxed too, smiling complacently, which really should have been a clue. But I was noticing nothing except Tom, who was beaming at me with the first honest grin I'd seen on his face since the Captain's Arms.

"C'mon," I told him, grabbing his arm, "we're going out."

I made him get dressed up in his best leathers, a blood-red outfit that made him look hot as a firecracker.

"You're my cherry boy tonight," I promised him with an evil grin.

We were home in Dorvan space for a change, and there was an orbiting station with a range of bars and restaurants catering to offworld tastes. I dressed to kill, in tight black leather and no underwear, letting him see the effect he was having on me as my cock jumped every time he touched me. I took his arm and we beamed over to the station, where I had reservations at Chez Paris. I thought that was cute but he took one look at the place and said it was overpriced crap that we couldn't afford. I laughed at him but let him drag me into this little bar he'd spotted, with dancing girls, cheap beer, and booths for romantic dining of the one-night-only variety.

"This is classy," I commented, as I got us some beer and secured a booth against the back wall, with holographic flowers and real grease on the tablecloth.

"Who wants class?" he replied.

Tom drank his beer and ogled the dancers, while we waited for our food. He'd ordered steak, baked potatoes and some kind of leafy green salad. My mushroom lasagne was so creamy smooth that it might've been whisked fresh from an oven on Earth. I dug in with my fork and tried not to watch him consume a dead animal. He kept staring at me, playing with my feet under the table.

"So, what's this all about, Chakotay? Is it part of the big long tease you've been giving me for weeks, so you've got me rushing from the bridge to jack off in my breaks?"

"You jack off on duty?" I growled, trying to sound angry instead of aroused.

"Sure. When I'm so hard I'll bust otherwise. Kinda like you are now."

His foot snaked its way up my leg till it was pushing at my crotch. I realized he'd kicked his boot off earlier, and that there was no hiding my erection from his clever toes.

"I don't know what you mean," I said blandly, continuing to eat my dinner as if I wasn't getting a toe-job under the table.

"Yeah?" he asked, stabbing a piece of meat on his plate and raising it to his mouth. He licked the juices off his chin, making a performance of it, teasing me with his tongue from far too far away.

"So you don't want me to put my mouth where my toes are, then? You don't want me to kiss the sticky tip, lick and suckle it to taste you, and then swallow your big fat cock to the root. It'd be my hot wet mouth, Chakotay, chowing down on your piece of beefsteak, taking it all the way down my throat. You could reach under the table, hold my ears and fuck my face, or feel the shape of your cock inside me, jacking yourself with a hand around my throat. You don't want that? Then I guess I'll just eat my dinner."

I think I said "ugh". I know I broke out in a sweat. I thought my cock might rip its way through solid leather to make contact with his skin.

"Would you gentlemen like anything else to drink?" asked a voice from behind my shoulder, sounding very amused.

Shit. At this point I didn't care if the whole bar had heard what Tom just said. I powered up my phaser stare and gave him a full blast. I think it melted his brain. The waiter was hardly gone, and I don't know if I even answered him, before Tom was slipping his way under the table and out of sight. The booth was cozy, with a nasty stained tablecloth dropping all the way to the floor, so I could pretend that my date had just stepped out for some air or something. It wasn't as if he'd buried his face between my legs, sucking me through my pants, soaking the leather with his spit.

If anyone was bothering to look at the big man all on his own, they would've seen him half stand up, and if they'd been watching real close, they might have caught a glimpse of pink as he lost his pants, tugged down round his ankles. I sat down hard and tried not to groan, drowning it in a swig of beer. Tom licked little circles on my thighs, teasing me, torturing me with occasional breaths of air on my rigid cock. I tried to get some friction going but he wriggled out of the way like an eel and made me work for it, till I was jerking with my hips and trying to hold my upper body still as a post to avoid notice. I thought that every eye in that dive was watching.

Tom was laughing at me, the bastard, stroking the sensitive skin of my thighs, fondling my balls, till I was ready to call for a transport. He knew exactly how far to push me. I was about to see if I could rip a bolted table out of the floor when I felt something warm and wet on the head of my dick. He kissed it and made love to it, smooching away with wetter and wetter kisses till finally he was taking the whole, straining head into his mouth and sucking it softly. I know I moaned, and I spat lasagne all over the table when he suddenly deep throated me, ramming my gut hard with his forehead. The twin sensations of pleasure and pain made me stiff enough to drill him a new throat. I pushed my dinner aside, trying to look casual, and dabbed at the tablecloth with a napkin, as if one more stain on it would matter.

Then, I did what he'd suggested and reached under the table to feel myself inside him. I was amazed at how his throat was distended, plugged with my thick cock, and I rubbed it gently. It made him choke so I did it again, enjoying the feel of his flesh around mine, listening to him struggle to breathe and knowing that he would always remember this, remember me. When he came up for air, he swallowed my fingers, trying to get my whole hand in his mouth. It was as if he wanted to consume every part of me, something I understood because I wanted to do it to him too.

My fingers were wet in his hair when he went down on me again, taking me all the way in convulsive, choking swallows. I listened to the sounds he was making, unable to see the top of his head or the way he was moving up and down. He couldn't look up at me through his lashes but I pictured it anyway, his eyes hot with need, pleading with me to make him feel everything. I fucked his face with hard lunges, not caring now if the other patrons noticed me jerking back and forth in my seat. He welcomed it, tried to get me deeper inside him, until his own need for air finally pushed him back up to sloppy kisses on the tip. I put my free hand under the table, using it to stroke as much of my cock as he left uncovered, touching his hair and face with the other. I came that way, the head throbbing and jerking on his tongue, wrapping my hand back around his throat to feel him swallow me.

He tongued and sucked me dry, before emerging from under the table, his hair all mussed and my come streaking his lips and chin. I heard laughter from a neighboring booth and was sure they knew what we'd been doing. I didn't turn to glare at them, though. I had eyes only for Tom. I watched his lips part and he showed me that he hadn't swallowed it all, that he was still savoring a mouthful of my come. I hardly know what happened next. All I remember is that it hit me like a spike in the heart, that he was still tasting me, loving me. Next thing, I had him up against the wall of the booth, hand on his throat, massaging it hard, making him swallow and feeling him as he did it. When I took my hand away, shocked at what I'd done, he grabbed me and kissed me hard. I tasted my salt in his mouth and wanted to fuck his face all over again. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I'd never felt so desperate to connect with another human being in my life.

"So," he said to me, "you wanna get a room?"

I never did finish that lasagne. We got a cheap room out the back of the bar, where we spent the night talking and fucking. I didn't keep count of how many times we fucked each other. All I remember is the feel of him moving inside me, and me in him, till we were tangled up in each other's arms, half asleep, and I wasn't entirely sure that we were two separate people anymore.

We beamed back to the Crazy Horse the next morning and I watched him pack. He was nervous and excited about his first solo mission. I gave him my bland look but he touched my face once, telling me to relax, he'd be fine. I kissed him goodbye and tried not to think about all the things that could go wrong.

It was another twenty-four hours before we got the news that he'd been `captured', and Seska came to tell me that Jonas had intercepted some transmissions. Proof positive, she said, that Tom had sold us out to Starfleet for money and reinstatement. His later trial was a showpiece, she said. He was a deep cover operative, on assignment somewhere else now, his imprisonment a Starfleet pretense. I shouldn't feel embarrassed that he'd fooled me. After all, he was a devil with a god's face. He'd taken everyone in. She fed me lasagne and wondered why it made me sick.

It would be easy enough to blame Seska but the truth is that I wanted to believe it. The part of me that wanted to switch him off, to go back to being the cell leader who was dead inside, accepted her lies without question.

I could've dug deeper. I knew that it was technically possible for Jonas to fake those transmissions. We might even have pulled off a rescue, before they transferred Tom to Deep Space 9. But I was too much of a fucking coward to put my faith on the line. I wanted the godawful, wrenching pain in my guts to stop. I felt it every time we went on a mission and he might not come back. It hit me when our shields buckled, and I had to watch his beautiful blond head at the helm, fighting to get us out in one piece. I got up in the morning and wondered if today would be the day he got himself killed and me with him, but leaving me to go on, walking around as if I didn't have a Paris-shaped hole in me. I'd watched a hundred friends die already, and part of me had died with each and every one of them.

So now he was a traitor, who'd sold us out for latinum. And in my twisted, heart-sore life, captaining a ship on suicide missions that never quite were, that seemed *better* to me. I could live with that easier than losing him if he'd loved me, or waiting in agony for him to be taken from me.

So you tell me who was more to blame, me or Seska?

---

Tom was stunned by what had sounded like total honesty from Chakotay. He was even more horrified that they could only say these things to each other in front of a roomful of people. He knew he was daring Chakotay when he told his own sordid version of the truth, laying down a gauntlet by opening a vein so they could all watch his pretty blood splash and fall. Now Chakotay had answered him in kind and he had no idea of what to do with it.

Scrubbing at his eyes with shaking hands, Tom stood up and walked blindly in the direction of the window. He pressed his head against the transparent forcefield, which was the only thing protecting him from the cold vacuum of space. He told himself that he wasn't crying, that it was just too much alcohol in his system, making him shake and want to throw up.

Who even knew if Chakotay was right, when he thought of himself as Tom's betrayer? Tom's own memories of the night at the Captain's Arms were colored by everything that had happened since. He understood that it wasn't the boy he'd once been who was lying on that bed in the story tonight, it was the man he had become. Seven years of wanting Chakotay, even loving him, built up like steam in a geyser till it exploded out of him and scalded everything in sight. He could hear them murmuring behind him, Kathryn and the others, trying to deal with the fallout, maybe offering Chakotay some kind of comfort. It was more than Tom could do, when he had none for himself.

He jumped when a heavy hand touched his shoulder.

"Tom," a voice whispered in his ear. "I am so fucking sorry, you wouldn't believe."

There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. They'd said it already, one way or another. Even so, Tom let his head lean back on the shoulder he knew would be waiting for him. Chakotay, such a private man, did almost all his touching in public. He was rubbing Tom's back with firm strokes, pushing at him gently till it seemed to force the words to come bubbling out of him.

"Is that enough for you now?" asked Tom, his voice so soft that even he could barely hear it. "This very public self-immolation, complete with peanut gallery. Have you punished us enough? If I'd known your kinks ran to public humiliation, I'd have done this years ago. Of course, I got a clue with the "Tahm wants Chak'ty to fist him" incident, didn't I? That really got you going."

"Tom. Don't."

"Don't what? Can't you handle it one on one? You need the audience, do you? What do you want from me, Chakotay?"

Shit. An idea occurred to Tom that had him turning to face Chakotay at last, meeting his eyes for the first time. "You knew about those holocams in the Captain's Arms, didn't you?"

Chakotay gave him a rueful smile. "Yes."

"Son of a bitch."

"Tom?" a hesitant voice interrupted.

Tom grinned unrepentantly at the woman he'd almost married, who was standing as far away as she could get and still be close enough to interrupt.

"Are you � um � we're gonna just go back to our quarters now. Call it a night. You two need � well, Chakotay needs his head kicked in, which I'd be more than happy to do if I wasn't so drunk I can hardly stand up � but we thought we should leave you alone to?"

Now *this*, Tom knew how to deal with. "No way. We've just spilled our guts and you're gonna call it quits, before the others get their chance to ride the humiliation train? Besides, there's two weeks' rations at stake, and I think I'm the frontrunner."

Chakotay and B'Elanna gave him identical looks of astonishment.

Nobody bounced back like a Paris. Let them think about that, and keep their pity for those like Seska and Lon Suder, who needed it in whatever hells they were residing.

"Tom, I don't think?"

"No, you don't, do you Chakotay?" he said, quietly, pushing the other man away from his parody of an embrace. "I can't wait to hear how Kathryn Janeway had sex in a bar. Do you figure she did it on her own, or was someone else involved?"

B'Elanna was rendered speechless by this, but Chakotay started to roar with laughter, so helpless that he toppled over when Tom gave him a gentle shove on his chest. They both watched him convulsing on the floor, arms around his belly, shaking with it.

"He needed that, I guess," said B'Elanna at last, when Tom just stood there watching Chakotay and poking him from time to time with his foot.

"I'm glad I said `no' when you asked me to marry you," she added. "You were all flushed from the excitement of the shuttle race, giving up your victory, the world well lost for love and all that. You looked ten years old. And all this time, you were in love with one of my best friends. Tom, I don't think I knew you at all."

He shrugged. "I don't think I knew me either. I thought I just had the hots for him. Go figure."

"What are you gonna do now?"

Chakotay had stopped laughing at last and was looking up at him with a sort of hangdog look that would've fooled most people, but Tom saw the wolf lurking in those dark eyes and shivered with the memory of hard hands on his body. He reached down to help Chakotay up, pulling too hard and overbalancing them both. There was a dizzy second of hanging in the air from Chakotay's hand, and then they both crashed to the floor in a mingled heap.

"Kahless! If you're gonna start having sex, I'm leaving."

"No, B'El, we'll behave, I promise," said Tom, squeezing Chakotay hard with a punishing grip where she couldn't see him.

Chakotay yelped and tried to look innocent.

"You love this shit," Tom whispered in his ear, giving him another squeeze.

"He was right you know," snorted B'Elanna in disgust. "Mercurial. Doesn't begin to describe it."

Tom pushed himself up, using Chakotay for leverage, and wandered back to the sofas, where the others were sitting frozen as if stuffed. The only movement was the occasional squirming of Harry on Greg's lap, as they made out on their corner of a sofa. Kathryn and Seven apparently found their shoes very interesting. Neither of them looked up at Tom's approach.

"So, who's next?" he asked, cheerfully, checking himself out surreptitiously in the mirrors for any signs of tears.

"I believe it is the captain's turn, after which will come Lieutenant Ayala."

"Ah, Seven, that's very organized of you."

"Tom," said Kathryn, "I'm sorry I ever started any of this. I should never have pushed you and Chakotay together like I have been, but I thought that if you could just get past the anger that seems to rekindle at a moment's notice, then you would be able to sort things out somehow."

"Yes, well, maybe I'm a little *more* than angry tonight," said Tom with a sunny smile.

Kathryn blanched. "You should go back to your quarters � better in the morning � nice cup of coffee?"

"That's it? I should have a nice cup of coffee and things will look better in the morning?"

"I'm not the damned counsellor!"

"I think coffee's a good idea," came a bass rumble from the other sofa.

There was a yelp from Harry, as he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and Ayala strode over to the replicator.

"What happened?" asked Harry. "Did you tell our story, Greg? Did we win?"

Ayala returned with a steaming pot of coffee that made the captain come out of her slump with a hopeful look.

"Just what we need," muttered Tom. "Wide awake drunks."

"Yes, little piglet, we won."

"Cool," said Harry. "What are we gonna do with the rations? And *don't* call me piglet. Haza is bad enough."

"Tomorrow I'm taking you sailing on the holodeck. Then we're going to a nice seaside caf鬠where I'll eat a lovely paella and you'll get down on the floor and suck my cock."

"Maybe you'll suck *my* cock," replied Harry.

Greg laughed. "Maybe I will."

Kathryn looked over at Chakotay, who was staring moodily out the window. Tom followed her gaze, taking in the slumped shoulders and depressed body language, but he could see the secret laughter in Chakotay's eyes, reflected at him in the window.

"Asshole," he mumbled into his coffee.

Chakotay straightened as if he'd heard and walked back over to join the party, sitting next to Tom on one end of the sofa. He had to step over B'Elanna to do it, and she responded with a loud snore.

"Lieutenant Torres has entered her regeneration cycle," commented Seven. "Should we not wake her?"

"Nah. The captain can always tell her story again tomorrow."

"Thanks, Tom," said Janeway. "But I think � are you sure � shouldn't we just call it a night?"

"No way."

"Spill, Kathryn," ordered Chakotay. He clearly wasn't taking no for an answer, and Tom had to resist the impulse to snuggle up to all that dominant manliness next to him on the sofa. He satisfied himself with kicking it instead. Chakotay's injured look needed work.

"C'mon, Chakotay, if you want to do puppy dog eyes, you need lessons from the master. Haza, show him how it's done. Yeah, that's it."

"Gentlemen, if you're quite finished," said the captain, "I have a tale to tell. Although I warn you now, you're not going to like it."

"Like the others have been a barrel of laughs," called B'Elanna from somewhere out of Tom's sight.

"I thought you were dead," he said.

"Hardly. Get me some fucking coffee."

---

*THE CAPTAIN'S TALE*

I'm not sure I should be telling you about this. In fact, I'm damn sure I shouldn't be. It's a pity I'm too drunk to remember why. Anyway, I had sordid, dirty sex in a dive on the frontier, just like you two. I was never more surprised. It happened on Deep Space 9, of all places, in a low-class Ferengi bar called Quark's. You know the kind of place. Hell, some of you have been there. It's well lit by the gaming tables and the dabo wheels, but there are dingy little tables around the edges, sort of pools of darkness where it doesn't pay to look too closely at what you're sitting on � or in.

Anyway, I was supposed to meet him in a corner, out of the way and (so I hoped) out of sight. He was late, as usual, so the bartender had already brought me a couple of Romulan ales. I wouldn't normally drink on an empty stomach but the food looked gross and I was missing Molly. What? No, Molly's my dog. My fianc駳 name was Mark.

Where was I? Oh, yes, I was wearing my most casual dress and slumming it, on to my third Romulan ale when he finally showed up an hour late. He looked damn good, and it wasn't just the ale talking. Tall, commanding, with broad shoulders and one of those faces that just screamed nobility. I thought he could still break me in half with one hand, and sometimes I'd wanted him to try.

He took a seat next to me.

"Captain," he nodded, formally, as though we'd just been introduced.

"Owen," I replied. "How are you?"

"Does it matter?" The years had made him bitter and it hurt to hear it in his voice. "That's not why we're here. How is *he*?"

"Why don't you see for yourself, Owen? Beam over to Voyager and just talk to the damn kid. He's your son."

"Hey, I'm just here for a drink," he said, trying to catch a waiter's attention, but as I said, it was pretty dark and no one seemed to be paying attention to our corner of the bar. The bartender was too busy trying to scam some poor green ensign.

"Oh shit," I said, recognising him from his file. "That's one of mine."

"So you're going to do the knight in shining armor thing? Ride over to the little boy's rescue. Maybe give him some of mama's loving afterwards?"

"Are admirals allowed to be repulsive? Is it in the job description?"

I fumbled at my uniform, pulling a small cube of light out of one of the pockets.

"What's that?"

We both looked at the holopic of a younger Owen Paris in a captain's uniform, laughing at something offscreen, I couldn't remember what now.

"I was just wondering when *he* turned into *you*."

"Tell me about Tom," was his only reply.

"He's fit and well. Prison and three square meals a day seem to have agreed with him, if you only look on the outside."

I paused, letting him stew for a while.

"Don't be so fucking cryptic," he snapped.

"It's just � I know it's a clich頢ut he's a pilot. You can cage a bird, feed him, even get him to sing, but he'll always want to be flying."

"Kathryn Janeway, ever the romantic. I think your newest lame duck is going to buy that cask of Ferengi jewels. Do you want to take a bet on it?"

I poured myself another ale and didn't offer him any. Fuck him.

"Sorry," he said after a minute or two. "It's just?I wanted to know if he's all right."

"You didn't visit him in prison," I said slowly.

"Did he tell you that?"

"No. I have his records."

"Oh. I just couldn't. Don't ask me why, Kathryn, I'm not even sure if I can explain it. But � how is he? Really?"

"Really? He's angry. He's hurting. He could be a damn fine officer given half the chance. How the fuck did you expect him to be?"

We didn't talk for a while after that and I thought he might go. I decided I'd charge the Romulan ale to his account, since he'd asked me to meet him there. We sat and watched the world go by, keeping half an eye on the young `un at the bar. I think I noticed Tom first, the knight in shining armor coming to the ensign's rescue.

"Oh shit. He's here."

"Who's here?" asked Owen, coming out of his funk and looking at me as if he couldn't remember who I was.

"Tom � at the bar. He's not supposed to have clearance to leave the ship. He's a prisoner. Whoever let him transport off Voyager, I'm going to hang them up by the balls."

"Quick. Under the table."

I couldn't believe it. I'd never seen Owen Paris panic before, not when I was a lieutenant under his command, nor in all the years since. Yet there he was, grabbing my arm and literally pulling me off my seat, acting like a greenhorn all because of a slender young man with his arm thrown around the shoulders of his new best friend.

We watched from under the table as Tom bullshitted the bartender. We weren't close enough to hear, and I was making too much noise in any case. Owen had me clamped to him and a hand over my mouth, to stop me from attracting attention. I couldn't believe that he was so scared of the one person I think he loved more than anyone else in the universe.

That's when I felt it. I was trying to get away but not too violently in case somebody noticed. The last thing I wanted was to be caught under a table at Quark's, in a clinch with an admiral. At first I thought I was imagining it, but then I felt it again. All that wriggling with an armful of Janeway had given Owen a huge hard on. It was poking me in the back every time I tried to push him off.

Unbelievable.

There'd always been an attraction but we'd never done anything about it. We couldn't when he was my captain, and later on he changed almost out of recognition, and I lost interest. But there we were, probably in danger of catching some fatal disease on that disgusting floor, crammed under a table in a roomful of people. It was an incredible turn on. I could feel myself getting wet and wanted to reach back and jack him a little, but he took matters into his own hands by simply hiking up my dress and sliding his cock inside me.

I couldn't believe it. He just rammed it into me without so much as a by your leave, and started to fuck me. I was glad of his hand on my mouth now, since he was really hitting the spot, his hard cock and his other fingers rubbing me, making me scream more loudly than the girls at the dabo table. I think I bit him. I know he cursed me, whispering it in my ear as he pounded into me.

He made me come, long hot waves of it, till I was limp in his arms and his face was relaxed in my hair.

"I always wanted to do that," he said, at last.

He made me check that the coast was clear before we came out from under the table. By which he meant that his son was safely gone. There were food stains on my knees and smudges of something else on my dress, but I didn't care. Romulan ale and an admiral's cock are fine relaxants.

He held my hand and we shared the rest of the bottle.

"Tell me about my son," he said.

So I did.

---

"You had sex with my dad?" howled Tom.

"Now I remember why I shouldn't have told that story."

"I can't believe it. You had sex with my dad?"

"Chakotay fucked you over," Kathryn pointed out hastily.

"Yeah, but � you had sex with my *dad*?"

"I've been trying for years to tell you about that night, but I couldn't find the words. There was never a right time to talk to you about him. I don't pretend to understand Owen � or any of the Parises for that matter � but your father loves you, Tom. I wanted you to know that, and so did he, I think."

"You. Had. Sex. With. My. Dad."

"That's not really the point here. Okay, okay, it's a point but not the one I was trying to make."

"That was a boring story," said Harry to Ayala in a stage whisper that carried clearly across the room. "There wasn't much sex in it."

"Ours will be better. Do you want some coffee?" was Ayala's quiet response.

Tom looked over at them for a moment, distracted by their air of � what was that? Oh. Happiness. He would've recognised it sooner but it kinda snuck up on him from behind. His friends were happy. His erstwhile lover had been acting strangely and was now trying to insinuate a hand into his shirt. And his captain had had sex with his father while he was in the same room. This was turning into a bitch of a night.

"Tom, he?"

"While I was in the same room?"

Kathryn looked confused for a moment. "You'd gone by the time he � we � er?"

"I believe the technical term is orgasm," offered Seven. She stood up from her solitary armchair and came over to sit on the floor at Kathryn's feet. The two women looked at each other for a moment, and then Seven calmly laid her head in the captain's lap. Kathryn began to stroke her hair, obviously taking comfort from it, and steeled herself to meet Tom's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't really know you then, whereas he was one of my oldest friends. He wasn't just my captain, he was my mentor when we served together on the Al-Batani. I had a huge crush on him, as girls do on their captains."

Seven gave a very un-Seven-like snort. Tom found himself smiling in response. Or maybe it was Chakotay's hand, working its way under his shirt to rub his belly softly.

"Anyway, I watched him turn into what he became afterwards, powerless to do anything about it, until I felt like I didn't know him any more. The captain I knew and loved was nothing like the power-hungry, cold, obsessed admiral. But I never entirely forgot the man who mentored me, who won the best out of a green science officer on her first mission, and made me proud of myself."

"He didn't win the best out of me," said Tom, contemplatively, wondering what he would see in Chakotay's face if he opened his eyes.

"He was my instructor for one of my courses at the Academy. Did you know that? `You'll get no special treatment,' he said to me, as if I'd expected any. C'mon. The Academy's so squeaky clean, not even the bacteria stink. They had systems in place to guard against favoritism, but I found out later he'd pulled some strings to get me in his course.

"It was a survival course. Some of you will have done one but they're never the same twice. We flew up to Luna City in a shuttle. We'd been issued survival gear � spacesuits, field rations, the works. They were gonna strand us in the Sea of Tranquillity without tricorders or anything, and see if we could navigate our way back to Luna City before we ran out of air. Very nice. At least we wouldn't get sunburnt, like I'd seen with the last lot of poor bastards to do the course. Dad came wandering in, looking like he'd been at a church picnic, this sorry lot of dehydrated, badly burnt, moaning individuals trailing behind him.

"Anyway, that's what they'd told us the test was. We were boning up on lunar conditions when the lights went out suddenly and the engines died. The red alert klaxon was an after-thought. We were already scrambling into our suits. Dad must've suited up in the cockpit, because I'm sure I could see him through the window, taking notes.

"We had basic rations in the suits but nothing else, and the door through to the cockpit was welded shut. The transporters and computers were offline and we couldn't access the main systems. I think we drifted for days, eating almost nothing, unable to break through into the cockpit. The emergency supplies and medkits for our hike on the moon were gone when we opened the compartment. We had enough water � just � because of the suit recyclers. So we sat on our asses for five days. All us gung-ho Starfleet types and we couldn't do a damn thing except � well � survive. At first we tried to reroute power and fix things but I never realized before how all the systems that count are in the cockpit. If you're trapped in the main living area, you've got nothing to work with. The power went off at the end of the first day anyway. We still had oxygen but it was cold as space, and we huddled in our suits.

"One poor woman lost it. She started throwing herself against the walls, screaming that we were gonna die, that something had gone wrong and they'd forgotten about us. I managed to talk her down eventually � had to let certain parts out of my suit to do it � I think I lost points for that later.

"And then someone (whom modesty forbids me to name) got the bright idea of rigging the portable cleaning unit, which was our only power source, to try to blow the door into the cockpit. It wasn't designed for anything like that but after we'd cannibalised some of the shuttle systems, we had the parts we needed for a controlled (I hoped) explosion strong enough to blast the door. It worked but a couple of guys were injured. Nothing too serious, but the scene in the cockpit was like a glimpse of hell. The pilot was dead and there was a gaping hole where the front window should have been, though the emergency forcefield had preserved containment. The control panels were a mess, still smoking after five days as if from an accident, but Dad was lying on the floor, pinned by the wreckage of the door.

"We'd used our suit communicators to tell them to get out of the way but obviously it hadn't worked. But I *knew* they were tuned to our frequency, so either Dad was already injured, or it was a set up. I assumed the latter, of course. His injuries were real though, and the pilot was really dead. I'd done field medicine and did my best to stop Dad's bleeding, once we'd gotten the door off him. Without a tricorder or medkit, I couldn't be sure he didn't have internal injuries, and his pulse was sluggish. It scared the crap out of me.

"Our cadet leader, Stenson, tried to get the ship's com system working so we could send a mayday, but the systems were dead. Set up or no, something had gone wrong. I held my Dad's hand and pleaded with him not to die, though he couldn't hear me, after I'd bandaged the worst of his cuts and got him bundled up and warm. There was a swelling in his abdomen that I didn't like, so we worked feverishly to try to repair the systems enough to call for help or get us moving. For all Starfleet knew, the scenario was going exactly as planned, and there was no need to check on us.

"Dad's breathing was getting more labored and he hadn't recovered consciousness. I could hardly see for crying � what can I say, I was *very* young � but I'm good with systems and I managed to get the com repaired enough to send a weak signal, which was pretty fucking amazing given what I had to work with. The signal was very weak but with all the traffic in sector zero zero one, someone was bound to hear us.

"Just then, Stenson (who was trying to fix the helm) gave a sudden yelp.

" `What's this?' he asked.

"He'd found a tiny cube, no bigger than a die, hidden in the helm's circuits.

" `That's a fucking holo-emitter,' I growled.

"No sooner had I said it than the hologram of Dad shimmered and winked out, to be replaced by the whine of transport and the real thing, big as life and twice as nasty.

" `This is the Enterprise. How may we assist?' came a voice too late from the repaired com.

"Dad looked around the stinking mess of the cockpit, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and said to me, `B minus.'

"Then he was gone.

"We still had to fix the helm before we could get to Luna and a decent meal and shower. It took us five more days. So, you see, he didn't quite win the best out of *me*, did he?"

"Tom, I don't know what to say," said Kathryn. "He wasn't always such an asshole."

Chakotay continued to rub his belly and Tom thought he might nod off, it was so relaxing.

"What the fuck does it matter?" he said to the universe in general. "It's ancient history and he's thousands of light years away on the other side of the galaxy. People bleed on you and then it turns out not to have been real. Story of my life, and now I wanna hear someone else's. C'mon, Greg. It's your turn."

"I need another drink," said Kathryn, her voice shaky.

---

*THE SECURITY OFFICER'S TALE*

I don't know if many of you remember the Calisto system? We visited it during our second year in the Delta Quadrant, when we were still trying to get the hell out of Kazon space. It was non-aligned, sometimes inside the borders of Kazon Nistrim territory, sometimes not. Anyway, that particular week it was outside the sphere of the Nistrim sect so we risked a landing party. Supplies were desperately low. We hadn't been able to stop for weeks, replicators were running on low power, and we needed foodstuffs.

Voyager went into orbit around Calisto Prime and scanned the surrounding systems for compatible food sources. What a cornucopia it turned out to be. That little sector of space fed the Kazon sects and anyone else who happened to stop by, no questions asked. The Kazon pretty much left them alone. Even Cullah realized the value of not destroying his best food suppliers, and since the Nistrim didn't have the administrative or farming skills to run the place themselves, they just turned up from time to time, took what they wanted (though never all of it) and went away again. The Calistans seemed to live with it just fine.

Anyway, there were dilithium deposits in a neighboring system, requiring heavy duty transporters, so Voyager left a landing party on Calisto and went after the big guns. The Calistans barely noticed us. As I said, they were a grain store for lots of other worlds, and were used to trading with anyone or anything that showed up. Technologically, they were on a par with 22nd century Earth. I was in command of the away team, and we settled down to trade for the crops that the Calistans farmed, and to gather the "weeds" and wild plants in the undeveloped areas, which were ours for the bother of taking them. After a few days of that, we were ready for some downtime. I never wanted to climb another tree and pick thorny purple "apples" again, though Harry's scans claimed they were the best source of nutrition on the whole planet.

We made our way into Calisto City and got rooms for the night. Most people were so tired they rolled into bed, and I set Dalby and Chell, who'd been goofing off all week, to take watch and guard our supplies. Voyager was due to pick us up the next morning, so I gave everyone else the night off, so long as they stayed in pairs and went armed at all times. In the end, there were no takers for partying except Ensign Kim, so we set out into the city in search of a good time.

To be honest, it couldn't have happened better if I'd planned it that way. I'd always liked Harry Kim, with his tight, compact body and that air of sweet innocence that nothing seemed to dent. And I happened to know he liked me too. First time I noticed was in the showers in Cargo Bay 2, when we were washing up after a contamination incident. He'd never seen me naked before and he just kinda froze when I walked under the nozzle next to his and turned it on. I followed his gaze down to my groin, and then watched him look up at my face with his eyes as big as saucers.

"Wow," he said, "I've never seen one that big."

And then he licked his lips. It was so fucking sexy, more so because I don't think he knew what he was doing. Ensign Kim wanted to suck my dick, there wasn't the slightest doubt in my mind. Problem was, he had no idea of it himself.

After that, he liked to hang out with me when he wasn't doing something with Tom or B'Elanna. We'd play cards, I'd fleece him of his rations and give them back again, and then we'd eat the odd dinner together in the mess. He was lonely, missing his girlfriend and home more than most of us, I think. He told me about her and chattered about his music, the Academy, what he liked to do in his spare time. It never occurred to him, I think, that as a Maquis I'd had incredibly different life experiences than his own. I told him about my wife and kids, and we became � friends, I guess the word is.

At first, I thought I'd leave him in ignorance of how much he wanted me to fuck him. I believed in Janeway, still do, and hoped we'd be home soon. I had my wife and family to think about. But by the end of our second year out here, I had to face the possibility that we might not make it back for a long time if at all. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life alone, jacking off to the memory of a wife who'd been told I was MIA, probably that I was dead.

So I started to tease Harry, to make him a bit more aware of his sexuality. He's one of those guys that are called a born "bottom". They need to get fucked, as often and as hard as they can. It centers them, connects them to their lover, *completes* them in some way that I don't really understand. I like to give it, not take it. It's got nothing to do with size or age or temperament. It's all about our most deep-seated needs, and fucked if I know what makes me tick or anyone else. But Harry was giving out all the signals that he needed what I had to give.

I kissed him one night after a game of hockey on the holodeck. His mouth was a perfect "O" of astonishment.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded, wiping his lips in a way that seemed more curious than disgusted.

"I wanted to," I replied. "And you wanted me to."

"Huh," he said, absorbing my answer for a while, before standing on tiptoes and pressing his lips against mine. I let him control the pace and depth of the kiss. It made me hot, to feel his tongue tentative against mine, and know that I was the first guy he'd ever kissed. After a while, I stepped up the pace and kissed him back, mastering his mouth with mine, letting him know who he was with and how it was going to be.

I didn't try to stop him when he pulled away. His eyes dropped to the floor and I knew he was embarrassed, though I wasn't sure about what in particular. I tilted his chin up with my finger and kissed his nose.

"Okay?" I asked him.

He gave me the sweetest smile. "Yeah."

"Hockey tomorrow night?"

"Nah. Tom and I are working on a new holoprogram."

"All right."

"How about the night after?" he asked, bouncing a little with suppressed anxiety.

"Sure," I said.

I know he watched my ass as I walked away. I checked later on the security cams.

I let things move along at a slow pace, he was so skittish. Some nights, he'd start kissing me and then get all awkward. We'd be lying on the sofa in his quarters, after a night of me enduring the clarinet and his putting up with my guitar, and we'd start necking like teenagers. He got flustered so easily, scared of what he was feeling and worried that it made him less of a man. He'd had a very conservative upbringing. Mr and Mrs Kim had sheltered their baby in ways that stuck with him even after he'd been through the Academy, which I didn't think was possible. So I encouraged him to talk to Tom about it. If anyone was at ease with his sexuality, it was Tom Paris. I don't think Harry could bring himself to admit what he was feeling, though, even to his best friend.

The occasional grope brought him out in a sweat, and not in a good way. The first time I touched his cock, he nearly went through the roof. After that, I confined my attentions to his ass and mouth. Curiously, he was relaxed with me stroking and fondling his buttocks, so long as there was a safety net of cotton between us. I think his father must have spanked him as a boy, and he wanted more of it. Whenever I gave him a friendly swat after a game, he'd skitter like a newborn colt and get hard as a rock in his pants. I always gave him a cocksure grin when it happened, one that told him I knew exactly what he was thinking and he'd get everything he wanted from me in the end. Harry blushed and stammered a lot, and I laughed more than I had in years. It wasn't unkind laughter, and he snuggled up to me during that long dry spell on his sofa.

That was as far as things had gone, the night I took him out on Calisto Prime to get him drunk. The alcohol would numb the inevitable pain when I took him for the first time, and he could always blame the booze if he freaked out the next day. Not that I'd let him get away with that for long, but I knew I had to give him some leeway as he wrestled with the demons in his psyche. I wished for a good long hour with Mr and Mrs Kim and my belt, where I'd tell them exactly how they'd managed to fuck up their son's social development. On the other hand, maybe they were what had brought him to me, needing a cock up his ass so bad it scared him half to death. I decided to leave the counselling to Chakotay, and get on with the fucking.

Calisto City was a gorgeous collage of airy towers, bright neon lights, and carefully cultivated dives for the exotic taste. We wandered the streets, my arm in Harry's, as I scouted for a likely looking bar. It spoke volumes of how far we'd come, that he strolled arm in arm with me down a busy street and thought nothing of it. I brushed his hip and thigh with mine, and he went cherry red but snuggled in closer. He liked being seen with me, I decided, and the feel of my big body next to his, pressed up against him. He was hard again. I could practically smell it. One drink, two at tops, and then he'd be mine.

I found what I was looking for a few blocks from our hotel. There was a line of handsome young men, some of them obviously alien, others more humanoid in appearance, waiting to get in. There was a flashing neon sign, there always is all the galaxy over, with a naked man on display. I'd found us an alien gay bar. Now I just had to get Harry in the doors.

He didn't even notice the queue or the sign, he was so caught up in me. I guess I should've been flattered. Hell, I *was* flattered, and had to stop myself from pushing him up against a wall and screwing him then and there. He wanted soft lights, romance, violins � or at least those infernal clarinets. I was never gonna get anywhere with that though. He would always be pulling back. What he needed was to be taken, and taken hard, and I'd found just the place to get started.

The bouncers took one look at me and let us in straight away. I was bigger than both of them, which might have helped. They breed them slender on Calisto. We were almost knocked over by a wall of scents and spices when we got in the door, and there was a spray of liquid misting the air. I think it was a narcotic, but whatever it was, it had Harry's t-shirt sticking to him like glue and outlining his big fat nipples for me to chew on later. There were strobing lights and soft voices but no music. That was strange for me, not to mention a nuisance. I'd relied on not being able to hear Harry say `no'. Not that he'd mean it, but I still didn't want to hear it. It seemed I'd managed to stumble across the one gay bar in the galaxy that didn't have loud dance music.

There was a show going on, though, with two guys fucking on a stage at one end of the bar. Harry was watching them in astonishment, his face flushed with arousal.

"Wow," he whispered to me, "isn't doing that in public illegal?"

I laughed at him. "Not on this world, obviously."

"On *any* world," he replied.

I got us a pitcher of ale, knowing that Harry was used to synthehol, and found us a table near the stage but off to the far side of the bar. I wanted us to have a good view of the action, without becoming a spectacle ourselves. Harry squirmed on his seat, trying not to watch the show but unable to help himself.

"Doesn't that hurt?" he asked me at last, trying to sound casual.

"The first time, maybe, but not usually after that, if it's done right. I won't lie to you. I've never had it done to me. But I've done it to others enough to know what I'm doing, and each and every one of them told me it was the best they'd ever had."

Okay, so I exaggerated a bit for effect, but Harry was lapping it up.

"Others?" he demanded. He was so jealous it was cute. "How many others? Since we've been on Voyager? Since � you and me � uh � don't change the subject, Gregor. How many others?"

I sipped my ale. Not bad. A bit weaker than I was used to, but not bad at all.

"Look at that man's face, Harry," I said, watching him out of the corner of my eye. "That's not pain he's feeling. There'd be a bit of a burn at first as it went in. Look at that dick, it ain't small. But the pain only lasts for a minute or two, and then it's like he's got his own little generator inside him, electrifying his whole body till when he comes, it feels like he's doing it from every pore in his skin. And everywhere I would touch him � you � it'd be like a trail of fire. You'd feel like your ass was hooked up to a supernova. And then I'd come inside you, and you'd feel it against the lining of your insides, and a part of me would become a part of you. Forever. I'd be in your cells, your blood, your skin, for the rest of your life."

"Oh fuck," said Harry, pouring himself another drink with shaking hands. "He � I � he looks like � I don't wanna � oh, fuck."

I smirked and sipped my ale slowly. Harry was so excited that he was rubbing his leg against mine under the table, and I don't think he even knew he was doing it.

If there's one guarantee in life, though, it's that when everything's going according to plan, the shit hits the proverbial fan. I'm a security officer, on the Crazy Horse and Voyager both, and I never stop surveillance of my perimeter, no matter how tasty the morsel sitting next to me, moaning into his ale. I saw the phalanx of Kazon the minute they entered the bar, but by then the exits were blocked and there was no getting out. I had my phaser but there were twelve of them, and I knew we weren't gonna get out of this by shooting.

Harry's a good man to have beside you in a fight, but twelve against two isn't good odds by any calculation, so I decided to take a leaf out of the classic vids and try hiding in plain sight. I grabbed Harry and made like a few other couples, jamming my lips against his and forcing him down to the floor. He gasped in surprise, inhaling my tongue as he did so, and I got it in him as far and as fast as I could. He hadn't seen the Kazon, I was sure, but I needed him to cooperate and ask questions later. His mouth tasted of ale and mint, and I knew he must have gulped breath mints before coming out with me. That was good. He'd been expecting a date. He was gonna get something else altogether.

"Everybody stay calm and no one needs to get hurt," came a stentorian voice from the other side of the bar. "We're looking for a couple of Federations who were seen coming in here."

Harry stiffened under me but I tried to reassure him with my kisses. "Just play along," I whispered in his ear, "and I'll get us out of this in one piece."

This wasn't how I'd planned it. I was gonna get him drunk and all hot and bothered, then take him back to the hotel and fuck him senseless on a nice, comfortable bed. Fate and the Kazon had intervened. I wormed my hand in the top of his pants and got the zipper down, tugging the pants down to his knees, kissing him all the while to reassure him and hide our faces from the Kazon. We had to seem so absorbed in what we were doing that we couldn't stop for anything, be it Nistrim raids or the end of the world. His cock was hard and hot to the touch, so juicy that it must have been leaking for a while. Whether it was me or the show that had got him so excited, I didn't care by then. I just jacked him slowly, stealing his moisture to lubricate his ass.

"These people are fucking like dogs," one of the Kazon shouted.

"There's drugs in the air, can't you smell it," said another.

I ignored them all, concentrating on Harry, pulling my own pants down and worming my phaser out of its holster and into my left hand. I cradled Harry with that arm, holding him steady and the phaser out of sight under his body.

"This is not quite the atmosphere I had in mind, but it'll have to do," I whispered.

Harry was rigid with fear, whether of the Kazon or me, I wasn't sure.

"Shhh," I told him, stroking his quivering ass with my right hand, "this is gonna be so good. Forget about them. It's just you and me, and my finger in your tight ass. Can you feel it sliding in, Harry? That's your own juices I'm using to get you all wet and ready for me. You want this Harry, you know you do. It's gonna be so right, so good, my sweet, sweet Harry."

He moaned and relaxed at last, and I got a second finger inside him, slippery with spit and his own natural lube. I cursed myself that I hadn't thought to bring lube with me. It was sitting in our hotel room on the bedside table, all laid out for an occasion that would never happen now.

I hugged him to me with one arm, lifting him off the floor with a sudden jerk. The whoosh of air out of his gut made his eyes fly open and his body shudder. He didn't even notice the third finger I got inside him at the same time, which was, of course, my intent. I hunted for his prostate and found it at last, rubbing it gently and continuously till his lips fell open in shocked delight. I laughed at him then, a low rich chuckle that made him drum his feet on the floor, and kissed his eyelids one by one. I traced his lips with mine and kissed him over and over, till he was boneless against me and his cock was jerking all on its own.

"Greg. Greg. Greg."

It was a low, soft continuous moan, my name mouthed into mine with such need that it made me hard enough to drill diamond.

He would never be readier than he was now. I lifted his legs over my shoulders, parting him wide for me, and frigged him faster with four of my fingers. At this angle, I could jam my fingers in deep and apply constant pressure to his prostate, till he was screaming my name instead of moaning it.

"What about these two?"

The loud bark came from close behind us, but Harry's eyes were glazed and he didn't even seem to hear it. I did, though. I swear that was what had me shaking, when I slicked myself up with my own precome and pushed the head of my dick into Harry's ass.

"Nah," said another voice, as I plugged into Harry in short, sharp motions. He was tight despite all my preparation, and he was hammering the back of his head on the floor in time with each of my hard thrusts. I nearly stopped then, thinking that I must be hurting him too bad and we'd have to take our chances with the Kazon, but he grabbed my ass in both hands and tried to tug me deeper when I stopped.

"Do it," he begged. "Just do it."

I forced my way in to the hilt with one hard, furious shove. I couldn't help it, his need had me so excited that I had to be all the way in him or go stark raving mad. We both stopped then, Harry's head still at last on the floor and his breath coming in short, harsh gasps, me buried deep inside him. I was rigid with the self-control it took not to just fuck the shit out of him and rip him up inside.

"Look at them. Animals. The Federations would never act like this in public. It can't be them."

"Yeah. My brother says the Federations don't have dicks."

I held myself still inside Harry, pressed chest to chest, feeling his heart beating in rhythm with mine. I pulled him up till his back was a few inches off the floor, and the phaser was angled to get both of the Kazon beside us in a single burst. I held our lives in my hands, and had never felt closer to death than I did with those two filthy animals, sneering down at us as if we were the ones who were scum. Harry had learned to be afraid of being with a man, and now it might get him killed. I stirred my cock inside him slowly, mad with the need for it, hearing him whimper in response. I wanted to fuck, I wanted to kill the Kazon, I think I wanted things that I didn't even know how to ask for.

"Greg," Harry whispered, "in case they � I love you, Greg."

I smiled at him and set the phaser to kill with my thumb, ready to fire.

"Then how do the Federations reproduce?" asked one of the Kazon.

I didn't look at him, not really, other than to identify his location as a target. I didn't want to spoil what could be salvaged from this moment by seeing anything other than Harry.

"My brother says they lay eggs."

I heard the voices fade away behind me but kept the phaser ready. I couldn't help thrusting a little, though. My whole body was on fire with the need to move, and so was Harry's, urging me on with his hands cupping my ass. It felt like he was trying to pull me inside his skin. I set a slow and gentle pace, thrusting deep but not pulling out far, catching his prostate with every lunge. I couldn't bear to get too far out of him, and I savored the way his eyes rolled back in his head with every thrust. I could feel his excitement, his pleasure, in the way his body thrummed under mine, his legs beating a steady tattoo on my back.

"Harry," I moaned. "You're fucking beautiful."

He was too incoherent to form words any more, just giving little crying moans each time I plugged myself deep inside him or changed my angle to short, shallow jabs. I fucked him fast, then slow, then fast again, always gentle but so thorough he'd be feeling it for a week if we survived. I had both arms around him now, Kazon forgotten, everything else a blur in the need to bury myself in him so deep he'd never escape from me, and share the sweet hot fire of orgasm with him.

We came at the same time, me throbbing and gushing across his prostate, him coating my belly and chest with ropes of thick white come. I collapsed on him hard, feeling rather than hearing his grunt in response, letting his sticky white fluids glue us together till he couldn't get out of my arms, nor me from his.

I rolled us over, casually, so that he was lying on top of me, and I could case the bar with my face hidden behind his messed, sweat-slick hair. The Kazon seemed to be gone. Harry's t-shirt was plastered to his body, bunched up under his arms where I'd pushed it in a frenzy to nip at his salt skin while I fucked him. His communicator was still attached, by some minor miracle.

I touched it now with my fingers, digging it hard into his flesh till he moaned in protest.

"Ayala to Dalby. What's your status?"

Harry stiffened, as if he'd only just now remembered our predicament.

"Dalby here. All quiet, Greg."

"There are Kazon around. Harry and I will be back with you as fast as we can, but we may have to take a long route to make sure we're not followed. Get everyone into one room with the supplies, barricade the door, and don't open it for anyone till we get there. After this transmission, activate the sensor scrambler and maintain radio silence. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ayala out."

Harry was looking up at me with a smile not very appropriate to the situation.

"What?" I asked him, looking carefully around to make sure no one was paying us any attention out of the ordinary. There were, after all, other couples fucking and plenty else to look at.

He wouldn't answer me, but I was pretty sure that me going all commanding officer had turned him on. I foresaw hours of fun play on the holodeck.

"Your dick's still inside me," he said at last, after a few slow, lazy kisses.

"So it is," I agreed. "Guess we should do something about that."

"Do we have to?" he asked, squeezing me with his muscles.

"Gotta get back to the others," I said, but I felt the loss as keenly as he seemed to when I slid out of him. It only took a minute to rearrange our clothing, though we stank of sex and god knows what else. I didn't feel high, though, and suspected the drugs they were using had little effect on human anatomy. Harry was flushed with the ale, or it might have been from having been fucked through the floor. He winced as he tugged his pants back into place.

"Sore?" I asked, cursing again that I hadn't brought a regenerator with me.

"No," he lied. "It's just � I never thought it would feel like that. It hurts like a bitch, actually, but I don't want it to stop. Does that make sense? My ass is raw but I wanna do it again right now. Can we? I mean, this wasn't a one-off, was it? You did *want* to do that � it wasn't just to fool the Kazons, was it?"

I stared at him in disbelief, as we made our way through the chatting crowds, some of them offering us congratulations or com numbers. How could such a brilliant ensign be so fucking dumb?

"Of course I wanted to do it," I told him, steering him out the door with a hand on his hip. "And yes, we'll do it again, as many times as we can, for as long as we still have dicks to do it with. Now shut the fuck up and keep your eyes peeled for the Kazon."

We made it back to the hotel without incident, and there was no sign of those Nistrim bastards till Voyager came to pick us up. A brief shootout followed our beam-up, but there was only one raider and it soon turned tail and ran.

Harry surprised me in the weeks that followed. I was expecting some kind of backlash. After all, he'd lost his cherry in a bar in front of enemy soldiers, and I hadn't exactly stopped to ask permission. We were rostered on to opposing shifts and didn't really see each other till a week later, when he'd invited me to join him for dinner on the holodeck. He was nervous when I picked him up at his cabin, wearing a white t-shirt and fuck-me jeans so tight that you'd have had to rip them open instead of peeling them off. I didn't like the way he could hardly look at me, and guessed that I was in store for a regretful speech about how he hadn't meant to do it and didn't want to do it again, unless it was to save our lives in a hostile situation. Not that I would have let him get away with that, but it was what I was expecting.

You should have seen my jaw drop when he led me into the holodeck, and I walked into an exact and painstaking recreation of that bar on Calisto Prime. He'd got every detail just right, down to the drugs in the air and the smell of sweat and fresh come.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked me politely, blushing so hard I thought he'd pass out from lack of blood.

"Fuck that," I growled, wrestling him to the floor in one swift, fluid motion, and proceeded to recreate that night in exquisite detail. Except this time, we didn't have to stop after the first time.

We've been together ever since, more or less. Don't look so surprised, Tom. There was no reason you'd have known, if Harry didn't choose to tell you. It wasn't really a relationship at first. More a series of frequent meetings for food, play, and hot sex. We were friends and no one seemed to notice that we'd become something more. I wasn't willing to let go of my family in my head, and Harry was still pretty bound up with Libby, or the idea of her, so we just fucked and played hockey till one day we were living together.

That was about a year ago. I guess I hope my wife's moved on, because I sure have. I still haven't told Harry that I love him, even though he told me on that very first night. Who knows? I might tell him one day, when I'm too old to get it up and he's finally lost that youthful innocence. But, if you ask me, we could live a hundred years and never see that day.

---

There was a short silence after Greg's voice faded away, punctuated only by Harry's snores. Greg looked down at the man whose head was pillowed in his lap, smiling fondly and stroking his hair.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he said, suddenly loud in the quiet room.

"Huh?" said Harry, jerking up, hair on end and face rumpled from sleep. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. We're gonna vote now, that's all."

"Oh. Right. I vote for us," and promptly curled up on the sofa again.

"Harry," said Tom softly, his voice wondering, "you never said a thing. I didn't even guess you were involved with someone. You've been living this whole other life that I didn't know about."

"Jeez, Tom, you're my friend, not my wife."

Greg's soft chuckle was warm and sweet. "Why didn't you tell Tom?"

"I didn't want to share you � us � with anyone," mumbled Harry.

"I also vote for Lieutenant Ayala's story," announced Seven.

Tom swivelled in his seat to look at her. He didn't stop playing idly with Chakotay's bare feet, which were now nestled in his lap as Chakotay lay full length on the sofa beside him.

"Why?" Kathryn asked her lover, sounding more than a little put out.

Tom wondered if sucking Chakotay's toes would count towards giving him the cold shoulder.

"The lieutenant's story had a happy ending. I consider that a prerequisite for a story to get my vote. His was the only one to end happily."

"Ours isn't finished yet," said Chakotay, proving that he was still awake, smiling broadly up at Tom like he was an easy lay and Chakotay knew it.

"Mine certainly is," said Kathryn apologetically.

Chakotay might have had less cause to feel encouraged if Tom were to stop rubbing his feet. He considered this idea briefly and discarded it. It was too much like the need to breathe, this touching of Chakotay's firm, silky skin with his fingers, holding on to his feet as if they were a lifeline. It was stupid really but he couldn't seem to stop it.

"Congratulations, Gregor," said Kathryn. "I wish you and Harry every happiness. And I think that you should start with two weeks' worth of rations � though I *don't* want to know what you're going to spend them on. So, I vote for your story as well."

Ayala gave the captain an ironic bow.

"Is everyone on this ship gay now?" demanded B'Elanna.

"You're just pissed because you were saving Harry for your old age," said Greg.

"Oh, have the damned rations," snapped B'Elanna, trying to hide a smile.

Chakotay laughed at both of them, while sneakily trying to find Tom's cock with his toes. "Looks like it's a consensus. Greg's the winner. What do you think, Tom?"

"Oh sure, why not? I've learned that my dad loves me in a weird, twisted, evil kind of way, and so does Chakotay. I need no other reward."

That, not unnaturally, brought the evening to an end.

Everyone seemed anxious to get away. B'Elanna was the first to lurch out the door, thanking Janeway politely for a pleasant time and expressing her hope that they could do it again soon. Greg followed at once, Harry slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, sound asleep and drooling on Greg's pants in a way that Tom was sure he'd be punished for later. That just left Chakotay, molesting Tom on the sofa with his feet while the captain and Seven hovered nearby, looking like they were getting ready to skip out of Kathryn's own quarters.

"Damn," said the captain at last, "I forgot to swear the others to silence. Janeway to EMH."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Doctor, if I ever announce another team-building session, you are instructed to relieve me of command on the grounds of mental incompetence. Please log that order."

"Are you drunk, Captain?" The doctor sounded outraged and suspicious in equal measure.

"Not half as much as I'd like to be," she sighed.

"Take two aspirin and *don't* call me in the morning. EMH out."

Chakotay swung his legs off the couch and was suddenly sitting very close to Tom.

"I think we should go, too," he said, smiling easily, but Tom could see the subtle tension in the set of his shoulders.

"You go ahead, Commander. I need to speak to the captain. Alone."

Tom smiled blandly at Chakotay's unease.

"Tom, I?"

"Goodnight, Commander."

Chakotay seemed to know when to retreat. He stood up slowly and bent over Tom, closer and closer. Tom made no move to stop him, allowing the gentle kiss to warm his lips.

"Goodnight, Commander," he repeated firmly, ignoring the question in Chakotay's eyes.

"I will walk with the commander as far as my regeneration chamber," said Seven, giving Tom a look he couldn't read before grabbing the startled Chakotay and half-dragging him out of the captain's quarters.

As soon as they were gone, Janeway settled back on the couch as if facing her own execution.

"Tom, I'm really sorry about tonight, the whole damn thing, but especially my part in it. I should never have told you that story, certainly not in front of others like that. It was stupid and insensitive and � "

"Captain," he interrupted, putting his feet up on the sofa. "Kathryn. We go on duty in two hours and there's really no point in going to bed. So, I want you to tell me about my father."

"Tom, what do you want to know?"

"I want to know the man that you knew."

---

The next few days were uneventful. No attacks, no space anomalies, nothing but plain sailing. It seemed as if the Delta Quadrant aliens had ganged up on Tom, conspiring to give him time to think. He ate breakfast in the mess hall with Harry and Greg, talking about nothing. His days were spent fidgeting in front of Chakotay at the helm, remembering how recently he'd daydreamed of going hiking under Earth skies, taking pleasure in watching Chakotay brush the dirt lovingly off a piece of holographic pottery. Evenings were spent on his own, reading in his cabin or flying sims on the holodeck. Chakotay left him alone to brood, maybe wisely refusing to put himself in the firing line so soon after the debacle of Team-Building Night.

It was like flying through Kansas, flat land and empty sky as far as the eye could see, nothing to disturb his straight and narrow flight path.

Of course, Kansas has its tornado season.

"What's this?" asked Tom, when Chakotay dropped a small disk in his lap, just as he was about to go off duty.

"I've been writing a holoprogram," said Chakotay, falling into step at his side as though he belonged there. "Don't you remember? We challenged the captain and Seven to a little competition. Let the war games begin."

"We didn't do anything," snorted Tom. "You were the one who challenged them."

"Are you really gonna leave me on my own?"

That was the question, wasn't it?

Somehow, Tom found himself walking into the mess hall with Chakotay, though he'd intended to get off on another deck and go straight to his quarters. They loaded up their trays with the delicacies of the day. Tom took a seat at a deserted table, trying to remember if he'd been the one to spoon all that blue stuff on to his plate, or if someone else had done it while he was lost in a daze. Chakotay slid into the seat next to him, instead of the one opposite, and pressed their knees together while contemplating his plate like it was his medicine wheel.

"I'm not sure if I should eat this," he said, finally, still staring at it intensely.

Tom cursed himself for a fool but didn't move his knee away.

"It is very blue," he replied, voice neutral, as if the glop on his plate were the most interesting thing on Voyager.

They moved their forks in the stuff. Tom thought it might be moving back.

He shuddered. "What is this?"

"Shall we just dump this in the recyclers and go get something decent to eat? I know a great little caf鬠courtesy of the holodeck, where we can get Mexican so hot it'll give you a sore ass for days. Of course, there are better ways to get a sore ass. If you're interested?"

Tom stared at him blankly. Chakotay was wearing his bedroom grin, eyes hot as firecrackers, and this - *this* - was the reconciliation speech he'd had to look forward to? Let's go get a sore ass?

Chakotay was either clueless or diabolically clever, because Tom felt himself weakening. A candlelit dinner, flowery apologies, heartfelt declarations; against all of them he would have been proof. But this, a warm leg pressed against his own when he'd felt so alone it was like there was no one else alive on Voyager, and a simple proposition that they go fuck. Chakotay was always good at flanking his defenses and stabbing straight for his cock, already hard in his pants at the thought of it, and Tom was scared at how easy it would be to say yes.

A lifetime of trying not to let it and Tom's dick was still doing his thinking for him. And Chakotay knew it, sitting there at his ease, legs spread so that Tom could look down and see his erection tenting the tight uniform pants if he wanted to.

Tom turned his fork over and over between shaking fingers, and then stabbed down onto the table with a sudden shout, missing Chakotay's thumb by a fraction of an inch. It didn't even dent the table, clattering aside to lie face up next to his plate.

"You broke my fucking heart just because that was easier for you. I should beat the shit out of you," he said softly, letting the civilized mask he'd been wearing drop away for a second so that Chakotay could see what was underneath.

"I'd let you do it," was the reply, not quite able to meet his eyes. "I'd stand there and let you do it."

Tom stood up and looked down at Chakotay's bowed head. "I don't want anything from you. Not even that. Leave me alone."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the mess hall. Chakotay didn't try to follow him, and there weren't enough people around to notice their altercation. It had all been very melodramatic but Tom decided he felt better than he had all week. At least something had happened. He was restless, ready for action, his tired depression draining away as if he'd showered it off and it was time to get dressed with no underwear and go find Chakotay.

Tom toyed with the idea. He could dial up that Mexican caf頯n the holodeck, com Chakotay, let him fuck his ass over a table littered with half-eaten burritos and cool sweet wine. Then he could walk away afterward, thanking Chakotay for the fuck, telling him to cuddle his ego since he was so fond of it. The man should be crawling to him across broken glass, begging Tom for forgiveness and for the privilege of reaming him so good that he felt loved every time he squirmed at the helm.

Tom found himself standing in front of the doors to holodeck three, even though he'd thought he was walking home. He took a moment to laugh at himself, always a good idea, and then entered a code in the control panel.

The doors opened on a beautiful summer's day. Tom stepped on to soft, spongy grass and took a deep breath. The air was so fresh that it was hard to keep in mind that none of this was real, that it was the same recycled shit he'd been breathing all along. He started to walk in the direction of the nearby hills, knowing he didn't have long to get to where he was going and to the mosaic that was waiting for him, waiting for its long-hidden beauty to be uncovered, one painstaking inch at a time.

*****

It was a month later that Voyager got a signal from the Anorans. Tom noticed that Harry routed it directly to the captain in her ready room, rather than to Chakotay on the bridge. That was unusual.

It had been a quiet few weeks before the signal came. He'd worked away at the mosaic in his off-duty hours. Chakotay must have been doing the same, since sometimes there was a bit more of the pattern showing, a few more tiles scraped pristine to show their raw beauty, than when he'd left it last. They never visited the site at the same time, but must have thought about each other constantly when there.

Tom found himself wanting to turn around in his seat at the helm and ask Chakotay what he thought of it all. Did the commander understand the pattern that was emerging? Did he agree that they should keep concentrating on the outer edges, or should they hasten to the center and uncover its core first?

Once, there was a bottle of real wine waiting for him, lying next to the mosaic when he reached the dig. It must have been programmed to be transported there, the next time he activated the site. It was a smooth Riesling, a little tangy, perfect counterpoint to a warm summer day and an afternoon's hot, fiddly work. Tom thought about an appropriate response. He considered a pitcher of beer, always good for thirsty work, laced with a nice laxative. In the end, he programmed the computer to replicate grilled mushrooms on thick, steaming bread, drizzled with hollandaise. He pictured Chakotay eating his snack, careful to keep it well away from the mosaic, licking a stray drop or two of hollandaise from his full lips. He'd be smiling.

Tom tried not to think about courtship rituals.

They never spoke to each other outside of work.

Chakotay would say things like, "Interesting maneuver, lieutenant." His voice would be caressing but nothing anyone could call him on. "Why don't you program that move into the sims for the other pilots to bone up on?"

Tom hoped he was the only one to hear the way Chakotay said `bone' and get hard.

Janeway had restored Tom's rank, soon after Team-Building Night. She'd also transferred two weeks' worth of rations to his account. Her message read: "You were the one whose story I can't get out of my head."

He spent the rations on an extravagant dinner with her and Seven, talking about work, his father, and Chakotay. Seven had an interesting way of looking at things.

"You and Commander Chakotay are a collective," she said firmly, as if no other view were possible. "It is not unusual for the Borg to send small operational collectives to carry out particular tasks. I myself am Seven of Nine, as you know. A collective of two is small but immeasurably stronger than one alone. I have had reason to discover the truth of this."

She smiled at Janeway, who smiled back in a sappy way. Tom tried not to laugh at them but wasn't very successful.

"You are amused," said Seven. "I believe I understand the concept of humor as well as the next person."

"If the next person happens to be Tuvok," teased Kathryn.

Tom had never seen his captain so relaxed, so unlike her usual prickly self.

"What Chakotay did that night," she said to him, "facing up to his guilt and telling you what he believes to the truth, that took balls."

"I've never doubted he has balls," replied Tom with an obscene grin. "But � you don't think it was the truth?"

"Chakotay believes it, but he's seeing it through seven years' worth of guilt. Think what it was like for him on the Crazy Horse. You know what he said. He felt like a rat in a trap, cornered and vicious. He had Seska and Jonas feeding him lies, he'd just put aside his fears to risk trusting you, and he was feeling things in a situation where, to protect himself and others, he thought he needed to stay dead inside. He was numb and you made him feel. That must have hurt a lot. And let's face it. If anyone was likely to have been a Starfleet plant, it was you. Cashiered very publicly out of the Fleet, conveniently down and out and available, but an admiral's son with a family history longer than his dick.

"Don't laugh, Tom, I'm serious. Okay, the dick thing was gratuitous. You bring it out in me. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that he'd relied on Seska for years, with her impeccable Bajoran credentials, and you came along looking so obviously like a plant that you should have come complete with plant food and watering can. Did he believe it too easily? Seven years of guilt and loss tell him that he did. Me, I'm not so sure."

Tom pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. "He had his dick in my ass and he *knew* me. Too damn right, he believed it too easily."

Seven touched his arm briefly, a rare thing for her. "Individuals let you down but the collective goes on. Even when there are only two of you."

"Let's have some of that delicious dessert that you've replicated," said Kathryn, changing the subject. They didn't return to it, and Tom drank a lot of the heavy red wine that kept materialising by replicator magic.

The next day, he studied Chakotay covertly on the bridge, thinking about the past and its power over the present. He wondered at a long- dead Roman making a floor of colored stones, so that he and Chakotay could dig it up millennia later and watch a picture forming in each other's eyes. It was all a conceit of course, courtesy of the holodeck computer. Tom accessed his replicator account from the helm, and programmed strawberries dipped in chocolate on a berry jus, to materialize next to Chakotay's side of the mosaic. Too much sweetness to last long under the hot sun. Chakotay would get the point. But he'd also get the strawberries.

Tom's reverie was broken by a message from the captain, asking him and Chakotay to report to her ready room. They exchanged puzzled looks, and Tom felt his heart skip a beat, remembering his previous encounter with the Anorans. He'd last seen them escorting Voyager on its way with unfriendly warships, after an incident involving a bar, a planetary netcast, and an attempted fisting. He hoped his summons now had nothing to do with the communication the captain had just received.

"Gentlemen," Kathryn greeted them, "have a seat. I have just received a rather � unusual � request from the Anorans."

Damn. He'd known the peace and quiet was too good to last.

"What's this all about?" asked Chakotay.

"There appears to have been a coup on Anora. The populace were fed up with their repressive government and have overthrown it. One of the triggers, so I'm told, was our expulsion after the � er � "Tahm wants Chakty to fisht him" incident. It was broadcast planet-wide and seems to have touched a nerve. The upshot is that the new government respectfully apologizes and wishes to make reparation, to us and their well-armed constituents, by having a live holo-cast of the desired event."

"This is ridiculous. It has to be a joke," said Tom.

"Oh no, they sound very serious. In fact, if we don't do it, they've threatened to pursue us with deadly force."

"They have a rather large and powerful fleet, as I recall," said Chakotay, looking at no one in particular.

"I am not getting fisted for the entertainment of aliens, or of anyone else, for that matter," snapped Tom. "Can't we outrun them? We've got a big head start."

"I don't think you quite see the context of this request, Mr Paris. Your actions on Anora contributed to a political revolution, and now we're being asked to help stabilize a situation that was partly of our making. That puts a different light on it, don't you agree?"

"*We're* not being asked anything," said Tom. "It's not you that's gonna have to bend over and take a hand up your ass, broadcast live to millions."

"Quite true," said Janeway, "and I can't order you to do this. I won't give any such order to a member of my crew. You may also be right that we can outrun them. So the only order I'm going to give is to get us out of here at warp nine. I am, however, going to ask for volunteers."

Chakotay had said nothing throughout, but he'd been watching Tom closely. "A broadcast like that," he said at last, "it would be easy enough to fake? Tom and I don't really have to be involved at all."

"Normally a holographic forgery would be possible," replied the captain. "The Anorans have a very sophisticated net, though. It doesn't just transmit images but also feelings, sensations, emotions. That's partly why the Anorans were so powerfully affected by the vid of Tom and Harry, and so shocked by their government's response. You see, they *felt* the intensity, the desperate longing, so raw in Tom that it sent a shockwave through the sedate Anorans. That's one of the reasons why the government got rid of us so quickly, and why it was such a flashpoint for dissent. I thought you knew that."

Humiliation, thy name is Paris. Millions of aliens had experienced what he'd been feeling? This just got better and better.

"You don't have to decide now. I'll give you a week to make up your minds. I want you to know that I will support your choice, whatever you decide, without reservation."

"Tom," said Chakotay, "we need to?"

Tom didn't want to hear it. He stood abruptly and faced Janeway over her desk.

"May I be dismissed?"

She nodded and he walked out without a backward glance.

---

Tom was no closer to a decision when Chakotay asked to meet him in one of the observation lounges. He threw on an old pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt, deciding that grunge was the flavor of the hour and wouldn't put anyone's libidos into overdrive. No one noticed him as he walked the ship, strolling up and down the decks and climbing through Jeffries tubes, keen to tire his body out before confronting Chakotay.

The observation lounges were one of his favorite places on Voyager. Floor to ceiling windows formed a dramatic backdrop or a haunting foreground, depending on his mood, and they had the most comfortable sofas and armchairs on the ship. Tom sometimes sat and watched the stars go by, on nights when he was too restless to sleep but too tired to hit Sandrine's or one of his other nightspots.

Chakotay was waiting for him when he got there, and Tom realized guiltily that he was over an hour late. The commander was sprawled on one of the sofas, still in his uniform, sound asleep. Tom curled up next to him and rested his head on Chakotay's chest. He wouldn't have done it if Chakotay had been awake, but he couldn't fight the longing when the commander let himself be found like this. The door had been programmed to admit Tom only. No one else got to see the private Chakotay, relaxed in sleep, his defenses down. He had had sex with others but never slept with them. He'd told Tom about it once. It was a Maquis thing, he'd said. Tom thought it was a Chakotay thing but hadn't said so. Tonight, it felt like a gesture of trust, that Chakotay had let himself nod off while waiting for him. It wasn't much but it was something.

Tom may have dozed off himself, because Chakotay was touching his hair and face when he opened his eyes, what felt like a minute later.

"Hey, you," said Chakotay, nuzzling his hair.

"Hey, yourself."

They lay there for a while, Tom listening to the slow, steady beat of Chakotay's heart.

"Did you know you have a fan club?" he asked at last. "Harry and Seven think I should forgive you. Greg just laughs and says you're a good lay. And Kathryn � Kathryn's a captain. She thinks there's nothing to forgive."

"What, there's no vote from B'Elanna?"

"I can't really talk to her about you. In fact, we don't really talk at all, after the wedding that never was."

"I think that's partly why I was so mad," admitted Chakotay. "I was still hung up on you, and you were ready to marry her. Then, she turns you down and a week later you're drunk out of your mind, telling a planetful of aliens that you want my fist up your ass."

Chakotay curled his hand reflexively in his lap. They both glanced down at how thick it was, how wide.

"You really want this inside you, don't you? It wasn't just the booze talking."

Tom laughed at the hungry look in Chakotay's eyes. "Not half as much as you want it, I think."

"So, you've told me what the others say. I'm more interested in knowing what you think, Tom Paris."

"If I knew the answer to that question, we wouldn't have to be avoiding each other and doing location checks before we go anywhere."

"You do location checks to make sure I'm not around, before you go out?"

Chakotay sounded absurdly flattered. Tom elbowed him hard before resting his head back on Chakotay's chest.

"Yeah. I thought you did too."

"It never occurred to me."

"Oh fuck, I'm such a loser. You may as well shoot me now."

"I could start doing it too, if you like. Computer, what is the location of Tom Paris?"

"Tom Paris is in observation lounge four."

"And is he lying on a sofa?"

"Affirmative."

"Curled up in the arms of the luckiest man on Voyager?"

"Please restate the question."

"Don't be such a dick," said Tom.

"So, what are we gonna do?" asked Chakotay

"About?"

"The Anorans. Us. Life. The unfortunate lack of edible food in the mess hall."

"I think we should get Neelix more fully onto Tuvok's staff, overload him with security duties, and then hold auditions for a new cook."

"I see. Suggestion noted. What about the rest?"

Tom smiled into Chakotay's shirt, rubbing his head against it hard as if he could push his way through to the heart that lay beating beneath it.

"For the rest? I think we should lie here and watch the stars."

And they did, dozing quietly, engulfed by the rushing light and colors outside their ship as it hurtled towards the Alpha Quadrant at warp speed.

---

Tom finally made up his mind on the morning of the last day that Kathryn had given him. He'd had dinner with Harry and Greg the night before in their quarters. They were living together openly now, and Tom wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed the signs years ago. There was a print on Harry's wall that was obviously Greg's, and a holophoto of his kids, that Tom used to vaguely assume were some kind of family friends of the Kims'. Harry had that confident, relaxed air of the frequently fucked, and Greg looked on him with such doting fondness that a blind man could have seen it.

The dinner was a riot. Harry had prepared all Tom's favorites, including his special blend of tomato soup, and was obviously in a frenzy of frustration over Tom's indecision. He was bouncing like a demented basketball.

"I don't understand, I thought this was something you wanted," he said halfway through the soup.

Tom grinned at him and tried not to laugh at Greg's secret eye-roll.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Ayala," snapped Harry, obviously not deceived.

"Haza," said Tom, knowing that would make Harry even madder, "I'm not going to talk about sex while we're eating soup. Okay?"

Harry fumed and sulked, clattering the plates and almost dumping the bread in Tom's lap, while Ayala locked himself in the bathroom and seemed to be indulging in a fit of hysterical laughter, if the noises were anything to judge by.

"Greg's got that cough again," said Harry, gesturing to the bathroom with his head while loading Tom's plate with steak, baked potatoes, and salad. "I keep trying to get him to see the EMH about it but he won't. That man is so damned stubborn. Almost as stubborn as a certain pilot whose steak is so rare it's dripping, just the way he damn well likes it, though he doesn't deserve it."

Tom dug into the huge mound of food and thanked his stars for a friend like Harry.

Ayala rejoined them soon after, suitably straight-faced, and inquired politely after the latest flying sims. Harry ignored him for a while but then relented and served up an even bigger helping than the one he'd given Tom. For a blessed half hour, the only sounds were the crunching of salad greens and the clatter of glasses and cutlery. Tom enjoyed every bite and let their company carry him on a tide of good food and a full-bodied red wine.

Afterwards, they relaxed in the living area while Harry and Tom enthused about their latest Proton adventure, and Greg rubbed Harry's feet.

"You should've seen it, Greg," said Harry, eyes sparkling. "Chaotica had this army of nubile virgins, their pheromones knocking out the men left, right, and center, and there were me and Proton, carving our way through the troops, shouting, "Give us cock or give us death."

Ayala had another coughing fit, before yanking hard on Harry's ankles. "You'd better not have touched any of those virgins," he growled.

"We didn't, I swear. Oh. You probably just meant me, right?"

"Right," said Ayala, pressing a soft kiss on the sensitive skin of Harry's instep, making him giggle.

"I should go," said Tom, but he was heavy with food and wine and loneliness, and didn't really want to move.

Greg got up from the sofa and came over to his solitary chair. He held out his hand and helped Tom up, pulling him into a gentle hug. His arms were so strong but they were loose, not imprisoning him, just keeping him there if he wanted to be. Tom looked up at him curiously. Ayala was one of the few men on Voyager who was taller than him. Greg smiled and leaned over slowly, kissing Tom's lips with soft, gentle touches, as if he might break under the slightest pressure.

"Stay with us tonight," said Harry from behind him.

Another pair of arms came round them both. Tom would never have guessed that Harry's arms were big enough to encompass something like this.

"Stay with us," agreed Greg. "If you want to."

Tom let himself be pulled into the bedroom. He hesitated when he saw their bed, the family photos, the hundred little signs of intimacy.

"Chakotay and I used to do this for each other, when we needed a friend," whispered Greg in his ear, while Harry undid the fastenings on his pants. "He wouldn't mind. And you *do*, Tom. You need a friend, and you have two of them right here."

Tom said nothing, feeling Harry's lips and tongue on his ass, Greg's gentle fingers on his face. He was naked from the waist down, and raised his arms so that they could strip him of his shirt as well. When he was completely naked, Harry's face buried deep in his butt, he let himself kiss Greg back, tasting his mouth, rich with wine and steak and tenderness. He almost didn't notice when they lifted him on to the bed, lying him on his side in the middle, Greg in front of him, Harry behind. All he knew was Greg's beautiful face filling his whole horizon, and the tender rasp of a hot tongue between his ass cheeks.

And then Greg was kissing him again, dabbing his eyelids and nose with his lips, peppering the most gentle of kisses all over his face and throat. Harry was becoming more aggressive behind him, pushing his stiff tongue as far inside as he could and lapping with it, making Tom whimper with need. Ayala slid up a little in the bed, raising his arms and pulling Tom's face into his left pit, holding him there while he swabbed and tongued it. Tom wasn't allowed free till he'd bathed it an inch thick in saliva, and then he was guided firmly to Greg's chest, to suck and chew on his large, bronze nipples.

"Oh yeah," groaned Greg, rubbing his hard, thick cock against Tom's, mashing their dicks together while he pinned Tom's face to his chest.

Harry was groaning, blowing hot air up Tom's ass, before pushing in again with tongue and fingers.

Greg let Tom at his other arm now, burrowing his head frantically under it, desperate to taste and savage it with his mouth. Tom's moans were absorbed by hot skin and hair, the scent of a man in rut so strong it was like a hand on his cock. He pushed his weeping erection against Ayala's, feeling the hard, hot length of it on either side of his own smaller one, and delighting that he was responsible for this, for making Greg so hard he'd come soon.

Harry's hair whipped his ass with soft, stinging nips as he jammed his face between the cheeks and rubbed it all around, tirelessly fucking Tom with his tongue. The sensations were incredible, the knowledge that those hard wet lunges were from another man's tongue inside him, making his balls tight with need. He cried out, throwing his head back, when Harry pushed a stiff finger inside him, massaging his prostate with short, brutal jabs.

"Yeah, do it to him, Harry," moaned Ayala, fucking himself against Toms' cock, sliding faster and faster in the slippery mess that they were both leaking.

Suddenly, Harry jammed a second finger in and fucked him hard.

Tom screamed, his cock exploding with Greg's, feeling the beat of another man's come hitting his chest and belly. There were warm, wet pulses on his ass and he knew that Harry was coming too. It didn't stop Harry from stirring his fingers lazily inside Tom, making his cock jerk and dribble more fluid, white on Greg's bronze skin.

"That was great," said Harry, sounding happy, removing his fingers and then draping his arm over Tom's shoulder and chest. Greg smiled at Tom, holding his eyes while he lifted Harry's fingers and very deliberately sucked them clean.

"Any time, Tom, any time," he murmured, throwing his own arm over Tom and around Harry's back too, pulling them closer together.

"We're gonna stick together if we don't wash," objected Tom.

"Yes," laughed Greg, "we will. Go to sleep. We'll take care of it in the morning."

It was surprisingly easy to do what Greg had told him to, lulled into sleep by Harry's snores and a warm body on either side of him.

---

Buoyed by the company of his friends, who walked him to the bridge next morning, close on either side but not quite touching, Tom entered Janeway's ready room with his mind made up.

"Good morning, Captain, Chakotay," he said, nodding politely at them both.

"Good morning, Tom," said Janeway.

Chakotay didn't answer him but handed him coffee, which was even better.

He smiled gratefully at the commander. "I don't want to keep you in suspense so I should tell you that I've decided?"

"Tom," interrupted the captain. She had the weirdest look on her face, like she'd woken up as a man that morning and didn't know whether to laugh or cry about it. "It's no longer necessary for you and Chakotay to make a decision."

Oh. That was � unexpected.

"Why not?"

"Tuvok came to see me first thing this morning. His security scans have revealed that the transmission from the Anorans is a fake. It wasn't sent by them at all, but generated from on board this ship and then logged in such a way as to fool the sensors that it came from an external source."

Huh?

"But � are you sure? I don't understand this."

"Neither do I. But I intend to get to the bottom of it."

Tom exchanged a confused look with Chakotay. Now that he knew to look for it, he could sense the rage boiling under the bland mask of the commander's face.

The ready room doors slid open and Harry wandered in, stopping short at the sight of them all sitting there.

"Oh. Tom, you're still here. Um. Captain, you wanted to see me?"

"Yes indeed," said Janeway, grimly. "I was wondering if you had anything you wanted to tell me, Ensign?"

Harry's face went white but he stood his ground, body parade-stiff, hands behind his back.

"I did it for Tom," he said. "He didn't know. No one knew. There was nobody else involved, not even Gregor."

Chakotay twitched and Tom could see it reflected in his eyes, the desire to beat Harry into a bloody pulp for what he'd done.

"I see," said the captain. "You faked a transmission from a powerful alien race, demanding that two members of Voyager's crew perform a recorded sexual act, and threatening the use of force for non- compliance. No. Let me rephrase that. I don't see at all. Would you care to explain?"

Harry's face got even whiter at the captain's calm recitation of the facts. He licked his lips but carefully didn't look at Tom for help.

"I thought it was what Tom wanted."

There was a plea in Harry's voice that Tom didn't think was directed at the captain or Chakotay.

"I didn't know he'd be all funny about actually doing it. He talked to me for hours, pretending not to be hurting, till I wanted to pick up a phaser and kill the commander. And then, I thought, no � they're both bright men but too dumb to sort this out on their own. So I came up with a way to force them together, and to give Tom what he really wanted, knowing they'd sort it out if I could just get them *started*."

Janeway shook her head in astonishment. "What good could possibly ever come from forcing people?"

Harry hung his head at last, not looking at her.

"It worked for me and Greg," he mumbled. "If it hadn't been for the Kazon, we'd never have gotten together. I was so dumb and scared of what I was feeling, I was gonna stop seeing him when we got back to Voyager. I'd have done it, too, and he couldn't have stopped me."

Janeway's voice was gentle. "He would've found a way, Ensign, of that I'm sure. You're confined to the brig until further notice, while I decide how to deal with this incident."

"Captain," said Tom, "may I make a suggestion?"

"Certainly."

"Only a handful of people know about the transmission and what was in it. We all agreed to keep it that way. You can't lock Harry up in such a public way without questions being asked. I'd prefer that this never come out, if we can help it. Maybe you should confine Harry to his quarters instead?"

Janeway gave Tom the third degree with her best captain's stare, trying to determine whether he was really acting as injured party or as protective friend. He kept his expression as blank as possible and waited for her answer.

"Very well," she said at last. "We will keep this whole incident as invisible as we can. Computer, lock out the replicator and vid unit in the Ayala-Kim cabin from Ensign Kim's voice commands. Mr Kim, if I confine you to quarters, can I trust you to stay there without assigning a guard?"

Harry flushed an ugly red. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered.

"Very well. This isn't over, mister. Dismissed."

"I'll go with him, make sure he gets there in one piece," said Tom, smoothly.

Janeway's face relaxed for the first time since Harry had entered her ready room. "All right. You're relieved of your duty shift, Mr Paris. Escort the prisoner and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Correction, anything more stupid than the monumentally stupid thing he's just admitted to."

Chakotay rose to his feet with a smooth, feral grace. His hands were clenched but his voice was very neutral. "I'll come with you."

Tom cast a slightly panicked look at the captain, who, he was sure, didn't want to see Harry murdered by her first officer.

"Oh no. You already have time scheduled on the holodeck to make a vid, Commander. I suggest you use it. Obviously, you won't be making the one we'd originally intended. I have a new title in mind: `Ten Reasons Why Tom Paris Should Give Me The Time Of Day'. Why don't you go get started? You're dismissed."

Chakotay gave Harry a wide berth as he left the ready room, shoulders stiff with anger.

Janeway poured herself some coffee. She seemed to be ignoring the frozen tableau in front of her desk, Harry shooting pleading glances at Tom, who was steadfastly staring at her potted plants.

"Computer, what is the location of Commander Chakotay?"

"Commander Chakotay is in holodeck one."

Despite his mingled fury and amusement at the whole bizarre situation, Tom almost cracked up when he realized that the Chakotay location checks were spreading. Soon, they'd all be doing it. Harry certainly would be, until this latest storm blew over.

"You're dismissed. Oh, Mr Kim," said the captain nastily, "why don't you send Mr Ayala in on your way out."

Harry flushed again. "Yes, ma'am," he said meekly.

---

Harry's quarters looked as if they'd only just left them that morning, but Tom's mood on returning was very different. If he craned around far enough, he could see into the bedroom, with the bed still rumpled from where they'd pushed each other out of it only an hour or so before.

"I guess I'd better replicate whatever you need, before I go," said Tom. "That way, you can recycle Neelix's meals when he brings them."

Harry slumped on the sofa, head in his hands. "I'm really sorry, Tom. I know it was dumb. I just � I wanted you not to be so unhappy anymore."

"Harry, Harry, Harry," he said softly, sitting next to his friend. "You're a total dick, you realise that, right?"

Harry snorted. "No one would ever have seen it. The stuffy Anorans would have deleted it the minute they got it. You would have got what you wanted. You were willing to trick him, you know you were. You said you'd get him drunk."

"Harry, you never thought that would *work*, did you?"

Tom was so amused and exasperated that he didn't know whether to hit Harry or kiss it better.

"Greg's gonna be so mad," Harry mumbled, still holding his hands in front of his face.

As if on cue, the cabin doors slid open to admit a large, angry- looking security officer, who loomed threateningly at them over the sofa.

"Tom."

He could see the secret, unholy glee in Greg's eyes.

"I apologize to you on behalf of my insane husband."

"Husband?" squeaked Harry, peeking between his fingers.

"If you wouldn't mind leaving us, Tom. You may be interested to know that Captain Janeway has turned the handling of this incident over to me. I'm to have a free � hand � in administering punishment."

They all glanced at the hands concerned, which looked very big and powerful. Tom was willing to bet that Ayala would be the hardest spanker on the ship.

His lips twitched. "Sure thing, Greg."

Tom dropped a quick kiss on the top of Harry's head.

"You may be a dick, Harry, but you're *our* dick," was his parting shot.

He waited in the corridor outside the door until he heard a series of fading expostulations, followed by a sound like a crack of thunder and a loud yelp.

Laughing quietly to himself, and more turned on than he wanted to admit, Tom set out for the holodeck in search of Chakotay.

---

Chakotay wasn't making a vid when Tom found him. He was beaming away the last impacted dirt from their mosaic, finally revealing the full secrets of its pattern. Tom took his place opposite in silence, using his own de-gauzing tool, and they worked on it together for the first time in many weeks. They didn't speak, letting the concentration and slow, repetitive work drain the tension away, as if the mosaic could somehow earth their lightning.

"How's Harry?" asked Chakotay at last, pausing over a particularly tricky piece of work.

"Upset. But he'll get over it. Will you?"

"Oh, I'm gonna scare the shit out of him for weeks yet. But yeah, I'll get over it."

When the last molecule of dirt was gone, they stood looking down at it as if it were their own creation. Chakotay put his arm around Tom's shoulders, and Tom let him keep it there.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I could eat."

In the end, Chakotay replicated a picnic lunch for them, real food beamed into the holodeck from the replicator in his quarters. He spread a soft, woollen blanket on the dry grass and they stretched out on it, side by side, picking at sandwiches and salads, and little sweet confections that Tom guessed must be delicacies on Dorvan V. They drank fruit juice from fake goblets and looked out over the valley, kings of their own make-believe world.

Chakotay must have decided that Tom had snagged a better dessert, because he grabbed him by the shoulders suddenly and raided Tom's mouth with his own. They shared the soft, sweet berries, crushing them and licking the juice off each other's lips.

"I love you, Tom," he whispered in between stolen kisses. "I want to try � I don't know � something � with you."

"We're way past dating," smirked Tom, inserting a casual hand between Chakotay's legs to stroke his hardening cock.

"You wanna live with me?"

"Nah," said Tom, tugging Chakotay's pants over his hips with practised ease. "I wanna be the first officer's boyfriend for a while."

He clinched his argument by sucking Chakotay's fat cock between his lips and smothering it with his tongue and velvety heat.

"D'ya think we avoid our problems with sex?" gasped Chakotay, his hands getting in the way as he tried to help Tom strip off his pants.

"Yeah. Good, isn't it?"

Tom finally shucked his pants and his cock was free, bobbing in the air for only a second before Chakotay engulfed it in his unsubtle mouth and sucked it hard.

For a while, there was no sound on the hillside save the drone of insects and the loud slurp of two men feeding greedily at each other's groins. They took their time, savoring it, using their tongues and teeth to nibble the sensitive skin of thighs and balls. Their cocks were glistening with spit, kissed and licked to within an inch of orgasm, and then abandoned again, to make it last as long as they humanly could. Chakotay broke first, grabbing Tom's head with both hands and forcing his cock in deep, almost choking Tom with his massive explosion of come. Chakotay howled his pleasure around Tom's cock, the vibrations of it driving Tom to a molten climax, sucking the come out of him like a human vacuum.

They lay together, panting, Chakotay's head on Tom's thigh, his spent cock in Chakotay's hair.

"I guess this means we're going steady," said Tom, when he had enough breath to speak.

"I don't know where you get these sayings," protested Chakotay, giving Tom's thigh a sharp nip. "What the fuck does that mean? Going steady?"

"It means that we ignore seven years of history and incompatibility and do things like this."

"What, dig things up and have sex on the holodeck?"

"Yeah."

Tom waved his arm around to take in the hill, valley, and the very distant town.

"This may not be real," he said, "but I get that you are. Here. This is the real you, I think. The man who likes to explore ancient ruins and have picnics in the sun, and make love with me afterwards. That other Chakotay, the fighter and the cell leader, the paranoid man who doesn't trust anyone; you're only him when you have to be. This is who you *want* to be. I get that now. I'll take the other Chakotay if it means I get to have this one too."

"Okay," said Chakotay, shaking his head in bemusement but clearly willing to go along with things if it got him Tom.

"Janeway to Chakotay," came a voice from their com badges.

"Damn. Chakotay here."

"Commander, I need you on the bridge."

"Acknowledged. I'll be there in ten minutes."

Chakotay fussed with his uniform, and Tom helped him dress, smiling secretly at the streaks of drying come in Chakotay's hair. He liked the idea that he'd left his mark on the commander, and every last crewmember who saw him today was going to know that he was off limits, that he'd been claimed. Everyone had better learn damn fast that Commander Chakotay belonged to Tom Paris.

"You look fine," he said.

They paused for a moment by the mosaic, looking down at it together. Tom felt suddenly melancholy, thinking how fragile and unlikely its survival.

"What will happen to it now?" asked Tom.

"The authorities will crate it up and send it to the Federation's Roman Museum."

"I kinda wish we could keep it this way forever."

Chakotay looked at him carefully, as if sensing his change of mood. "We can save the program like this if you want to."

"No, it doesn't matter."

Chakotay seemed to hear what Tom was saying.

Nothing lasts.

"There are no guarantees but I'm not leaving you Tom. Not of my own free will, not unless I'm forced to by something that you and I and the whole of Voyager can't beat."

"I've never been to the Roman Museum," said Tom, trying to change the subject.

"I'll take you to see it when we get back to Earth."

"Our mosaic won't be there."

"No," said Chakotay quietly, "but *we* will be."

"Okay," said Tom, and he smiled.

---

The End