The BLTS Archive - Dusk Sixth in the Jack series by BratKatze (bratkatze@aol.com) --- Disclaimer: No infringement on the rights of Paramount is intended. I'm only playing with them for my own twisted amusement. Voyager and her crew do not belong to me, however much I wish they did. Sadly, I can only claim Jackson Feeney and the twisted little muse I call Edgar who spawned this and the series it belongs to. SERIES WARNING: Buckle up children it's going to be a bumpy ride. This story and the series it belongs to are not for the faint of heart. We are dealing with a relationship spiraling out of control into physical and sexual abuse and the steps along the way. Sometimes we walk blindly to our own destruction, sometimes we run, and sometimes we are led. It happens everyday to men, women, and children. For the lucky ones there may be a helping hand but for most there is only more darkness. All of the stories in this series will be rated NC-17 for mature themes, violence, consensual, and non-consensual m/m sex. If any of these bother you, stop now. I do not intended to treat these lightly but realistically, which means graphically. If the stories or the thread of the stories bothers you it probably should. This is make- believe world but art mirrors life and the darkness is out there. If you dance too close to the edge, sometimes you fall. Story notes. Dusk is not so much a prequel as a flashback in the Jack series. It would probably make more sense if you are somewhat familiar with the events of "In the Shadows", "Depths of Darkness", "Prism" , "Threads of Light" and "Eclipse". Intended originally for the CPSG anniversary it meant to answer the question of what Tom saw in Jack and why they reconnected after Tom and B'Elanna broke up. --- The sound of other peoples' laughter surrounded Tom Paris as he slipped quietly into Holodeck 2. Smiling with false cheer he made his way into the Resort intent on finding the deepest, darkest corner once he made his attendance known to the Captain. Amidst the merriment he felt like the proverbial black cloud and he had no desire to cast his shadows upon anyone else, for this moment was special. Voyager and her crew were, as they used to say, 'taking a breather' . The Z'Narsi region of space was peaceful, its inhabitants inquisitive but not hostile, and after the last few months any respite, however brief, was welcome. It was good to stand down, reconnect with one another again, and remember who they were and what they meant to each other. And no one needed that more that the Captain. She'd been tense and on edge of late, the burden of command weighing more heavily with each crisis, with each loss. It was good to see her smile, relax, lose the lines of tension at the corner of her eyes. Seeing her laugh again, made Tom realize Neelix had been right, a party was needed. Not just any party, but a tropical beach party set beneath a starlit sky with warm breezes scented by fragrant mimosa, and colored by the lights of dozens of Japanese lanterns strung between the overhanging palm trees. Almost the entire crew had donated replicator credits, and all off duty personnel were invited, or as in the case of Vorik and Seven, strongly encouraged to attend. The party would run for 36 hours; ample time for all shifts to attend, mingle, and reconnect. An endless supply of Terran crabs and Jorvallian boar were waiting along with Sangria, Synthenol, and Malic Ale. And marshmallows; that was Naomi's contribution. She'd donated all her saved rations so that all the crew could have toasted marshmallows. No one had had the heart to tell her that her credits weren't enough, so quietly, independently, and anonymously contributions were made to the marshmallow fund. Tom had donated the credits meant for a new carburetor and a little covert investigation on his part had revealed substantial donations made by Seven, Neelix, and of all people Chakotay. Who would have thought the big guy had a hidden passion for something as unsubstantial as a marshmallow. The beach was beautiful, but as he walked amidst the laughter and the revelry, Tom felt curiously detached, an observer, apart. He smiled, laughed, and flirted when directly addressed but for the most part he wandered, feeling aloof and unanchored, as though he had no business being here among the revelers. He also knew he was being watched, perhaps that was the source of his edginess? Ever since the breakup with B'Elanna eyes followed him, wary eyes, waiting to see what he would do. When he would crack. Ship's gossip had him broken, jilted, and grieving for a love stolen by his best friend. Nothing could be further from the truth. The breakup with B'Elanna had hurt but it was mutual. They were far too much alike, too insular, to give the other the strength and support needed. Passion had not been enough and for lack for sustenance the love between them had withered. The rumors were due mostly to Megan Delanny and had less to do he knew, with friendship for him than with a hatred of B'Elanna. Not wanting to listen to the latest B'Elanna bash from Stellar Cartography and tired of being on the defensive Tom snagged a drink and took shelter behind a crop of the trees. Hidden by the shadows he could watch the sea, the crowd, and the couples dancing, without being seen, judged, or pitied. For once he just wanted to watch, without being studied himself, without having to guard his feelings or school expressions. He wanted only to relax and, if but for a moment, allow himself just to feel. About a dozen couples swayed on the beach in a variety of patterns and rhythms to the small string ensemble Neelix had extracted from an old data program. The Captain and Chakotay, by far the most graceful and elegant, waltzed near the center of the group. They were barefoot in the sand and the Captain in her floral print wrap-around seemed oddly vulnerable in the Commander's arms. Even in light cotton pants and a dark casual shirt Chakotay commanded attention. He held the Captain close, one arm circling her back and smiling down at her. Even from the distance, Tom could see the light in his eyes as he gazed down, the smile on the handsome face beautiful, speaking volumes about his feeling for the woman in his arms. Poor Chakotay, he too was destined for heartache for no matter what she felt for her first officer, Tom knew Voyager would always come first with the Captain. Command is a bed meant for one. Harry was dancing with B'Elanna and he was leading. It wasn't a waltz or any other step Tom recognized, it was more their own unique movement. They danced a little apart from the others as if recent events made them unwelcome within the larger group. It was amazing how much Harry had matured. The last few weeks had only served to prove he was no longer the callow ensign Tom had befriended on DS9. Harry Kim was a man. A strong man, a good man who'd come into his own. He was no longer shy and uncertain but mature and confident. He no longer needed Tom's guidance. Truth be told Tom felt he could use Harry's good sense and guidance. When the swirl of innuendoes and accusations billowed through Voyager, Harry stood apart. Tom affected detachment but for Harry it was real. Harry knew the truth, Tom and B'Elanna knew the truth, as did those who mattered: the Captain, Chakotay, Tuvok; anyone else to Harry was irrelevant. Harry had made his choice, there was no going back only forward. Tom's eyes drifted from the dancers to the groups by the refreshment tables. Seven was talking quietly with the Doctor while Neelix entertained Naomi Wildman and her mother. Megan and Jenny were indulging in their new favorite past time, teasing Vorik and the beach was filled with light and laughter. He could have gone over and joined any of the happy groups but his laughter would be a lie. It was just like those first months on Voyager only worse. These people were no longer strangers, they knew him, expected things of him and for him. Each and everyone had him pegged in a little hole, had expectations of him, opinions of how he should act and react and how he should be treated. When he first came aboard it didn't matter. He was Tom Paris, ex-con, traitor, liar. He was alone but alone was good. He had only himself to care for, only his own feelings to protect; he could be strong. But now everyone had piece of his soul and the demand was breaking him apart. He was too many things to too many people: trusted pilot, betrayed lover, cad, flippant hotshot, a fool, a martyr; he'd lost sight of who he was and what he felt. It all swirled around him in an unending cacophony that haunted him even as he slept. All he wanted was to hide, find some peace, some quiet, and just for a few hours to forget Tom Paris existed. In the old days he would have drunk himself into a stupor but he didn't have enough credits for the amount he needed, or the time. Even now his sanctuary was about to be defiled. Poor Tom Paris had been spotted alone watching the dancers and Neelix was advancing on his position, a too bright smile on the Talaxian face and a shy, pretty ensign in tow. Desperate, Tom fled from the cover of the trees and hurried straight for the door not caring what anyone thought. He couldn't breathe, he needed space, oblivion. His shift didn't start for nine hours, so the Conn was out of the question. He couldn't face a night alone his quarters and all the other holodecks were powered down for the party. But there was one place he might turn. One person to whom none of this mattered. Who didn't care about Tom Paris or his problems, who had no expectations of him. Someone who would take complete control, allowing Tom, however briefly, to disappear even from himself. Relaxing for the first time in days, Tom went back to his quarters to prepare. The mere thought of complete surrender made him ache as the pressures seem to fall away. By the time he was changed and ready, his hands were shaking with anticipation. It was a costly, perhaps foolish, peace he'd be purchasing but he didn't care. All Tom had to do was find his quarry and make him interested tonight what he was offering. --- Jackson Feeney was not hard to find. He was one of the few crewman who had chosen not to participate in the in the party, preferring his own brand of entertainment and relaxation. As usual, when off duty he could be found on one of the lower decks indulging in some activity he prosecuted as a Security Chief. Tonight, Tom noted it was gambling, poker precisely. A high stake marathon wagered with purloined credits and illegal goods transported from various planets without the Captain or Tuvok's knowledge. Most of the players were Feeney's cronies and mostly career Fleeters, hard cases who served too many deep space missions and knew how to get things done without official knowledge or sanction. Voyager to them was a dead end, a 70 year life sentence ordained by Janeway. They had no interest in science or exploration, only in power and advancement, both avenues of which were closed when the Array was destroyed and Maquis came aboard. If a way home were not found soon, Tom knew the Captain's command would face a serious threat from this unsuspected quarter. She'd had five years to get them home. Any time now was borrowed. Occasionally there'd be a new face in this group, some innocent swayed by the talk and bravado who believed that a few purloined goodies and ill-placed attitude put him in the ranks of these men. Most of the new faces were Fleeters, still wet behind the ears when Voyager shipped out and seeking excitement to take the edge off the numbness of routine. The former Maquis were mostly smart enough to stay away. The new faces never lasted long, some still haunted the corridors, others never returned from away missions, innocence learned true fear. But Tom was no innocent and no fool. He understood the measure of these men, knew what they were capable of. He'd been with their brothers in prison and in the year after Caldik Prime. He too, had taught a few fools some brutal lessons. He'd grown soft and relaxed under Janeway's command but that didn't mean he couldn't handle it, that he still didn't belong in some way to this brethren. Tom leaned for a moment in the doorway of the smoky room and watched them. The detectors had been taken off-line, doubtless for 'maintenance' and so the room was filled with an acrid smoke and the smell of sweat and stale drink. Feeney had amassed a fairly substantial pile. He was a good player and an excellent cheat, but Tom knew he never cheated here. Here the games were played straight, as those who cheated too often finished their evening in sickbay. No, Feeney's only advantages were his native intelligence, cunning, and audacity, the qualities that first drew Tom to him. Perhaps not drew, that first encounter had been wholly on Feeney's terms. But the sheer brazenness of Jack had kept Tom from filing a report on the incident and prompted him to seek out the Security Chief. Oddly it was Jack's complete disregard for any one other than himself that kept Tom coming back, on and off over the course of the voyage. Lately more off than on but Jack didn't seem to mind. He always seemed more than willing to fuck when Tom came looking for him. --- From the corner of his eye Feeney noticed Paris in the doorway. The slut was back. Neat, clean, his clothes carefully pressed Paris was the antithesis of the players in the room. With his blue eyes hooded, Paris watched them all with a superior stare, lips curled ever so slightly as though finding them wanting. As though he were better than them, more worthy, simply due to the privileges of birth and pips on his collar. It was all Jack could do not to wipe that smirk from him as he stood there. Who was Paris to think himself superior? After all, Jack knew why he was here. Paris needed a real man to fuck him, not one of the sensitive prime directive types Janeway was so fond of promoting. Whenever it seemed the Captain's golden boy got bored he came trolling to the lower deck offering his ass like it was some great prize. But once he got what he needed, he disappeared to the upper decks and resumed kissing Janeway's ass like the rest of the lapdogs on the Senior staff. Well not anymore. Jack wasn't going to allow Paris to play him for a fool. If Paris wanted to fuck, then they would fuck until he Jack said it was over, on his terms and when he wanted it, just like that first time. No more passing in the hallway with no acknowledgment as though he were beneath Paris' notice. Stupidly Jack had allowed Paris' rank and attitude to determine the timing of their encounters, though Jack controlled the actual sex. No more. Obviously he had what Paris wanted, and if the Lieutenant needed it that bad then he'd just have to learn who was in charge. It was all Jack could do to concentrate on his hand, all he wanted was to drive Paris into the bulk head and fuck him till those smug, superior lips were broken and bleeding calling his cock master. But Paris only stood there, watching, his elegant presence implying judgment against them all. "Shit. I fold." His concentration failing under the weight of Paris' steady stare Jack threw his cards down and pushed away from the table. Without glancing at the players, he strode to the doorway. Paris hadn't moved, still leaning there, lips parted slightly, arms crossed in front of him. Only blue eyes moved, sliding down to rest on the growing bulge of Feeney's erection. Jack followed the Paris' gaze and smiled. Oh yes, he had every intention of giving Paris exactly what he wanted and then some. He stopped before Paris, deliberately invading the man's personal space, pressing into him. Trapping Paris between him and the wall, Jack lean forward, his breath brushing against Tom's lips. "You're damn well getting some of this Paris," he whispered pressing forward. "That," Jack turned to look disgustedly at the table, "was a winning hand." Clamping a vise-like grip on Paris' arm Jack pulled with him from the room. Feeney retained his grip on Tom's arm as he stalked down the corridor, releasing him only as they entered the lift. Neither man spoke. There was after all, nothing to say. They had nothing in common, it was only their bodies that spoke a mutual language of need. Tom followed Jack through the corridors to his cabin. They passed no one. All the crew were either at the party or on shift, which was fortunate. Feeney was hard as rock and Tom was not too far behind, anyone passing them would have known their intent by just a glance. For the first time that day Tom felt alive. Sex with Jack always had an edge and it was in that edge Tom lost himself. It was like flying on the ridge of ion storm, completely out of control and running on instinct. He thought he would scream in the seconds it took Jack to key in the codes. Once inside Jack pushed Tom against the bulkhead then trapped him there with his body. Tom relaxed under the weight, allowing Jack to claim his mouth. Jack smelled and tasted of sweat, stale alcohol, and smoke. Jack was a brutal but effective kisser, his tongue overpowering Tom's as it snaked deep inside Tom's mouth. Pinning Paris with his mouth, Jack moved his hands to Paris' clothes, tearing at the shirt, reaching into his pants. He wanted Paris nude, his. He wanted that body open for him, defenseless, his to dominate. Paris moved beneath him hands moving to undo his own pants. Jack stopped him, wanting control, needing it. Pulling his utility knife from his pocket he pushed Paris' hands away and began cutting at the tailored trousers. Paris twisted, moving his mouth from Jack's "Jack, No. I need those . . ." the rest of the sentence was lost as Jack backhanded the Paris. Momentarily stunned Paris blinked blindly and Jack resumed tearing at the fine cloth. It ripped easily and in minutes lay mostly shredded about Paris feet. Only the waistband with a few odd strips here and there remained and Jack found the sight disturbingly erotic. Nude from waist down, dazed with a bruise forming about his lips and his shirt torn Paris looked damn fuckable, the remains of tattered cloth serving notice that he was there to be used. Tossing the knife aside Jack grasped Paris turning him roughly into the wall. Ripping the tangled cloth at Paris's feet he spread the long lean legs and positioning himself opened his own trousers. He was ready, more than ready. Reaching down his fingers pried the golden skin apart and inserted a finger. As expected Paris had prepared himself. Jack felt oddly disappointed. Replacing his finger with the tip of his aching cock Jack began pressing in. Dazed and still confused by the blow Tom allowed Jack to press him into the bulkhead. Despite the firm hands moving over him, his erection seemed to have fallen with his shredded trousers. Before he could voice a protest he felt Jack's finger, then Jack pressing into him, pushing his thick heavy cock relentlessly inward. Not the longest cock Tom had ever taken but certainly one of the thickest. Tom always felt impaled and helpless during their sex and sore and raw afterward. With Jack he could never distance his mind from action. Every minute Jack was inside him Tom knew he was being thoroughly fucked. Cautiously Tom bent his knees to ease the pain of penetration. He could feel Jack's large hands moving over him, from around hips forward to his stomach then down, splaying over him utill they covered and grasped at his own sex. The large thick fingers cupped his balls and circled his cock, squeezing. He cried out against the pain bucking hard against Jack, driving the cock in deep. He nearly screamed from the pain but Jack grunted and held him firm. Jack's hands stilled but did not release. Jack was in deep, so very deep, Tom couldn't move, couldn't adjust trembling legs to ease the pain. After a moment Tom felt Jack's hips move back as the other man began his thrusts. Jack leaned his upper body forward, pressing into Tom, steadying himself and finding his rhythm. After a moment the hands tightened again, less so but enough. Again Tom cried out bucking into an inward thrust. Legs weakening, pinned against the bulkhead Tom found no escape as he twisted and bucked uselessly against Jack's body. Together they moved as one. With each thrust the hands pulled at him, forcing to Tom to fuck himself on Jack's cock. He was completely under Jack's control, all his world reduced to the hands holding him, hurting him, the heavy breath on his neck and the hot cock now ripping hard and fast into him. It was all was Jack. Jack set the rhythm, the pace. Tom could only surrender to the demands. With surrender came freedom. He began to harden under those hands, his body finding pleasure in the rhythm and pain of possession. The harder Tom grew, the tighter Jack held and the harder he thrust, till Tom was writhing against Jack with wild abandon, cries of pain and passion coming raw from his throat. Faster and more violently they moved. Pain became pleasure and Tom's whole universe reduced to the feel of that cock and those hands holding him. He was lost, there was nothing else, no Voyager, no Starfleet, no decisions, no what-ifs. Tom Paris fell away, he was free, merely a body writhing with the pleasurable pain of possession. The pain bringing him to edge and sending him over even as Jack bellowed and drove him hard into the wall. For a moment they rested panting against the bulkhead, their bodies trembling, before sinking to the floor to lie there. Entwined, breathless and exhausted. Jack had fallen mostly over Tom, the weight and warmth of his stocky body a contrast to the sheen of sweat cooling Tom's skin. Jack's cock had slipped from Tom's body. Tom could feel it softening near the top of his thigh, still warm and wet. A trail of semen and probably blood, moist and sticky ran between his legs. Satisfied, Tom shifted beneath Jack and closed his eyes. Jack's movement woke Tom. They must have dozed there on the floor for sometime. Tom's right hand, which had been pressed against the carpet was thoroughly numb, and his body, despite Jack's heat was cold. Feeling him shiver Jack's arms tightened around him, pulling Tom close. "When's your next shift?" Jack's breath was warm against his ear. Tom thought a moment before responding, "Alpha, 0800 hours." Jack grunted, shifted away and moved to stand. Tom supposed he might be on Beta this rotation. As he moved to unbutton the shirt he still wore Jack barked "Computer, current time." "The current time is 0100 hours." As always, no matter how addressed, the voice was polite and prompt. "Computer set alarm for 0700." Shivering slightly, Tom watched Jack move about the cabin, tossing away his shirt and kicking away at the tangled pants that had slipped about his legs. Tom's own clothes were a shredded mess. He didn't remember quite how that happened. His shirt was half torn and his trousers reduced to a waistband and some odd scraps, certainly not regulation for returning through the corridors to his cabin. It also explained why he was so chilled. Feeling ridiculous he removed the remains of his shirt and undid the button at the waistband and cast about for something wrap around himself. Jack watched for a moment then disappeared into his bedroom. Tom heard the whirl of the replicator and then Jack was returning. If Tom had hoped for a blanket or robe he was disappointed. All Jack's hands held were a bottle of whiskey and a strip of what looked to be leather. Jack paused, watching Tom; his eyes sliding over Tom's body came to rest not on Tom's face but at his thighs and hips eyeing the marks of his possession. As he watched, Jack's cock began to twitch and harden and Tom felt himself responding. Eyes still on Tom, Jack opened one-handed the bottle and raising it to his lips pulled a long swallow. Grunting, he passed it to Tom. The whiskey burned at Tom's throat but took the edge off the cold in the room. Tom took a second swallow before passing the bottle back to Jack, who placed it on a small table. Absently stroking his cock Jack moved to stand at Tom's feet. Jack was ready. Tom could see that. The thick cock was nearly erect, jutting defiantly from the heavy mat of dark hair that surrounded it. Naked, Jack was an impressive sight, all hardness and brute strength. Jack moved to kneel. Tom held up a hand to stop him. "Jack, the floor's pretty hard, how 'bout we try the bed this time?" Jack regarded Tom a moment, his eyes lingering about Tom's thighs and ass. Shaking his head he muttered "you're too filthy" and moved quickly over Tom, and lowering his body to lay full on him. Resigning himself to being fucked on the floor Tom shifted, allowing Jack to cover him and for a moment they lay still. Jack's warm and heavy weight pressing into Tom. Tom relaxed, reveling in the feel of the powerful body over his, hiding him with its strength, coarse hairs rubbing at his crotch, belly, and chest. Then slowly Jack's hands moved up Tom's arms drawing them above his head. Imprisoning Tom's wrists with one hand he tied them together with the scrap of leather then looped the cord around the table leg. Tom tensed a moment. This was new. He tested the bond-not tight, if he truly wished to he could slip from the tie easily. Relaxing, he parted his legs and arched up against Jack. Jack's hand slipped beneath him and slid down his back stopping just above his hips. For a moment they lay still together, then Jack rose to his knees drawing Tom's hips up with him. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed forward pushing his cock into Tom. For a moment there was pain. Obviously there'd been some tearing during their earlier frenzy. Tom shifted, trying to relax his body to fit Jack. Jack paused, waiting, then jerked forward. Tom bit back a scream as his body arched upwards. Jack's hands held firm as Tom's body shook around him, his muscles quivering and clenching against the intruder. Jack watched as Paris writhed beneath him. Never had he wanted the Lieutenant more. Trembling and helpless Paris' body was a beauty to behold, all his now to fuck at pleasure. The long arms were drawn over his head, bound at the wrist to the table. At Jack's initial thrust Paris' long fingers had wrapped themselves in the leather, more effectively restraining Tom than Jack's loose tie. The lean body gracefully arched, stretched taut and trembling, lifted by Jack's grip on his hips and pinned by the cock impaling his body. The lean thighs pressed against Jack's hips, quivering, the fine golden hairs caressing, a sharp contrast against Jack's darker skin. For a moment Jack paused, reveling in his power, waiting for the pain to abate so that he had Tom's full attention. When he was sure he had it, he began to move. This time it was slow. Jack would take his time, savoring this fuck. He kept his movements deliberate, measured; his upper body immobile as he thrust firmly from the waist, buttocks clenching and unclenching as they rose and fell between trembling legs. His hands held Paris still, adjusting him as needed, their grip hard and bruising. With his arms bound above him there was little Tom could do either to speed things along or ease his discomfort. It was not the first time Jack had used him completely like this. These times were all about Jack. Tom rarely if ever finished during these sessions, this was more about dominance than sex. Jack had lost control earlier and now needed to reestablish it not to Tom but to himself. Hence the complete lack of touch, or attention to Tom's needs. If he wanted for any further release this night Tom knew he had to allow Jack this, else their evening was over. Biting his lips as each thrust was dispassionately pumped into his body, he let Jack use him. Even as he neared completion Jack held his measured pace, prolonging the act and denying himself a quick release. Sweating and grunting with the effort of pacing each thrust he tightened his grip on Paris pressing his fingers painfully in. Tom groaned. Jack stilled. Waited, then moved again. He would not let Paris enjoy this, not let Paris take what he, Jack, did not intend to give. The Lieutenant needed to be reminded of his place. Twice Jack stopped as he neared orgasm, only to resume, proving himself the master both of his and Paris' bodies. He used Paris till both of them were raw. Pumping until each thrust was echoed in the protesting muscles of his thighs and the Lieutenant's breath, drawn in quick harsh gasps, matched the rhythm of those thrusts. Fresh blood began to coat his aching cock, staining the places where their bodies met. Still, he held back until Paris' body surrendered completely to him, the tense muscles yielding about him, drawing him deeper and deeper until he couldn't hold against the pressure and his control gave out. With a satisfied groan Jack released himself into the body he held, the unconscious spasms of Paris' body milking his cock till it hurt. Withdrawing, Jack gave into exhaustion and collapsed, sprawling a dead weight over Paris. Hurt and exhausted Tom lay there trapped by Jack's weight. Jack's head was at his neck and the shorter man's bulk trapped his body. His inner thighs and ass were a warm sticky mess of semen and probably blood. He smelled it in the air and tasted it where he'd bit his lips to keep from screaming. His blood and Jack's semen. Oddly the sensation between his legs was erotic, and despite the pain and discomfort Tom's cock stirred against the unconscious form on him. Unfortunately it looked as if Jack was out for the count or at least several hours. Sighing, Tom shifted but Jack only mumbled and settled more firmly. Resigning himself to frustration Tom closed his eyes and accepting whatever warmth Jack's body provided, pushed away the pain to fall into exhausted, dreamless sleep. He awoke to the sound of a regenerator running and Jack's hands on him. "Good morning sleepy." Jack smiled, almost pleasantly. Tom stirred, trying to rise but raw agony stopped him. "Easy there, fly boy. I'm not finished yet. We got a little wild last night." Dizzy for an instant, Tom lay down allowing Jack to pass the regenerator back and forth between his thighs and over his ass. "Guess we over did things a bit," he offered. "Yeah, your clothes and my carpet are a mess." "Sorry." "Don't worry, we can make it up." Jack stopped the regenerator and leaned forward claiming Tom's mouth with his own. The kiss was hard, possessive, demanding. Tom surrendered to it. Chiding mockingly, Jack nipped at Tom's lips. "I guess someone didn't get enough last night." "We fell asleep." Tom wasn't stupid, he knew enough not to say 'you'. Jack smiled again, this time it reached his eyes. "No, I feel asleep," he emphasized. "Sorry about that baby, but I'll make it up to you tonight, promise. You won't have any complaints. Be waiting for me when I get off shift and I'll do you all night long. What do you say Tom?" "I dunno Jack, I should . . ." Tom's protests died as Jack's mouth descended once again and the large hands began moving over him. Dimly he was aware he was still nude and Jack dressed. He'd also been untied. Obviously Jack had been awake for some time. Vaguely he wondered at the hour. "Come on Tom, what do you say?" Jack murmured into his mouth, "You and me, all night I promise. We'll fuck on the bed till we can't move anymore." Tom groaned into Jack's mouth. Jack's hand was on his cock, pulling on him, making him want more. He couldn't think straight. He shouldn't get involve with Jack again. Last night was a one shot deal. But it felt so good to have Jack's hands on him, touching him. Despite the pain Jack made his body feel things no one else did. With Jack there was only the here and now- no yesterdays and more importantly no tomorrows. He arched into Jack's hands needing release. The hands stilled. "Sorry, Tom you're on duty in 45 minutes." "Damn you Jack," Tom murmured without venom. "I probably am. Tonight?" It probably wasn't a good idea but unless he wanted to spend another night alone in his cabin or dodging Neelix at the resort, he didn't see any better offers coming his way. Besides an evening of body slamming sex might be the cure for his general apathy. "Yeah Jack, I'll be here." Jackson Feeney lowered his head to hide the triumph he knew would be in eyes. For Paris this was their usual one shot deal, but Jack had other plans. He wanted Paris in his bed for the long term and he wanted all the ship to know about it. The others were nothing compared to Paris, both in rank and body. He'd already drawn Paris into his web, all he had to do was keep him there till the threads were too strong to break. Lowering his mouth to the base of Tom's neck, Jack began suckling, marking for the first time his most prized possession. --- The End