by Emily Gifford
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Disclaimer: If Paramount did this, I wouldn't have to. So there. If you're under 18, cease and desist. Why, when I was your age there was no Internet, and if we wanted smutty stories about Star Trek(tm) characters, we had to make our own. And none of your fancy-pants "Next Generation," "DS9" or "Voyager" shows, either. We were lucky to have UHF reruns of TOS, we were. I remember back when K/S was the only slash there was, ayup. And Mary Sue wasn't a joke, she was the only game in town, dagnabbit.

I apologize for that sudden burst of old-timerism. It's on a lovely winter's day like this that a person really starts to feel old.

WARNING: This story has implied non-consensual torture, but no graphic descriptions thereof.

Please send along any comments or constructive criticism you may have. This is my first attempt at hurt/comfort; for that matter, I've only been writing serious (not parody) porn since Wednesday night.

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When the transporter beamed the three injured crew members directly to Sickbay, Kes and the Doctor had time for nothing but immediate triage and patch-up jobs. Except for the Doctor's Personal Medical History program taking the patients' unique needs into account, no one in Sickbay even paid attention to who the individual crew members were. It was only after they'd settled two of the crew in bunks and slapped the third in stasis that Kes realized that Chakotay, Kim, and Paris were now in their care.

The situation was serious. The three had been on Lamieri Prime, exchanging their piloting expertise for some fresh fruit and vegetable stores when a terrorist group, unhappy with the Lamieri Prime world government, had seized the occasion of the aliens' visit to stage a protest rally. The government, as it turned out, was far more ruthless in dealing demonstrators than their propaganda would have had anyone realize. An overeager, desperately ambitious Security Minister had immediately arrested the visiting crew members, convinced they were part of an elaborate underground plot. Forty-eight hours of tense negotiations between _Voyager_ and the Lamieri government had eventually resulted in the release of Paris, Kim, and Chakotay.

During the two days of their capture, however, Minister Glossum had worked them over, seeking vital information through invasive drugs, mind probes, and even physical torture. It had been cold comfort to Janeway indeed when the Lamieri Council, claiming Glossum had acted without their approval or even knowledge, and had summarily executed the Minister in front of his three most recent victims. Janeway just wanted her crew back; as soon as they were aboard, Janeway had given the order to put as much distance between _Voyager_ and the Lamieri system as was possible.

As soon as they were sure their patients were stabilized, Kes and the Doctor had taken a moment to discuss their condition with Janeway. The Doctor had reassured the Captain that the damage, while serious, was not permanent. "I can repair their bodies," he assured her, "but this is also a time when an Emergency Holographic Ship's Counselor would be a handy thing indeed. As it is, I don't want them back on duty for quite some time."

Chakotay had borne the brunt of Glossum's frustrated attempts to secure information. He was in stasis for three days while the Doctor regenerated the ring finger of his left hand, his right nipple, and prepared several skin grafts for the rest of his body. Kim and Paris, who had fewer injuries to begin with and younger bodies, fared much better, leaving sickbay after less than forty-eight hours. It was an indication, however, of just how much they had been through when neither demurred at the Doctor's insisting that neither return to duty for at least a week.

Both Kes and the Doctor asked the two men to talk about their experiences on Lamieri, but neither would. The Doctor noted in his medical log that both Paris and Kim were "withdrawn almost to the point of sullenness, suffering from periodic, though not life- threatening, bouts of confusion and disorientation, which should decrease over the next two days." The Doctor also noted that the patients had been cooperative, though not voluble, in describing their experiences to assist medical personnel in treating their injuries.

Paris and Kim followed almost the same path once they left Sickbay: each went to his quarters, took a long hot bath, ate heartily, and slept for twelve hours. Though in separate cabins, each knew when the other awoke. Without forethought, they met in Sandrine's, both wearing blue jeans and sweatshirts.

It was mid-morning, ship's time, and Sandrine's was populated solely by holo-patrons. Paris and Kim ordered two beers, then Kim spoke for both of them, "Computer, delete patrons." The computer obliged, and Sandrine's was deserted, morning light pouring across the pool table. Kim looked at Paris. "It just didn't seem right, all those. . . atmosphere people."

Paris nodded. "Even Sandrine's is a little. . . surreal after Lamieri."

Kim again addressed the computer. "Program Kim Three." Immediately, Sandrine's was gone, and Kim and Paris were standing on a broad, deserted beach, a high cliff-face behind them, a boundless ocean before them. Paris and Kim stood in silence for several moments, then dropped to the sand. Paris took a long pull from his beer before speaking.

"Which one is it?" he asked, waving his bottle vaguely toward the ocean.

Harry drank before answering. "Pacific," he said. Then, for lack of anything better to do, he added, "I'm surprised you don't recognize it; it's the central California Coast, a stretch between San Luis Obispo and Monterey. The old Coast Highway used run along back there." He indicated the cliff-face behind them. "I can change it if you like."

"No. It. . . works. Almost like you read my mind." Though the words were innocuous, Harry caught the sting of accusation under them. For two days, their minds had not been their own to command, and regaining their individuality was tricky.

"Well," Harry placated, though hurt by the implied accusation, "I guess, when two people go through identical experiences, they need the same things, the same settings to recuperate."

"Hmmm," said Paris. "Are people really that much alike? Were our experiences really identical? We were in separate rooms, maybe even separate prisons. At the time, I thought no one could be suffering as I was, but something happened to you, and whatever they did to Chakotay was worse."

Harry spoke with difficulty. "There was a. . . woman. Glossum's assistant, they called her. She had long red hair and the coldest eyes. . ."

"Yeah," said Paris. "I guess we must have been in the same prison after all."

Harry paid no attention to Tom's comment. "Her eyes were cold, but. . . I got the feeling that she really enjoyed what she was doing to me. She liked having me in her power, liked making me hurt. . ."

"Yeah," repeated Paris, barking out a joyless laugh. "That was the bitch, all right."

"How could she, Tom?" Harry turned to his friend. "How could anyone enjoy. . ."

Paris released another bark of laughter. "Haven't you ever played a little slap and tickle with some willing woman?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Yes, but willing. And usually more tickle than slap. But this woman. . . she was a monster. I can't imagine putting anyone through all of that, let alone enjoying it. . ." Harry's voice trailed off in a shudder.

Paris drank some more and thought about it. Although Harry was a lot less innocent than most people gave him credit for, he was still naive about some things, always ready to believe the best about sentient beings first, the worst only when it happened.

"Some people. . . some beings. . . are like that. Who knows if it's even really sexual? I guess the first time something like this happens is always the worst."

Harry stared at Paris. "You mean. . . you've. . . before?"

Paris shrugged, trying not to show how deeply he felt the remembered pain. "Prison is prison, even in the enlightened 24th."

Harry thought about this for a moment. "How do you learn to live with it?"

"You don't," said Paris brutally. "You just keep living, and one day you notice that you didn't have nightmares the night before. One day you realize that you're not surprised to hear yourself laugh anymore. That's when you realize that you can go on." Paris stood up, dropping his bottle unheeded to the ground. Beer fizzed out, immediately soaking into the sand. "God, this is one depressing conversation," Paris said, and ran for the water.

Harry continued to sit for a moment, watching Paris run into the waves. Paris ran with grace and strength; Harry was amazed at the body and the technology which, working together, had healed him this quickly. As Paris dove into the swells, though, Harry remembered what Paris had said last. "Tom!" he shouted in alarm. "TOM!" Harry jumped up and ran after his friend.

The water was cold, icy even. Paris welcomed its sting, though; he felt that only such harsh strength could wash him clean again. He could taste the salt and brine of the ocean; the holodeck's waves battered him with all the force of a real ocean.

Then suddenly he felt a different force. Harry was pulling him back toward shore, dragging him out of the ocean's reach to the safety of the beach. They both coughed and sputtered and collapsed at their sudden land weight.

"What'd you do that for?" Tom gasped.

Harry coughed. "I thought you were. . ."

"You thought I was going to .. . "

"Come on, Harry, I'm a survivor. Even if I weren't, the holodeck has monitoring systems and safety controls."

Harry was blushing. "I know. I just wasn't thinking, that's all."

Paris felt something hard and cold in him melt. He reached out to brush the back of his hand along Harry's smooth cheek. "Harry, you're not just a survivor; you're a one-man rescue team for the jaded and sick of it all."

Harry looked shyly up at Tom. "Even now?"

"Even now," Tom agreed, and gently but deliberately, brushed the tips of his fingers across Harry's lips.

---

"Captain, I appreciate that you want to talk to Cmdr. Chakotay, but I must insist that you be brief. Although he's awake and well on the mend, he still needs to conserve his strength."

"I'll be gentle, Doctor," Janeway assured the EMH as she strode to Chakotay's bedside. Her manner softened considerable as she looked down on her first officer. "How are you, Chakotay?"

"Improving, Captain," he assured her. "I'm even being sprung from here this afternoon. But the Doctor tells me it will be a few days before I'm ready for duty again."

"Take as much time as you like. . . that is, as you need. Do you have plans? Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No, thank you, Captain. Once I'm out of here, I plan to do some healing rituals in my quarters, but I already have everything I need for that."

"Maybe I can stop by later this evening. To make sure you eat all your supper!" Janeway had to force lightness in her voice.

"I'd like that." Chakotay's gentle response was her undoing.

"Oh, Chakotay, I feel so guilty. I should never have permitted this to have happened. It isn't even as though we were even that low on supplies. . ."

"Captain, please, don't. It wasn't your fault. We all know that we have to replenish our stocks whenever and however the opportunity arises. You couldn't have known what would happen."

"Still, it is my duty to know what will happen!"

Chakotay had no response for that kind of logic. Fortunately, the Doctor intervened. "You really should allow the Commander to rest, Captain. Until seventeen hundred, he is Sickbay's responsibility."

"Agreed," Janeway said, and prepared to leave.

"Don't forget dinner," Chakotay reminded her. "Nineteen hundred."

---

Harry was stunned by Tom's gentle action, but even more stunned by the immediacy of his response to it. Without thinking, he turned his mouth, opening it to touch his tongue to Tom's palm. He wondered how it could be that his friend's gentle touch could reach him so quickly after he had undergone hours of brutal torture. Yet he felt Tom's simple gesture throughout body and soul, touching places Glossum and his assistant had never dreamed of trying to reach.

Tom's palm was rough and callused beneath his tongue. Harry closed his eyes to revel in its taste and texture. He felt Tom's other hand reaching for, touching, his ear, sending shivers across the back of his neck and shoulders. Harry was concentrating solely on the moment: the feel of Tom's hands on his face, the sound of the ocean, the cry of a lone gull. He heard Tom say his name on a sigh, and the word had never held such power. At Tom's tender, wondering tone, Harry's heart turned over, and he felt himself stiffen.

Tom was as lost in the moment as Harry. His friend's mouth on his hand was the most healing caress he'd experienced in a life devoid of tenderness and caring. But there was more than simple friendship in the gesture, and Tom recognized that Harry was offering him a deeper level of comfort. _I can't_, Tom thought in an agony of guilt. _I want this, dear God, how I want this, but I can't_. He pulled his hands roughly from Harry, and rolled over in the sand.

"Wha-?" Harry began to ask.

"I can't," Tom interrupted harshly. He turned back toward Harry, began to reach for him, then pulled his hand back as though afraid of burning it. The look Harry gave him was wounded, uncomprehending. "I want to," Tom said, congratulating himself bitterly on the understatement. "I want you. But I've been here. I know what you're going through. You haven't been around this particular block before. I don't want you to do something out of pity and. . . compassion that you'll later regret bitterly."

Tom had looked away from Harry's wounded eyes as he made his noble speech, and so was unprepared when, after a moment's silence, the air around him whirled with motion. Harry had launched himself at Tom, and was pounding him with his fists.

"Pity? Compassion?" Harry was screaming and crying as he pummeled Tom. "You think you're being so goddamn noble? Doesn't it occur to you that I need this, too?" Though caught unawares, Tom began to fight back, struggling to capture Harry's fists. As he pinned Harry to the sand, Harry was still shouting. "Don't you think you're the only who needs to fuck right now?"

Paris, stunned, felt adrenaline rushing through his body as he worked to subdue Harry. He could feel his primitive self take over his body. "So that's what you want," he snarled through a feral grin. "So that's the way it goes with you," he said, lowering his head to claim Harry's mouth.

Harry's body continued the motions of struggle, but his mouth opened for Tom immediately. He felt Tom's tongue, tasting of beer and the sea, delving frantically, hungrily into his mouth. Harry responded, thrusting his own tongue against Tom's, the frantic motions of his body now communicating urgent desire.

Paris was astonished when Harry suddenly rolled him over onto his back. He hadn't expected Harry to take control so quickly, if at all. But he was looking up at Harry's face, framed by brilliant blue sky, teeth flashing.

"This is the way it goes with me," Harry growled, and began kissing Tom with aggressive passion. Tom was ready to fight him for dominance, then realized that he didn't want to. He was welcoming the thrust of Harry's tongue, reveling in the loss of control. Harry's domination of him wasn't threatening, it was welcome. Harry felt a surge of triumph as he sensed Tom's surrender. He pulled his head back, threading his fingers through Tom's hair, forcing Tom to look up at him. "Is this what you want?" Harry demanded.

"Yes!" Paris gave Harry the submission they both wanted. Harry's mouth descended to Tom's once more, kissing him with ferocious intensity. After one endless moment of total domination, Harry's kiss softened, becoming tender and seductive. Tom was as helpless against this onslaught as he had been against Harry's other kisses. He closed his eyes, moaning low in his throat, surrendering his will to another, delighting in the power Harry exerted over him.

Harry sat back on his heels, pulling Tom up with him. Quickly, Harry pulled off his shirt, and Tom followed suit. Harry continued to sit as Tom began undoing his own jeans. Suddenly, Tom felt ridiculously bashful. _I hope he likes the way I look_, he thought, confused. _Is this the way my lovers have felt?_ he wondered. _Did they hesitate, not to stretch out the moment, but for fear I wouldn't find them pleasing?_ He dismissed the thought as being unimportant for the time being. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and he pulled his jeans off. "Well," he said defiantly as he knelt naked in the sand, "don't I get a show, too?"

In response, Harry leaned forward in a flash, and pulled Tom's head to his and inflicted a hard kiss, arousing for all its brutality. "I don't like your attitude, Paris," Harry said when he released Tom's mouth. "And you're going to take my jeans off for me, and put that smart mouth of yours to some use."

Tom felt his cock twitch at the command in Harry's voice. He considered any number of retorts, but realized that, in fact, what he most wanted to do was exactly what he been ordered to do. He pulled off Harry's jeans with a minimum of cooperation from their wearer, and, after a momentary hesitation, put his lips to the plum-like knob of Harry's cock.

"Ready to take it all, Paris?" Harry demanded. Tom moaned, and Harry grasped his head, forcing Paris down on him slowly but inexorably. As the tip of Harry's cock hit the back of Tom's throat, Tom gagged. Harry pulled out.

"Little too much for you, huh?" Harry teased. Paris shook his head, moving his mouth back toward Harry's cock. "Nope," Harry denied him. "We've got other plans for you, my lad." Before Tom was quite aware of what was happening, Harry had turned him around and bent him over so that his forehead was in the sand, his ass high in the air. Paris closed his eyes. It took little imagination to know what was coming next, and Paris wasn't sure he was ready. But he could feel his cock twitch, and already he was starting to drip.

Harry leaned forward, holding his moistened cock at Tom's asshole. He reached around, grasping Tom's cock in both hands, stroking and fondling it as he plunged forward. Tom gasped and cried out at the impact of Harry's thrust, astonished by the pain and pleasure. Harry showed him no mercy, and began pumping into him even as continued stroking his cock.

Paris had never felt anything like this. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet freed somehow. He found himself rocking back to meet Harry's thrusts, eager for more. He wanted the pounding to go on forever, yet feared that it would never stop.

The low groans of the two men echoed around them. Harry moved faster and faster with both hands and cock, until they both came, their cries rivaling the sound of the waves. Each felt himself shatter into millions of pieces, and then come back together again, feeling more whole than they ever had before.

---

"I can't stand this!" Chakotay had been expecting Janeway's outburst since she'd walked in the door that evening. . . hell, since she'd visited him in Sickbay that morning. She had stood as she spoke, throwing down her napkin. "How can you be so calm, so relaxed, so. .. goddamn forgiving!"

"I'm too old to rage against the dying of the night," Chakotay said calmly, then sipped some water.

"This isn't about raging against the inevitable! This is about a piece of your life, a piece of your dignity that was. . . stripped from you and tossed aside like so much garbage!"

"Rage will not make it better."

"But you're a man of action, Chakotay. Why don't you fight this the way you fought the Federation?"

"This is completely different. This is done, it's history. I'm putting it aside the same way I put aside my feelings about Starfleet when our two crews joined. I can't change what happened on Lamieri Prime. While I was there, I fought. I also accepted. I had guides to help me with both."

Janeway sat down again. "Damnit, Chakotay, how can you eat with me after what I've done?"

"Please, Captain, give me credit for a little self-determination."

"I should never have let you three go down there! There must be something I can do. . ."

"There's nothing. It's over."

Janeway stood up abruptly. "I'll give you revenge," she announced, and, to Chakotay's blank surprise, she began stripping her uniform off.

"Captain, please!" Chakotay was genuinely distressed. It seemed that the Captain was carrying an even bigger load of guilt than he'd thought. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you an opportunity to take it out on me. And don't use my rank. I've no right to it."

"Please, Kathryn," Chakotay said as he stood and reached for his blanket. He brought it to the Captain, and wrapped it around her. God help him, but he was tempted. Even under such bizarre circumstances, her body was soft and warm in his arms, her hair fragrant.

Janeway's fists clutched convulsively at the fabric of his shirt. "They hurtyou, Chakotay," she whispered tremulously. "And there's nothing I can do to make it better."

Chakotay realized that the Captain was crying. He began stroking her back, making soothing noises. "Shh, Kathryn, it's all right. Shh."

"I was stupid and not thinking and I got you hurt and almost k-k-k-killed," she sobbed.

Chakotay maneuvered them both so they could sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled her head back gently, so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "We weren't killed. And you couldn't have known," he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word, looking deep into her eyes. Kathryn stared into Chakotay's forgiving brown eyes. Slowly she nodded. "You're right, of course. It's just that I feel so damn guilty. . ."

Chakotay did what he'd been swearing to himself he wouldn't do. He began kissing away her tears. Soon they were all gone, and he was somehow kissing her mouth. He continued to stroke her back, but now the goal was to enflame, not comfort, the woman in his arms.

Kathryn closed her eyes. Chakotay's kiss was so gentle, so forgiving, so tender. . . and also, at the same time, passionate and arousing. She felt a pulse of desire begin between her legs, and she shifted in his arms. She felt the strength of his desire, and pulled back from his mouth. He watched intently as she slowly dropped the blanket from her shoulders, letting it fall back on the bed.

"Kathryn. . ." Chakotay whispered, and they fell softly until they were lying together on his bed. His lips were at her breasts, tonguing her nipples with exquisite thoroughness. She pushed him away, but only so that they could remove his clothes. When both were naked, they began to leisurely explore each other's bodies with hands, lips, and mouths. Skin met skin, and both were soon panting and sweating from the force of their desire.

"I can't hold out much longer," Chakotay gasped as Kathryn sucked and bit at his nipples. Her response was to pull him closer to her, maneuvering her body so that she was under him, legs wrapped around his hips. For an agonizing moment, he held himself still. "Are you ready?"

For an answer, Kathryn lunged up, taking him in her in one smooth motion. Chakotay threw his head back, his eyes closed in pleasure at the feel of soft flesh folding and contracting around him. Kathryn started to move again, but he reared back, taking his weight on his heels so he could grasp her hips firmly. She stilled beneath him, and he again stretched out to full length, his arms once more taking his weight. He buried his face in his throat, and only then did he begin to move.

Kathryn shuddered as he pulled back, then screamed as he plunged forward, stretching her, filling her, touching places inside her that had been untouched for to long. He was thrusting furiously now, spearing her again and again. She screamed each time his cock found its depth, until her howls became one long scream as worlds became stars, and she became the stars.

Chakotay felt the contractions as Kathryn's orgasm hit, and his already fast tempo became frenzied with the need to join her. He had long since ceased to be anything but pure feeling, his universe contained in his body and that of the woman in his arms. His strokes became even more powerful, and then he came with such intensity that sight and sound were lost to the intensity of feeling.

A moment later, exhausted by the power of their lovemaking, Chakotay collapsed on Kathryn. With his paltry remaining strength, he rolled their bodies over so that they faced each other. They were kissing beads of sweat from each other's brows as sleep overcame them, giving them, at long last, peace and rest.

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End