The BLTS Archive The Change in Me
by Ainzfern (ainzfern@hotmail.com)

---

Author's Note: WARNING. This story contains VIOLENCE/ADULT
THEMES/ANGST. In spades. It's not a nice tale. Not really. My muse
just wanted to go to a dark place for a while. God knows why. At any
rate, please use your own discretion in regards to reading this one.
The boys I have penned here are *not* my usual loving couple. K?
Everybody clear on that? The story is told in alternating first person
POV and is set in Season Two.

---

So I saw you again today Had to disguise my pain The way you looked at
me Tell me what are you trying to say Do you still feel the same

Don't things get complicated When you don't expect them to I could let
myself fall But I'm trying to keep a positive view All I really want
is you

If I cannot have you then no one can have you If I cannot see you then
no one can see you If I cannot love you then no one can love you I
can't believe the change in me

I can't believe the change in me

(The Change In Me - Monique Brumby - Sony Music Entertainmentİ)

---

OK... a quick stretch, a long slow breath, a log-off command and I'm
*outta* here.

Man, what a slow day. Slow, as in boring. Mind numbingly so.

Harry tells me that I shouldn't complain too loudly. He tells me to
consider the alternatives.

It's a reasonable point.

I haul my numb ass and aching back out of the pilot's chair and
graciously, even if I do say so myself, wave Rollins in to take over.
He gives me a kind of phantom smile. Y'know, the type you're never
really sure you just saw?

They do that a lot to me these days. The crew, that is. They don't
hate me exactly... but nobody seems to want to be the first to admit
it.

Of course that doesn't include Harry. Or strangely enough, B'Elanna.
And the Captain? She *loves* me. I swear to God, that woman
practically sees a fuckin' halo every time she looks at me.

Not so long ago that thought would have had me rolling in the aisles.
I would have been looking for the best and easiest way to exploit that
soft spot of hers to my best advantage and I would have felt no shame
in doing so.

What can I tell you? There's a sucker born every minute.

But... Ah shit. I can't so that. Not anymore. And not to her. She
believed in me, y'know?

She was the first person in a *long* time to do that. So I guess her
ideals about decency have rubbed off a little on me. Maybe. I find
myself wanting to be a better person, if that's any indication.

Most of the time.

Well, yeah, all right, *some* of the time. I'm trying, OK? What do you
want from me?

So now all that remains between me and a blissful forty eight hours of
freedom is a turbo lift ride and oh, *great*, I get to share it with
Chakotay.

Wonderful.

Now there's a guy who likes to let me know how he feels. At every
fuckin' opportunity. He has this cool look, the appearance of oh so
carefully unconcealed disgust every time he knows that I'm looking at
him. I've never seen him look at anyone else that way. Only me. It's
my own special expression, designed to let me know *just* how much he
hates the living sight of me.

Thing is, I *know* that it's all a crock of bullshit. I just haven't
worked out how to call him on it.

Yet.

As I move into the turbo lift and stand alongside our erstwhile First
Officer, I glance at him one or twice, hoping to catch his eyes.

He glances back. He always does. He can't help it.

And *bingo*! There it is. That -you disgust me, Paris, but I'm too
much the stoic, decent type to *ever* admit it- look.

It's a lie. See, I've *seen* him look at me when he *doesn't* know I'm
watching. It's subtle, but it's there.

He wants me. The fuckin' First Officer, holier than thou, Chakotay of
Dorvan 5 wants me.

We have this weird *thing* existing between us. This dynamic, for want
of a better word. There's this... I don't know, this *scent* between
us. A smell of sex and tension that we create whenever we're near each
other. I know it and *he* knows it too, he just won't admit it and
it's driving me up the God dammed wall.

Why? Fuck knows.

Do I love him? Fuck no.

I just... want him. It's that simple. I don't try to justify it. If I
did that every time I decided to do something I'd never get anything
done.

I've tried to get his attention. Believe it or not. Hey, I'm just
being realistic here. This is a small ship and the pickings are pretty
lean. Yeah sure, there's Sue and the twins, but Jesus for all of the
choosiness *they* show, they might as well have revolving doors on
their quarters.

Come the think of it, so should I.

Well, that's not strictly speaking true. Not anymore at least. I've
kind of lost the joy of bed hopping for the bigger thrill of landing
the top target on board.

It's been a pretty poor result so far.

The Maquis call him the ice man and with good reason.

I've tried being friendly and he gives me *properly polite*.

I've tried parading the competition in front of him and he just smiles
at them with pity on his face.

Fuck.

I've even tried baiting the cold son of a bitch, but he won't rise.

As the lift descends I do my usual opening gambit. "Commander." I nod
to him.

He flicks a glance at me. "Lieutenant."

"So, any plans for the evening, Sir?"

He sighs tiredly. "Nothing other than rest, Paris, which I would
recommend you indulge in too. Your course corrections this afternoon
where a little sloppy. Perhaps a little more sleep and a little less
socializing might be in order?"

Oh, *good* one, Commander. I nod, flipping him a little smirk.

His cheek twitches. He hates that smirk.

Maybe I'm using the wrong approach here. Maybe what I need to do is up
the ante a little bit.

Maybe I need to be just a bit more... obvious.

"Commander?"

Another pointed glance, another sharp sigh. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Fuck me."

---

Oh Spirits, lend me strength. It's been a long day and the last thing
I need is to finish it by bantering with Paris about nothing and
everything.

I don't know what it is about him. I just know that I need to keep him
at arms length at all possible cost.

I simply can't explain it any better than that. To try would perhaps
be inviting more trouble than it's worth. Some things do not bear too
much investigation.

I know that he's trying his best. At least that's what Captain Janeway
keeps telling me. I know that she wishes I could be a little easier on
him, perhaps even take him under my wing. But quite frankly, if I let
Tom Paris get anywhere near close to me, I will regret it.

And so will he.

I... am drawn to him. I can't help but be. I see that wild spirit and
I want to tame it. Claim it. I dream sometimes of him, adoring and
submissive at my feet and it terrifies me that I could even entertain
such thoughts.

There have been many people in my life that have tapped into my heart.

Paris taps into my anger, my dark passion.

I keep that part of myself tightly locked away. It frightens me and
with good reason.

I struggled for a long time to reconcile myself to my own demons. To
my dark thoughts. My turmoil. To shadowy dreams of power and
possession. I sought the spirits of my ancestors and found a guide to
sustain me and in time, I found a measure of peace. With meditation
and continual treks through my own awareness, I found that I was able
to push aside my more insidious tendencies.

I reached a place where I could be a friend without demanding
unachievable loyalties. I could be a lover both gentle and generous,
curbing my jealousy and allowing those that I cared for to be free to
their own nature.

Then came Tom Paris.

Physically, he is everything I have always desired. As to his
character? It is, sadly, also everything that I have always wanted. I
would feed off his willfulness. I would clash with his stubbornness. I
would seek to rise over it, to curb it with my own strength of will.

And in the end, I would destroy it. I am stronger than he is. He does
not realize this. In his carefree world where every conquest is a
game, he would not be prepared for a player like me.

One who takes it as deadly serious.

So I keep my distance. And up until recently, it was working to my
satisfaction. We had reached an understanding, Paris and I. We could
work together, and well, if the occasion demanded it. But that was
all.

However, lately he had been pushing the edges of my defenses. He is up
to something, I know this much. For some reason, he seems to be doing
everything in his power to provoke me.

As I stand here next to him, fielding inane questions about my plans
for the evening, I can only think of one thing.

How much I hate that damn smirk of his. It seems to me to have become
almost a symbol, representing everything about Paris that I have come
to know. His arrogance, his complete disregard for discipline, his
astonishing lack of consistency. I see him as shallow and
self-serving, and yet I want him just the same.

Perhaps I am redirecting anger towards him that should rightfully be
aimed at myself.

After all, he is just being who he is. What right have I to tell him
that he can't be?

Spirits, that damned smirk...

Part of me wants to haul back and slap it right off his perfect face.

The rest of me yearns to pull him close to me, crush him under me and
brutally fuck him until no trace of that sardonic mockery remains in
his expression. Till his senses are full of me and nothing else
remains but his need for more of what only I can give him.

This is exactly why Tom Paris terrifies me. Because I know if he were
ever to tempt me...

"Commander?" His voice, so casual. No doubt another unnecessary
question is already in the making.

Hell, I need to meditate...

I sigh softly, once more tightening my control. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Fuck me."

I cannot possibly have just heard that.

I turn slowly, and look into eyes that brim with the usual amusement.
His expression is challenging, careless. Taking a deep breath I stare
closely into his face. I see no sign that anything is amiss.

I can only hope that this was my imagination.

"What did you just say, Paris?" My voice is soft, measured. A warning.

He smiles and steps a little closer to me. "Hard," he whispers.

My blood begins to heat. I don't know if it's desire or rage or a
combination of both.

I meet his eyes and lift my hands, placing them squarely on his chest.

He's warm. Lean. Surprisingly strong for all that he's slender. I know
this from watching him.

He has no idea what he's just asked of me.

Fortunately for him, I do.

With slow and deliberate movements, I push him away. He looks shocked
for a moment, but he rallies.

"You know you want to," he tells me.

"No." I drop my hands and step back from him just as the lift doors
open.

As I step out he calls to me.

"Think about it, Commander. No pressure. Just a release. A bit of fun.
You do know how to have fun don't you?"

I stare silently at him, my jaw working, clenching and unclenching.

He puts one hand against the door, holding it open. Those incredible
eyes darken as he gazes at me, the sultry invitation in them
unmistakable. "It could be good, Chakotay," he says softly, a tiny
note of sincerity in his voice.

"It could be everything, Tom," I tell him flatly. "But it isn't going
to happen."

I turn my back on him and walk away before the door has even closed.

---

"Tom?... Hel-lo. Voyager to Tom? Are you in there?"

I blink and look up at Harry. He's staring at me like I've lost my
marbles, and right now, I gotta tell ya, I think he could be right.

I'm frozen over the pool table at Sandrine's, halfway between one shot
and the next and I've had my eyes on Chakotay since he walked through
the door, oh about...

"Tom you've been staring into space for the last two minutes," Harry
tells me.

... two minutes ago. Give or take.

As I straighten and move around the table to scan for the next best
shot which, just for the record, is the red off the side cushion into
the corner pocket, Harry moves over next to me and lowers his voice.

"Are you OK, Tom?" His dark eyes flick back on forth from me to the
small table where the Commander is sitting in senior crew civility
mode with the Captain.

I flip my friend a grin. "Sure." I call the shot, line up and sink it.
Man, too easy. Harry, the next week's worth of lunches are on you,
buddy. "I'm fine. Great." I turn and look at him. "Why?"

"Is something going on?" He shoots another glance at Mr and Mrs Alpha
over in the corner. "You're not... y'know, *planning* something
stupid, are you?"

I'm a little bit pissed by that remark. Why does everything relating
to me have to be put into the category of -stupid-? Not everything I
do is without reason.

I narrow my eyes a little, just to let him know he's pushed the wrong
button here. "Define stupid, Harry?"

He looks a little thrown, but he guts up to have his say. I'll give
him this... for all that he's young, Harry doesn't back down all that
easily.

Yeah, he pisses me off sometimes, but I love him just the same. He's a
good friend. The best.

That thought softens my instinctive resentment a bit. I remind myself
that Harry's not being critical for the hell of it. The guy *cares*.

I'm not that used to it, I guess.

"Are you planning another practical joke on the Commander?" he asks me
bluntly. "Cause if you *are*, you're just asking for trouble. They
won't just fine you rations, Tom. You could end up with brig time."

I sniff and shrug. "The problem, Harry, is that no-one on this ship
has a sense of humor."

"The *problem*, Tom, is that dicking around with the Commander's
holoprogram was a bad idea."

"Dicking, Harry? Where the hell did you learn a word like that?"

"You."

"Oh."

I lean back over the table again to take my next shot. Side pocket,
yellow, just in case anyone cares. Harry's not about to let it go
though. He's just gotta say his fuckin' piece.

"He was locked in for two hours, Tom."

"Pretty funny, huh?"

"If you're a first year student at the Academy, yeah. But not out
here. Imagine if something had happened while he was trapped in
there?"

I sigh and set my cue down, propping one hip against the pool table as
I look into his worried face. "What do you want me to say, Harry. That
I made a bad move? I fucked up? OK. You're right. It was a stupid
thing to do and I apologized for it and took my medicine like a good
boy. And just for the record... *no*, I am *not* planning any more
practical jokes, OK?"

He relaxes slightly, but he's still not completely convinced.

Ah shit, Har, can't you give it a break? I've got my *own* conscience,
that you very much.

I even listen to it occasionally.

"If that's the case, why are you scoping out the Commander like that?
You look like you're up to something."

I sigh and turn back to the table. One more shot, black in the corner
pocket, and the game is mine. I make it. Of course. Harry doesn't even
notice.

Jesus, he *is* worried...

I rack my cue and lead him back to our table. As I slide into my seat
I meet his eyes. "I'm not *scoping* anyone out, Harry. I'm just... the
man pisses me off, OK?"

Harry chuckles softly, all his concern suddenly gone. "Oh, like
*that's* news. C'mon, Tom, he's just being the same as he always is.
Don't let it get to you."

That's just the point. The Commander *is* acting the same as always.
No change at all. I laid it all out for him, pretty clearly, I think.
And I know it made an impact. I saw the look in his eyes when he
pushed me away in the turbo lift.

They burned. Just for a moment, I saw enough lust in that dark gaze to
make me want to offer it all up...

The son of a bitch said no.

OK, sure. Yeah, I expected him to say no.

I just didn't expect him to *mean* it.

Shit. I don't get it. He wants me. I want him. I mean, what's the big
fuckin' deal here? It's been over a week since I cornered him and so
far, no dice.

There has been *one* little thing I've noticed though. He's *real*
careful not to be left alone with me. That's the only thing that gives
me any hope. The fact that he is actively avoiding me, i.e.
temptation. Makes me think that his commitment to refusing me is a
little harder to maintain than he's letting on.

It's crazy. This whole damn thing is just crazy, but I can't let it
go.

Megan commed me last night. She wanted me to come over a play for a
while.

I turned her down. Said I had stuff to do. It pissed her off, I can
tell, and it baffled me at the same time. I'm as horny as hell, and
there was a good-looking bedmate ready and willing and I couldn't be
*paid*.

I spent some time considering it and I think I've got it worked out.
It's not just that I want sex.

I want sex *with* Chakotay. No one else will do.

It's gone from an idea at the edge of my warped little mind to a
matter of fuckin' pride.

As I sit here, chatting back and forth with Harry and doing my best to
make the poor bastard blush, I can't help sneaking the occasional
glance at the big man over there.

He's prime, I'll give him that much. This thing between us is *real*.
It's not just my fevered imagination. I know he feels it too. I sensed
it back when I flew for him in the Maquis and nothing has changed.

Come to think of it, he didn't have much time for me *then* either.

After another beer Harry gives me his goodnights, tells me to - please
behave, Tom - and heads off to rest his weary little head.

He'll probably dream about Libby all night. The poor kid's got it so
bad. Even amidst the heavy dose of truth that is the Delta Quadrant,
he still lives with the eternal hope that he and his one true
everything will be reunited and live happily ever after.

For some reason I don't have the heart to try and wake him out of the
fantasy. I guess I like having the odd romantic around to remind me
that shit like that *is* possible. At least for others.

For me, there is cold hard reality and a colder harder Commander.

I watch him surreptitiously as I head over to chat with a couple of
the Fleet crew out of engineering.

It's pretty clear that he's gearing up to leave for the night. He
stands, bids our Captain-fair a goodnight and turns...

And he catches my eye. Probably accidental but...

Oh yeah. There it is. That look. That - I want fuck you too, Paris -
look. The *heat* in that gaze shoots right to my cock with a jolt like
a lighting strike.

A split second - an eternity, and he looks away again, heading with
long strides out of the holodeck.

Ohhh no. Nu-uh, Commander. I caught you *this* time.

I set my unfinished synthale on the bar and smile at my colleagues.

"Ladies? Gentlemen? I'm gonna call it a night."

Joe gives me a friendly enough nod. "All right. Play it cool, Paris."
He turns back to trying to get into Sue's pants.

I can't help but grin as I leave the holodeck.

Play it cool?

Jesus, I *hope* not.

---

Damn. *Dammit*!

What the hell was I thinking, looking at him like that? I might as
well have just whipped out the red flag to wave.

I storm into my office and bark a sharp command to close and lock the
door. I don't want any interruptions right now. All I want is to
restore my equilibrium and then finish the backlog of reports I left
when the Captain asked me to join her for a while.

It was not social tonight. A social setting, yes. But she was there to
talk business.

Most specifically, Paris business.

She wanted to know if I had any idea why Tom suddenly decided to play
that childish prank on me in the holodeck three days ago.

Spirits. What could I tell her? That I knew *exactly* why he did it?
That it was nothing more than a fit of pique at me for refusing him?

In short, a tantrum?

"He was doing so well," she told me sadly. She really seemed worried
about him. She looks upon Paris as some sort of personal project at
times. As if by her words and guidance she might somehow show him the
path to maturity.

Personally, I think she's wasting her time.

"Captain, I agree with you that Lieutenant Paris has the potential to
be a fine officer," I replied carefully. "But the sad fact is, he will
*always* buck the system. I think perhaps that this latest episode was
nothing more than his way of reminding us that he *can*."

She looked at me with a certain note of stubbornness rising into her
face. "I suppose that I see more in Tom than you do, Commander."

I raised my eyebrows slightly, not really following her.

She smiled patiently and went on, her forefinger drawing small circles
in the condensation on her glass. "I think that these... episodes of
rebellion, for want of a better term, stem not so much from arrogance
but from fear."

"Fear?" I shook my head slightly.

"Yes." She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. "Tom
Paris fears getting too close to people. I'm not talking intimately.
I'm talking emotionally. I think he feels that by accepting
friendship, particularly from senior officers like us, he is placing
himself in the position of having to prove that he is worthy of such
things. I think he's so scared of failure, that he would rather
disappoint me up front than have to face it later *knowing* that we
were expecting more from him."

I had to resist the urge to grin. "Captain," I told her softly. "That
makes no sense at all."

She simply smiled at me. "I'm sure that it makes perfect sense from
Tom's perspective."

At that point, I noticed the time and made my apologies. She was
gracious about it, which I think is fair, especially considering that
it was her idea to lump me with the crew appraisals.

I'll admit that I don't really mind. The additional work keeps me
occupied. Quite frankly, I don't really have much else to do. I am a
Fleeter to the Maquis and a Maquis to the Fleeters now. I have to
treat them all equally and I find that keeping my distance helps me to
do that.

Except for Paris, of course.

Life would be so much easier if he would just turn his attentions to
some other source of amusement.

I am not foolish enough to believe that his interest in me is grounded
in anything other than a love of the challenge.

Now, as I stand in my office staring at a desk that is piled high with
data padds, I curse softly, fervently, for allowing Paris to see my
moment of weakness on the holodeck.

He has no idea. None at all.

Perhaps he believes that I desire him as a lover, as a friendly fuck
and nothing else. Perhaps that he believes that I hold myself away
from him simply out of a sense of propriety.

He would be wrong.

I desire him, yes. But there is nothing friendly about it.

He inspires both arousal and resentment within me in equal measures.
As much as I would find pleasure in having his body, must also
honestly confess that I would find equivalent satisfaction in breaking
his willful attitude towards me.

It's as if he sees me as some vast cosmic joke. One in which only he
understands the punch line.

As I have said, I have dark places inside me. Paris has the
unfortunate ability to tap into them.

He is both beautiful and abhorrent to me.

I am fascinated by the sheer life force that he exudes and at the same
time I am made furious at the way he squanders it by being frivolous
and careless.

I know that many of the crew find him amusing, even charming.

I do not.

He represents the ultimate challenge. The ultimate temptation. He is
everything that I have always avoided.

Perhaps he is part of the reason I first considered the logistics of a
liaison with the Captain. There is an attraction there, that much is
true. I am comfortable with her. She is intelligent, controlled. A
woman of subtle humor and vast enthusiasm. She inspires only warmth
and affection in me.

There is none of the driving, raging fervor that Paris provokes in me.
I do not feel compelled to own her, to change her, to devour her until
she can only exist if she is part of me.

There would be no danger in being with her.

She and I are not destined to be, of course. She still holds ties to
her home, still holds hope that she will return to the man who loves
her and I would never dream of trying to take that from her.

At this point in time, I can only continue as I have been. I will
concentrate on my duty. I will care for my crew to the best of my
ability and I will look inside myself to face down my own baser
nature. I have denied Paris's advances so far and I will continue to
do so.

I must. If I give in to him, I will lose myself. I am sure of this.

The sudden sound of the door sliding open startles me out of my
thoughts. I whirl around and feel my stomach sink.

"Paris." I pull in a deep breath and begin to construct the tight
layers of control I need in order to deal with his intrusion. "You
just broke about forty different regulations by overriding my lockout
command."

He shrugs and that full mouth of his curves into its usual amused
smirk. "Well, I tried knocking, Commander, but I guess you didn't hear
me."

I move around to the back of my desk, concentrating on sorting the
pile of padds into some sort of logical order. "What do you want?"

"That's not very polite, Commander," he chides me softly, laughter
echoing in his words. "I come all the way up here to talk to you and
this is how you respond?"

"Paris," I slam the Padd in my hand down on the desk and stare at him.
"You and I have nothing to say to each other that can't wait until the
morning briefing. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lot to do
tonight and I would appreciate being left alone to do it."

The smile drops off his face and he moves around the desk. Slow and
certain, he literally slinks towards me, so aware, so sure of his
appeal. "I want you," he whispers at me.

I back up a little, my hands balling into shaking fists. "Drop this,
Paris." My voice is little more than a snarl. "I mean it."

"No," he wets his lips and keeps coming. "No... you don't."

I can smell him now. His scent. My nostrils flare as warm gusts of
soap and aftershave meet my senses. He catches the reaction and those
blue eyes suddenly darken.

"C'mon, Chakotay," he purrs at me. "You and me. Think about it."

Even as I shake my head, I can't stop looking at those lips. Those
full soft lips of his, imagining them wrapped around my cock, my hands
gripping painfully into his hair, my hips pumping like fury as I
roughly fuck his mouth until I can't take it anymore and come,
screaming his name and filling his throat with my own essence.

"I want you to fuck me, Chakotay. Hard and deep." His voice grows
husky and he leans towards me. "You're so fuckin' tense, big man. How
about you take all out on my ass?"

"Damn it, Paris, *back* off!" The words are forced out between my
gritted teeth as I raise my hands up between us.

He simply smiles. Not a care in the whole universe.

He is a young fool who is playing with more than he can handle.

"I won't give up, Chak," he tells me. "I *know* what you need. What
you want." He shrugs again, as if to imply that the answer is simple.
"I'm right here."

"No."

"You can't hide it, Chakotay. I can see it in your eyes." He reaches
out to touch my chest and I freeze, unable to move as his slender
fingers stroke over my shoulder, smoothing the line of my jacket.

"No," I whisper it, a single shattered lie.

"Yes." He leans in, his face close, his breath on my lips and I... I
*can't*... dear Spirits, *help* me...

I am faced with a choice. I am confronted by war that rages inside me.
Once more I struggle between my desire and my rage.

I do the only thing I can think of.

I haul back and punch him in the face, right off his feet and onto
that perfect little ass.

---

He hit me.

Fuck.

The crazy son of a bitch *hit* me.

I'm not sure *exactly* how I got back to my quarters. There's a bit a
gray patch surrounding those details. All I know is that I woke up
with a regenerator on the pillow beside me and headache that would
stop a fuckin' Targ in it's tracks.

Christ. He. *Hit*. Me...

I should report his ass, I really should.

Scratch that. I provoked him. Can't deny it.

Shit. Y'know it's almost funny when you think about it. I know that
he's been hanging to punch my lights out for almost as long as he's
wanted to jump my ass.

If you look at it from a certain point of view, this could be seen as
a good thing.

He's gotten the angry bit out of the way now, so he should be able to
move onto the 'let's fuck and make up' part.

OK. So I'm a die-hard. What can I tell you? I hate being told no.

I have to wonder about myself at this point. Y'know... ask a few
pertinent questions like - what the *fuck* am I doing?!

Why can't I just let it go?

I get up off the bed and, taking the regenerator with me, pad into the
bathroom, calling up the lights.

Jesus. Good shiner there, Tom.

I'll give him this much, he's got a hell of a punch. I'm surprised I
didn't go right out through the fuckin' bulkhead.

Oh well. Switch this baby on and let's get busy.

It's not like I'm not used to patching myself up.

As I work my way over my bruised face, I have to smile at the irony.
It was Chakotay who clamped down so hard on the Maquis when they used
to amuse themselves by ambushing me after every other shift. Seems
almost like poetic justice. Now that the random 'kick the shit outta
Paris' games are over, the man responsible for closing them is the one
who knocks me on my ass.

I meet my own eyes in the mirror and suddenly I know.

It's pretty fuckin' hard to lie to yourself. Believe me, I've tried. I
always end up finding out the truth, damn me.

I can't let it go because I want more than just his dick.

Tonight in his office. Earlier in Sandrine's. In the turbolift and a
hundred other different times and places, I have been on the receiving
end of one of the most intense gazes I have ever known.

I have had a brief taste of what it's like to be the absolute center
of the Commander's attention and... I gotta tell you, it does
something to me.

I've never had *anyone* look at me like that. Like I was water to
thirst. Food to starvation.

It's heady. It's exhilarating. And it's powerful. It makes me *feel*
powerful, that I can command that level of attention from someone like
Chakotay.

That I can get under the iceman's skin.

My whole life has been out of control. It seems to me that I never
really had a say in any of the shit that went down around me. From my
Dad's expectations, to Caldic Prime, to prison. Even being lost out
here in the Delta.

But I have a say in this. I have control when he looks at me that way.
Because, *I've* done it to him. *I've* created this response.

It's the old case of opposites attract I guess. I see his control and
I want to shatter it. I want to make him wild. I see the fuckin'
integrity oozing out of his every pore and I want to strip it off him,
break him back to basic, see him hungry for me and unable to deny it.

I snap the regenerator closed and drop it on the side of the sink.

As I lie back on the bed, I find myself grinning again.

This ain't over. Not by a long shot. If Chakotay thinks he can
intimidate me away from him, he's got another thing coming. I've taken
a lot of slaps in my life. I know how to roll with them.

I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve.

*Incentive* is the key word.

---

"First Officer's log. Stardate 49490.8 - supplemental... Computer,
pause."

I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose for a moment,
pulling my clamoring thoughts into some semblance of order.

Spirit's this is *not* going to be easy...

"Computer, resume. In the aftermath of our confrontation with Seska
and the Kazon-Nistram she aligned herself to, and the subsequent
exposure of Michael Jonas as a Kazon spy, Captain Janeway has
requested that I log a supplemental report additional to the official
records. She seems to feel that I have some pertinent issues to raise
and I confess, I would agree with her at this point."

For a moment I break off, nearly smiling at the irony of that.

Pertinent issues? Spirits... the Captain would have to be the master
of understatement in this particular instance.

"I will not, at this point nor will I in the future, be logging any
official complaint in regards to my exclusion from the plan to expose
Jonas. I have advised my disquiet about the matter directly to the
Captain and she had duly noted it. As far as I am concerned, this is
sufficient. She is the Captain. The decision was her call... and her
right."

I pause the log for a moment, considering on what has taken place over
the last few days.

I don't think I have ever come closer in my life to wanting to kill
someone than I did with Paris. I honestly believed that his recent
behavior, his almost insane attempts to discredit himself, was
directed solely at me.

Another weapon in his reckless bid to shatter my control. Another way
to amuse himself at my expense.

But to find out after the fact that his actions were motivated by a
desire to serve his Captain...

He risked his life for us. I can't deny that. He took a great gamble,
as is his nature, and in this instance it paid off. He has benefited
greatly from this stint as a hero. The crew admired his selfless
courage and they have warmed to him accordingly.

His comments on Neelix's news program inspired much laughter and
general good-natured teasing directed towards my oblivious role in
this life theatre. I have accepted it as part of the payment required
for finally ridding us of Seska's spy.

Of course, Paris apologized for his behavior, even going so far as to
single me out personally. Then he turned the full effect of that
pretty smirk towards the screen and confessed to how much fun it had
been.

I am finding it more difficult than ever to deal Paris' renewed
interest in me. Now that the dust has settled and things are returning
to normal, Paris had resumed his pursuit with an almost appallingly
single minded intent.

He has no idea of how dangerous I am to him right now.

Not because he deceived me. I can accept that. He had no choice.

I am angry because he *enjoyed* it so damn much. It played right into
his own schemes and he knew it.

The sad fact of this whole mess... is that, Spirit's help me... it is
working.

His utter disregard for my temperament is drawing me inexorably closer
to my ultimate fear. I find myself thinking about him to the point of
obsession. I find myself actually believing that if I can just have
him, take him, drive myself into his body until he is screaming, until
his senses are stripped of everything but my ownership of his perfect
flesh, that somehow I will gain some clarity, some measure of control
over him and myself.

I find myself wanting to command his complete attention. I want that
moment. That perfect moment where all that there is in his universe is
me.

So now, I have to take a deep breath and complete the most difficult
part of my log.

"Computer, resume log. I would also like to add my commendation for
Lieutenant Paris' efforts in resolving this crisis to that of the
Captain. His courage, determination and dedication under difficult and
undoubtedly dangerous circumstances stands as an example to us all."

There. It's done.

Now, perhaps I can finally turn my attention to the work on my desk...

"Afternoon, Commander. Working on your day off *again*?"

Damn it. Not *now*!

"Paris," I look up from my desk into amused pools of blue. He's there,
standing in splendid nonchalance in the doorway of my office. I
shuffle a few padds across the desktop. "I'm almost surprised to see
you. I would have thought you'd still be on the holodeck today,
soaking up all that well deserved adoration."

He chuckles softly and moves in towards my desk, the door sliding shut
behind him like a barely audible echo of doom. "Well, you know.
There's really only one adoring stare I want to wallow in these days."

"So you say." I look up at him again and sigh, unable to hide my
irritation, just barely able to hide the way my hands are gripping the
arms of my chair under the desk.

I'm so tightly wound up right now that I can barely think. These last
few days have left their mark and I'm tired, both mentally and
emotionally. My reserves are low. I don't *need* this now. I can't
*fight* this right now.

He leans his slim hip against the side of the desk, idly letting his
long fingers wander here and there over the various items. Yet another
trait that he has figured out annoys me. "Do you really feel that way
about me, Commander?" he asks thoughtfully.

I blink, shaking my head slightly. "What way?"

"Y'know." Blue eyes flick up to meet mine. The jolt that hits me
nearly rips a groan from my throat. "Courageous? Dedicated?"

A fresh surge of anger lances through me, fueling my need, driving my
lust. "Exactly how long were you standing there listening to my log,
Lieutenant?" I ask him flatly.

//Get out of here, Paris.// I want to scream it at him, pick him up
and hurl him out into the corridor before I snap and do something that
I know he will regret.

"Just long enough to hear that, I promise." He grins at me, moving
around the desk towards me. He's beautiful, he is the undoing of
everything I have striven to be. "So?"

"What?" My voice is tight, ragged...

He smiles. "Did you mean it?"

"On or off the record, Paris?"

He winces mockingly, pursing his full mouth. "*Good* one, Commander."
He leans over, leans closer. "So," he murmurs, his breath brushing my
face. "Are you gonna drop all this 'I don't want you' crap, or what?"

I don't even have to consciously think about moving. I just do.

One moment I'm in my seat, the next I'm at the side bulkhead of my
office, Paris's upper arms in my grip, his chest heaving as he
struggles to regain the breath that I just slammed out of him.

A red haze rises up before my eyes. Thunder roars through my head.
It's as if I am watching myself from a distance, horrified by my
actions, my violence, yet helpless to do anything to stop it.

"What do you want from me, Paris?" I snarl into his shocked face,
slamming him into the wall again for good measure. "What the fuck do
you *want* from me?!"

He struggles for a moment, dismisses it as futile and raises his eyes
to meet mine.

I expected to see shock, maybe even a little fear. I did not
anticipate this...

His eyes are steady, wide yes, but clear and defiant. His lips are
parted over his panting breath, his face flushed with anger and
arousal. "You," he hisses at me, his eyes suddenly blazing.
Incredibly, that damned smirk returns to mock me.

He thinks he's won.

He hasn't. He has pushed me and pushed me and perhaps I have lost my
hold on my common sense, but I have not lost my hold on my pride. If
he wants this he will get it... with certain conditions.

"You listen to me, you little bastard," I whisper the words with
vicious intensity. "I am *not* going to be just another one of your
conquests."

He pulls in a breath to reply, his face distorting with sarcastic
amusement.

I don't give him the chance. I rear back and slam him against the
bulkhead again, watching with both satisfaction and self-loathing as
he gasps in another tortured breath. I know that I am hurting him, I
*know* that. But I... I can't stop now.

He needs to know what I am. This is my last desperate bid for sanity,
and I can only pray that if he has any sense he will realize the
danger he is in and take the opportunity to end this. To get away
before it really *is* too late.

"Shut up," I tell him coldly. "You wanted this, then listen up and
learn what it will mean for you." I tighten my grip on his arms,
letting him know in no uncertain terms that moving is *not* an option.
"If we're going to fuck, Paris, we will do it my way. *My* rules. You
want me up your ass," I smile grimly at him, feeling my mouth twist,
"and you've figured out that I want to be there." I pause for a
moment. "Shall I continue?"

"By my fuckin' guest, Chakotay," he spits at me.

Something slips a little more inside me at that. I snarl deep in my
throat, jerking him to me and biting down on the smooth sweat dampened
skin of his neck. This is no tender love bite. It's hard enough to
bruise, to break that delicate skin. It's a mark, a claim. I hear him
cry out, unable to hold it in as the pain shoots through him. He jerks
in my arms, trying to twist away, but I hold him firm.

He needs to know what I am.

I pull back, breathing hard, tasting blood in my mouth. "You will come
when *I* call you and when you are with me, you will do as *I* say. If
I find you with another, I will end it and I will *never* touch you
again." I shake him sharply. "Do you believe me?"

Sullen, silent... stunning. He nods at me, his lips white with anger.

There. Enough.

Abruptly I release him, stepping back from him. He has access to
escape now. I will not stop him if he wants to go.

He has to want to stay for there to be any point to this at all.

He doesn't move. He stands against wall, absently rubbing at his arms,
trying to get some circulation into them again. He pins me again with
those incredible eyes, and I feel a strange surge of triumph wash
through me. I am the only thing he sees right now.

Good or bad, this is what I coveted.

"Those are your terms?" he asks me.

Slowly, my eyes locked on his, I nod.

"What about *my* terms?"

"You have none," I snap sharply.

There's a moment of silence, a tense tableau of motionless
communication. Blue eyes filled with anger and rebellion stare at me
and I meet them coldly. I can feel the heat surging through my body,
pooling into my groin. My sex throbs unmercifully between my legs,
aching for release. My desire and my fury war for superiority within
me, each of them knowing that they will find an outlet within the
heated flesh of this defiant creature that stands here staring at me.

//Go, Paris. For mercy's sake, just go...//

He pulls in a deep breath and moves off the wall, moves towards me,
meets my eyes.

"Well?" I ask him softly.

"Do it, Chakotay."

*****

7.

Jesus.

I'm so damned restless tonight. Can't sleep. Haven't got a hope.

Too much going on, I guess. Too much whirling through that fuckin'
lump of useless jelly that passes for my brain these days.

Fourteen days.

Doesn't sound like a long time, does it?

But it is.

It is.

Cursing into the darkness, I call up the lights and fling back the bed
covers. I haul my weary ass out of bed and pad into the living area.
Maybe if I drink something warm...? My mom always swore by that.

I dial up warm milk with just a touch of nutmeg in it and go over to
the sofa. I flop down, curse vaguely as milk splashes over the edge of
the glass, and sit there staring at nothing and thinking about
everything.

//Do it, Chakotay...//

That's what I told him. I have to wonder now... I if has really known
what would happen, exactly what he would do, would I have gone that
far?

God. Probably.

It's... it was *the* most intense physical experience I have ever had
and the weirdest part is that I can't tell you if I enjoyed or if I
didn't. I... don't know.

I didn't know whether to scream with agony or howl with pleasure. I
couldn't stop cursing and spitting at him, fighting with him. At the
same time I can remember so clearly telling him to keep going, to do
it harder, faster, to - "don't you dare fuckin' stop!".

Did it hurt? Yeah, it did. For two days afterwards I felt like my
lower guts were bruised to a pulp.

The thing is... it felt incredibly good too.

It's been fourteen days since it happened. Fourteen days since he
pushed me down and fucked me, right there on the floor of his office.

Fourteen days since he literally snapped and gave me just what I was
asking for.

The again, perhaps he gave me a little more than that.

For the most part, I just don't think about it. I can't. I have a job
to do on this ship and I want to do it well. I have friends that I
care about and want to be good to. But every now and then, a little
flash of it will come to me.

In my minds eye, just for a moment, I'll be back there again. On the
floor, on my hands and knees, naked as the day I was born with
Chakotay's rock solid dick buried right up my ass. I'll remember the
feel of the sweat that dripped off me, the bruising, relentless
invasion of my body, the searing heat of it, the pounding pain, the
absolute fuckin' ecstasy.

I'll remember that by the time he reached around to roughly grip my
cock, I was so ready to come that I nearly screamed down the bulkhead.

The day after it happened, I didn't know what to think. Didn't know
what was gonna happen. We hadn't really spoken afterwards.

He'd taken care of me. When it was over, y'know? I hadn't expected
that. From the earlier anger in his eyes, I had expected him to just
order me to leave, but he didn't.

He lifted me to my feet, helped me to the sofa in his office. He
replicated a warm wet cloth and cleaned me up. He helped me to get
dressed and all the while, his face was so calm, so fuckin' remote.

In silence he stepped back from me and released the door lock.

In silence I left.

Shit.

I don't know exactly what I expected. I guess I kinda thought it would
be wild, rough, maybe even a little violent.

I didn't expect it be like another fuckin' plane of existence
altogether.

Chakotay wasn't just fucking me. I know that now. What he was doing
was staking a total claim on me. Without words he was telling me - "No
one else can make you feel this. No one else can give you this. No one
else will own you like I do."

He's right.

And the fact is, no one else has ever *wanted* to.

I gotta tell ya, the realization scared the *shit* out of me. I
started to think about calling a stop to the whole thing a few days
later... just breaking one of his fuckin' rules and having done with
it.

//If I find you with another, I will end it and I will *never* touch
you again...//

I thought about it. I knew that Sue and the twins would be there if I
wanted them to be. I thought about walking into Sandrine's with Jenny
on my arm and then making sure that I damned well walked out with her
too.

I even got as far as reaching for the comm and dialing her quarters.
But just before the link came up, I broke the connection with a hand
that actually trembled.

I couldn't. Jesus help me, I didn't *want* to.

He showed no sign of it at the crew briefing the next day. We went in
and sat down, the usual places, the usual agenda. About the only thing
that I noticed was any different about him was the fact that he seemed
more relaxed, more focused.

I figured two could play at that game. I am sure as hell not gonna let
him see that he's gotten to me like this.

Fourteen days. God.

I'm at a loss here. I don't know what he expects from me. All I know
is that I want it again.

I'm so wrapped up in my late night musing that the sound of the comm
badge on my side table nearly gives me a fuckin' heart attack.

I reach over and tap it, thinking maybe it's Harry, hoping that maybe
it's not. "Paris," I say shortly through the link.

"It's Chakotay."

Oh shit...

My heart slams into double time. This is not ship's business. I know
that. Not at this time of night. My dick obviously realizes it too,
judging by the instant fuckin' hard on that's just shot up in my
pants.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah?"

"I want you." His voice is soft, sure. There's an undertone too it
through. Something harsh... something strangely needy.

Jesus, he sounds like I *feel*.

"What, *now?*" Even as I question it, I know I'm not going to deny
him. Even though it's nearly ship's midnight. Even though I'm as tired
as hell from a long shift.

"My quarters. Don't be long."

I'm stunned when he cuts the link. Just cuts it. Like it's a foregone
conclusion that I'm gonna run over there, drop to the floor and hand
my ass up to him.

I start cursing, snarling over his fuckin' gall. Over the arrogance of
the man. As if he thinks he can just snap his fuckin' fingers and land
me whenever, wherever.

I'm still swearing as I get up and head out my door. Only this time,
it's not at him.

It's at me, for needing him like this.

---

I open my eyes slowly, focusing on the small lushly grassed forest
clearing that is the symbol of my spiritual plane. I have, over the
past few days, felt a powerful pull in my soul to come here. To regain
some level of perspective regarding this... *arrangement* I find
myself in with Tom Paris.

I am not proud of the way I am behaving towards him, of how I am using
him. I am not proud of the way he was able to force my hand, how I
allowed myself to give in to my base desires. If I weren't so certain
that he was enjoying it, I would be hard pressed to deal with my own
guilt.

But he does enjoy it. His body literally thrums with lust whenever he
comes to me. I no longer entertain the old fantasy of forcing his
submission.

It has been replaced by a far more compelling reality.

He remains rebellious, defiant. Kicking and snarling to the very end,
even as he gives himself to me. Even as I fuck him, taking brutally
and giving with equal force.

But he continues to come to me. Every time I call for him, he is
there. I have his complete attention when he is with me in this
fashion. It is immensely gratifying, I can no longer lie to myself
about it.

When I am inside the tight heat of his body, I have peace. There is a
certain instant, in the midst of all the cursing and conflict, where I
reach a moment of clarity. Where there are no more dark cravings, no
more furious desire.

It is then that I feel it. The renewal. I have slaked my thirst. The
release that I find in Paris' body pushes back the darkness again.

The satisfaction of the moment is sublime. Almost as fulfilling as
sensation of coming into him, of reaching around his lean and
straining form and bringing him off with me.

It only ever takes one touch. One single hard stroke of my fist over
his weeping cock and he loses complete control.

I have regrets. I'm sure he does too.

I regret that this is all we can ever have. Deep within me, in the
quiet and calm place of my conscience, I *do* wish that I could give
him tenderness... offer him affection. It *is* within me to do so.

He doesn't want it. This much is very clear to me.

So we continue.

For days at a time, I don't need him. Our lives revert to nearly
normal. Of course, it is always there between us. Unspoken. Waited
for. I feel him watching me sometimes, and when I turn to meet his
eyes, I see a challenge in those clear blue depths.

How long can you hold off *this* time, Commander?

As long as I have to, I suppose. I would prefer, if it were possible,
*not* to have to turn to him for this. But he pushed his way into my
psyche and demanded my focus. And now I cannot look away.

I have to confess, our strange liaison *has* had its roll on effects.
The Captain pulled me aside yesterday requesting a moment of my time.
She actually looked a little awkward, which was surprising in a woman
usually so confident.

Settling into her ready room, she had paused and looked closely at me
before pulling in a deep breath.

"Commander... Chakotay," she had smiled at me, her eyes warm and even
slightly remorseful. "I've been observing you during the course of
your duties over the last few weeks and I felt it was time for me to
say a few things that have been on my mind for a while."

I had leaned forward, my hands on my knees. "You know that you can
always speak your mind to me, Kathryn. I'm your First Officer. That's
what I'm here for."

"I wanted to thank you," she had told me softly. "I know that you were
*very* angry at the way I so cavalierly kept you out of the loop
during all this business with Jonas. But I just wanted to tell you how
much I admire the way you have put it behind you. You seem to have
reconciled the incident remarkably well."

I simply smiled at her. "Well, I've... confronted a few issues of my
own during this time, Kathryn, and I think I've put things into
perspective again."

"More than that, I would say." Her smile had turned slightly rueful.
"You're more focused, more calm... more at peace than I've ever seen
you since you joined my crew. I can only tell you, whatever you're
doing, be it meditative or spiritual, keep doing it."

I had chuckled slightly. "Trust me, Kathryn. I intend to."

And I do.

As I pull in a deep breath and open my eyes to the familiar surrounds
of my quarters, I feel content enough in the moment.

It is not ideal. Far from it. In an ideal universe, I would never have
entered into such a thing. I would have retained my control, my
distance.

But now it is too late.

Both Paris and I seem to be getting what we want from each other. I
have the heady exhilaration of knowing that he *will* be there when I
need him. And I suppose he gets the satisfaction of knowing that I
*do*.

"Janeway to Commander Chakotay."

I rise to my feet and address the computer comm system. "I'm here,
Captain."

"I apologize for interrupting you when you're off shift, but our
sensors have just picked up some disturbing information. I'll need you
back on the bridge as soon as you can get here."

"Of course, Captain." Even as I reply I move into the bedroom and
quickly don my uniform. "Can you give me any details?"

"We have Kazon closing in, Commander." Her voice comes back grimly. "A
*lot* of them. From the way they're circled about us, I would have to
say that this has been planned ahead of time."

This is not good news. One of the few advantages of dealing with the
Kazon is that they are just as happy fighting with each other as they
are with us. If a few factions have joined as allies to pursue us, we
could be in serious trouble.

And if Seska is coordinating them, then that statement becomes much
more definite.

I hit the corridor and move to the turbo lift. "Have you commed
Lieutenant Paris? I think we'll need him if it gets down to a dog
fight."

"He's already here, Commander," she assures me.

Good.

The time for pondering my personal situation is over for the moment.
The First Officer is required now, and all my attention must be turned
to the threat that waits ahead of us. I have no doubt that Paris'
skills will serve us well here. The fact is, as far as piloting is
concerned, Paris is just about the best.

For the next few hours we will be completely back to the status quo.
Colleges and crewmates, working together as a united team.

And when the dust has settled and the danger gone, I know that I will
call him to me again.

I cannot have one without the other.

So it seems.

---

"Cardio stimulator... please." The EMH holds out his hand and Kes
smoothly picks up the stimulator out of a tray of a dozen different
devices that all look the same to me.

The EMH sets and applies it.

Chakotay convulses on the bio bed. It's a small movement, controlled
and obviously required, but oh Jesus... if I have to see it one more
time I think I'm gonna go insane.

"I've administered the adrenaline, Doctor," Kes says calmly.

"Good. How are his vitals looking?"

"Weak," she tells him. "But steady for now."

"Excellent. I need you assisting me for the moment. There's a great
deal of blood in here." I hear the EMH mutter as he works. "Kes, can
you apply suction here, please..? just left of the - ah, excellent...
I need to repair the tearing in this section of the meningeal artery
before we can attempt to deal with any of the other damage."

I feel a warm hand clasp my shoulder, and I jump slightly, looking
into Harry's worried eyes. "Tom?"

I clasp his hand for a moment. "I'm OK, Har." I nod through the
plexiglass screen to the operating cubical. "The Commander's the one
in real trouble."

Harry follows my gaze, winces and looks away. "Oh, man," he mumbles
thickly. "That's a hard thing to see."

"No kidding." I swallow hard, unable to tear my eyes away.

"We get so used to our modern surgery," Harry continues softly. "No
blood, no... invasion. It's kind of a shock to see *this*."

I laugh softly, but there's not a lot of fuckin' humor in it. In fact
it sounds kind of hysterical. "Well, the Doc seemed to think that
seeing as the Commander's skull was already open, he might as well do
it this way."

Harry pulls in a deep breath. "Your hands look pretty bad."

I nod. I know. They hurt like a bitch, but its just flash burns. I got
them when the console exploded. The same console that shot a two-inch
piece of shrapnel right into Chakotay's forehead.

Bet you he regrets his habit of standing at my shoulder now.

"I'm fine to wait. The Doc'll get to me when he can." I look at the
charred skin on my hands. "It's not that serious. Kes scanned me while
the Doc was prepping for the Commander's surgery."

"You two were the only injuries?"

"On the bridge, anyway." I look at him for a second. "How about
engineering?"

"Aside from Torres' temper, no casualties at all."

"It was a lucky shot, Harry." I mutter flatly. "We were nearly clear."

"Who's at the helm now?"

"Rollins. He's capable." He sure is. At least he is now that all we're
doing is running at warp from the most poorly executed fuckin' ambush
I have *ever* been in.

This one wasn't Seska's doing. Not this time.

In fact, we almost got out without a scratch.

Except for that one lucky shot.

"Are you nearly ready to close, Doctor?" Kes is asking as she checks
Chakotay's vitals again.

"Yes, Kes, I am. The damage to the artery is successfully repaired."
The EMH sets his little tools down.

"His heart rate is weakening again, Doctor." She starts prepping
another hypospray.

"Shock from the blood loss," the EMH replies as he takes the hypo.

I can feel my own heart slamming in my chest. Blood loss? No fuckin'
kidding. God, when I turned around after the console went off and...
oh shit, he looked like he was floating in it. He was just lying
there, one side of his body twitching uncontrollably while his own
blood spread in a pool around his head and shoulders.

I don't know what kept me from screaming. Maybe I did scream. I don't
remember.

The Captain had us both transported to sickbay. That was a half hour
ago.

Kes and the Doc have been struggling to keep him alive.

I'm... shit I don't know *what* I feel right now.

About him.

About losing him.

Up until today, I thought I had it worked out in my head. I wanted
him. Shit of *course* I fuckin' wanted him. What he did for me. To me.

But that was all.

At least that's what I've been telling myself. And up till now, I've
been able to believe it.

He could die.

Just like that. Off one lucky fuckin' shot.

He could die.

And I'd never get the chance to say...

What, exactly?

That I wished it hadn't happened like that between us? That I wish
that it had happened sooner? That I wish I'd never done it?

That I wished it could be more?

It's like... I've only got this one tiny part of what makes the whole
man. I know the fury. I know his strength and the lust that matches
it.

But I don't have anything else.

I see him sometimes. On the holodeck or in the mess. Talking with the
crew. Sharing a joke, laughing with them.

The other night I was getting a meal with Harry, and Chakotay was
there in the mess, talking with Dalby and Ayala about something. As he
left to go back to his own table, he clapped Ayala's shoulder and
grinned at him. There was warmth in that grin. Real affection.

Shit, for an instant I was so fuckin' *jealous* of that. Of the fact
that the people he works with get more warmth from him than the man
he's fucking.

I told myself that I was just being stupid about it. After all, I
never said I wanted his affection. I only ever told him that I wanted
his dick.

I got what I asked for. Simple.

Only...

"Tom..? Tom?"

Harry's voice cuts through the buzzing in my head and I blink and turn
to him. "Huh? Oh, sorry Har. I phased out there for a second."

Harry smiles kindly. "Hey no problem. You've had a big night." He nods
towards the bio-bed in the main room. "Kes wants you."

"Oh, Right." I glance once more at Chakotay, watching the Doc doing
his usual post-op scans, then I head over to Kes and her sweet smile.

"Just sit up here for a moment, Tom," she tells me gently. "We'll have
you fixed up in no time."

"Tom, I've gotta get back to engineering," Harry tells me. "I'll stop
by your quarters later, OK?"

I nod at him, dredging up what I can only hope is a smile and he
leaves quickly.

As Kes carefully and painlessly regenerates my hands, I look over her
shoulder towards the operating room. "How is he?"

She looks into my face, her eyes compassionate.

Aw fuck. Trust my luck to land me with an empathic medic. I clear my
throat and look away, trying to think about anything but Chakotay.

She touches my shoulder briefly. "He's going to be fine, Tom."

"How close was it? I mean really?" I don't know why I'm asking that
question. I can't... I've gotta know.

She frowns slightly. "Tom..."

"Please Kes. I need to know." I swallow again, my throat growing
tight. "Please."

"It was a near thing, Tom, I won't lie to you. But he got through it
and he's going to be fine." She smiles again. "He's very strong."

"Yeah," I whisper and hold out my hands again. "Yeah, he is."

---

"It's very good to see you back on duty, Commander," Captain Janeway
smiles at me from across the conference table. Various nods and little
noises of affirmation second her statement.

I nod, smiling slightly. "Thank you Captain. It's good to *be* back."

And it is. From what I understand, I had a very close call this time.

According to the EMH, the sliver of console shrapnel that injured the
artery in my head caused surprisingly little damage elsewhere, and
what damage it *did* cause was reparable.

In the doctor's own words - "You're a fortunate man, Commander. If you
absolutely *had* to have a piece of metal puncture your skull, you
really couldn't have picked a better point of entry."

I can't really remember what happened. All I can recall is standing at
Paris' shoulder while he almost casually flew us through the widely
spaced crossfire between the converging Kazon strike ships. He banked
sharply and turned us towards an opening in the encircling ships and
began to take us out of the line of fire.

"Ill say this for 'em," he had grinned cockily up at me. "They've got
powerful weapons, Commander, but they can't shoot worth a damn."

Prophetic words, as I have come to understand.

A Kazon vessel, apparently late into the fray, suddenly appeared in
the view screen. Paris moved to evade and the next thing I knew the
world went black.

I woke up in sickbay with Kes at my shoulder and a headache unlike
anything I'd ever felt before drilling through my head.

"Easy, Commander," she had said softly, administering a shot that
immediately dulled the pain down to a dull roar. "You sustained head
injuries but you are going to be fine."

"The crew?" I managed to croak out.

"Lieutenant Paris was injured, but..."

"Injured?" I felt real fear lance through me. Powerful fear. "Is
he..."

Kes rested her tiny hand on my chest. "He's fine. He's just fine. He
had some minor burns to his hands, that's all."

The sense of relief that flooded me was enormous. I know that our
arrangement may not be the most affectionate, but I certainly did not
want to think of him being harmed.

Now, as I look around the table at my colleagues, I find my eyes
linger on Paris' faultless face for a moment.

He looks a little subdued this morning. When his gaze catches mine I
can't help but notice how he carefully schools his features into a
more relaxed expression.

I sigh softly but with a certain acceptance. It's a clear signal.
Whatever he is bothered by is, in his opinion, none of my concern. He
has always made it very clear that although he might crave my
attentions, he does not require my affection.

I spend some time considering that as Tuvok stands and moves to the
wall console to deliver the current report on the state of the ship's
repairs.

I have to wonder who is the more tragic, Paris or me?

As the briefing draws to a close, we rise and move off to begin our
various tasks for the day.

I'll be spending most of this shift in my office, catching up with
five days of work that built up while I was recovering in sickbay.

Moving past the helmsman's station, I cast another look at Paris'
graceful form as he flows down into his seat. I see Harry lean across
and say something in a low voice. It's obviously a joke of some sort,
because a smile flits briefly across that perfect face.

I notice that it doesn't touch his eyes.

The more I think about him, the more tension flows into my body.
Tension that is only increased when I reach my office and realize that
the backlog is much larger than I thought it would be.

I cannot be angry with any one person for this. It is no one's doing.
No one's fault. When you have a damaged ship in unfriendly space, the
last thing on the priority list is a load of mundane ship's reports.

I stifle a sigh, set my shoulders and prepare to ride the desk for a
good twelve hours.

At least.

Spirits... give me strength. There was a time not so long ago when I
had actually forgotten how much office work was involved in a senior
Starfleet position.

We didn't really write many reports in the Maquis.

I take a few moments to breathe out the remnants of my annoyance, and
get to work.

Now if I can just keep the image of Paris' face out of my mind,
everything will be fine.

It's not that easy.

I haven't been with him in some time. Well over a week, if my
recollections serve me. I know that the clash with the Kazon would
have most likely been a catalyst had I not been injured like I was.

I feel it starting again. Low grade and irksome. Anxiety in my
stomach, sullen heat rising in my groin. Always the same. A slow
building of this elemental need that will continue until I simply
*have* to seek release.

When I was a child, I dealt with it on a childish level. Scrapping
with other kids or simply letting it out by doing something so
incredibly foolish that my father would gaze at the sky as if to ask
the spirits - "Where is the sense that this boy was born with?"

I was well known amongst my peer group as a boy who would accept *any*
dare they cared to throw at me.

As I grew to be a man, the need within me changed, directing itself
through my emotions and my sexual self. I am by nature an intensely
introspective person. My whole family is, to tell the truth. This was
fortunate, as I used my propensity for meditation and self-evaluation
to curb my less acceptable tendencies.

I thought I had it under control.

I was unprepared for Paris' effect on me, to say the very least.

Sighing again, I shake my head and turn my attention back to my desk.
I know it is already a foregone conclusion.

I will be calling him to me tonight.

That thought alone will get me through the day.

---

It's a strange feeling, this. Real strange. I don't know if I can
describe it properly, seeing as I only really just worked it out
myself, but I'll try.

My body feels good.

*I* don't.

Make sense? Didn't think so.

Let's look at it logically, then. This... what I'm doing here, what
*we're* doing here, is no different to any other time, OK?

I'm on my hands and knees, Jesus, the usual 'drop and present'
position. The Commander's behind me, his big hands clamped around my
hips like a fuckin' vice, and he's driving it home like he's trying to
shove his dick out through the top of my head.

And it feels good. Great. My own rock solid cock is testament to
*that* little fact.

Chakotay's a very big boy, let's not be coy about it, and every time
he slams that huge thick shaft up my ass it stretches me and fills me
like nothing else ever could. He's banging the living fuck out of my
prostate on every up-stroke, sending these searing stabs of pleasure
rocketing through me and pushing me just that much closer to coming my
brains out.

I can hear his low grunts behind me, steadily rising as his hips start
pumping faster and, if you can believe it, harder. He's almost gone
back there, and pretty soon he's gonna give a God almighty roar, fill
my ass with his come and then reach around to squeeze my dick.

As soon as he touches me, it'll be all over. The fat lady will have
warbled. I'll go fuckin' wild, screaming like a banshee and coming
hard enough to risk an aneurysm.

And then he'll leave.

Just like one of us always does.

He'll rest over my back for a little while, his breathing gradually
slowing. Then, he'll pull out, clean me off, get dressed and get lost.

Which used to be fine. It used to be just fuckin' dandy.

Not anymore.

So my body feels good. It's reveling in this. Always did... shit,
probably always will.

But my heart hurts.

Deep in my chest. It hurts.

I don't want him to leave anymore. I want him to stay.

He won't.

Just because he fucks me, doesn't mean he has to give two shits about
the way I feel. It's my own fault. *I* told him that I didn't care
about that.

But I do.

Jesus, its' all fucked up. All of it. Everything. It wasn't supposed
to be this way. This wasn't supposed to happen.

It was just supposed to be a little bit of fun. A challenge, a game...

It hurts. God it *hurts*. I don't... don't think I can keep doing this
anymore I... I don't think I can take it anymore.

It matters to me now. *He* matters. I wasn't supposed to do this. I
wasn't supposed to care, but then I nearly lost him and I realized...

I have to tell him. I have to. I mean sure, I *know* what'll happen
when I do, but I figure that I can handle that. I'd rather have
nothing at all that this weird fuckin' limbo, hopefully giving myself
to someone who wants my ass and nothing more.

I have to tell him...

"Chakotay..?" I gasp out, my head hanging, my own sweat running into
my eyes. "Chakotay?"

"Don't talk, Paris," he grunts back, slamming into me hard, getting
ready to dance that last dance.

Figuratively speaking.

"Chakotay." I say clearly, seriously, forcing the roughness and the
pleasure out of my voice. "You're hurting me."

He stops.

He just... just stops. Freezes back there, buried up to the hilt in my
ass, fine tremors ripping through him.

I can hear his breathing, harsh and ragged. I feel his hands slip away
from my hips, releasing that bruising grip.

I hear him speak to his Spirits. Just softly.

Slowly, so carefully, he pulls out of me. He puts his hands on my
shoulders, lifts me, guides me to the sofa and then hunkers down and
looks up into my face.

I guess he doesn't much like what he sees. I can't remember ever
seeing anyone look that sorry. He sighs, his eyes closing for a moment
as he squats down there at my feet.

"I'm sorry, Tom," he tells me.

Don't be sorry - I want to tell him... don't take it all on your
shoulders, Chakotay. It was *my* fault. *I* pushed the envelope. I
made you want me this way and now all of a sudden I'm changing the
goal posts on you...

I want to tell him this, but I can't. My throat won't work. The words
won't come out.

He shakes his head sadly, then gets dressed.

Aw shit... He's leaving. I knew he would.

I try to pull it together. Try do something, say something, *anything*
to make him stay.

As he looks at me one more time, his face filled with a regret so deep
I want to howl, I wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Why can't I
just *say something* for fuck's sake?

That's when it hits me.

I'm too busy crying.

---

"...You're hurting me."

I freeze. The shock, the sheer horror of his words running down my
spine like ice.

//You're hurting me.//

In my own lust, my rage... In my overwhelming *need* to have this
release from him I have harmed him. Damaged him.

It suddenly dawns on me exactly what I have done here. How far out of
control this agreement we've entered into has gone.

I have more than just used him. I have subjugated and humiliated him.
I have let him know through my words and my actions that I will fuck
him, yes... but share a beer with him? Shoot some pool with him? Treat
him like a human being?

I look down at his smooth back. He's trembling under me, that
beautiful lean form drenched in sweat, his limbs shaking from the
effort of enduring my onslaught.

I can hear him. Now that the thunder in my head has died down, I can
hear him.

He's crying.

//You're hurting me.//

Pain slashes through me and behind it, comes the shame.

It's as if I am really seeing him for the first time.

How long, I wonder? How long has he been hiding this? Has it been this
way for him since the start? Was he simply too afraid to tell me?

Did I get it so wrong?

Probably.

"Oh Spirits... what have I done?"

I withdraw from him slowly, carefully. I don't want to hurt him any
more that I already have. As I gently turn him so that I can see his
tear streaked face, my heart clenches.

I have brought him to this state. To this place.

He wanted me, yes. He wanted me to want him, to take him, hard and
fast.

But not *once* did I ever hear him tell me to hurt him.

My only consolation is that I didn't mean to. I just... Oh Spirits, I
*wanted* him so badly. Once I knew what it was like to have him I... I
wanted his affection, his wiling favors. I was angry, frustrated that
he didn't want the same and so I lost myself in these moments, trying
to convince myself that it would be enough.

I foolishly believed that if I could just get deep enough, just go
hard enough, *feel* enough, that I could simply quench my immediate
needs and ignore what I really wanted.

It's a mess, I think to myself as I look into his anguished face. It's
a terrible irreconcilable mess.

And it's my fault.

"I'm sorry, Tom," I tell him softly.

And I am. With everything that resides within me, I am.

Those pained blue eyes widen. His mouth drops open, but no sound
emerges.

He looks stunned.

I can't say that I blame him.

I consider saying more, but I quickly decide against it. What could I
possibly say that would make this better?

I dress quickly, unable to quell the feeling of self-loathing that
rises in me.

Yes, I know he pushed me. He goaded me, he *dared* me...

I am meant to be better than what I have become. I should have denied
him, laughed in his face the very first moment he even suggested this
liaison. I should have kept pushing back at him until he simply gave
up, no matter *how* long it took.

I should never have let him get close enough to touch the dark need
inside me.

I take one last look into his eyes, and the reproach, the anguish I
see there cuts me to the bone. He's trying to speak, but I... I don't
want to hear it.

I don't need him to tell me to leave him alone.

I already know.

I simply turn and leave. This thing between us, and the monster it
grew into, is over. Killed. Slain by my arrogance and my selfishness.
Destroyed by my own weakness.

//You're hurting me.//

I exit his quarters and head to the turbo lift and as I do, I feel a
grim certainty descend upon me.

I am sorry, Tom. I will never demand this of you again.

I promise.

---

OK... final course correction, set the coordinates in for Rollin's
takeover and I'm done for yet another day.

It'll be a quiet night. They usually are these days.

As Rollins enters the bridge and moves up beside me, I smile at him
and move out of his space. He gives me a nod and settles in happily
and I turn towards the turbo lift.

The Commander's there, politely holding the lift for me, like he
usually does. I step in beside him and we stand silently as it
descends.

"I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant," he tells me. "You did some good
work on those drills this morning."

I nod at him. "Thank you, Sir."

He returns the nod and then turns his eyes back to the doors. "The
Captain has been considering introducing a new set of sims for the
bridge crew," he goes on in that same courteous tone. "I was thinking
about suggesting you in the design and implementation team. Would you
be interested?"

I nod. I am interested. Very. "Yes, Sir. Absolutely I would be."

"Good. I'll suggest it to her the first chance I get."

"Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant."

The lift doors open at that point and I step out, wish Chakotay a good
evening and head to my quarters.

This is what it's like between us now.

So fuckin' polite. You could base a diplomatic instructors course
around us.

The Captain in so pleased with us you can virtually hear the purring.
She pulled me aside the other day, her face covered with her own
version of maternal pride.

"I've noticed the pleasing change in your attitude towards working
with Commander Chakotay," she told me. "I just wanted to tell you that
it's been noted. You've worked very hard to adjust to your role on
Voyager, Lieutenant. You should be proud of yourself."

I think I was pretty much able to convince her that I was pleased to
hear that.

As I reach my quarters and step inside, I feel myself letting out a
breath that I hadn't even realized I was holding.

Jesus I hate this.

I keep telling myself that what's done is done. There's no going back
now.

I have this... guilt, y'know? Every time that I look at Chakotay. I
feel so fuckin' bad about what happened.

He's not the same. He's changed.

Not in a bad way, don't get me wrong. He's not bitter or angry and he
treats me more fairly and more graciously than he ever did before.

It's just... he's so damned *sad* all the time.

I can see it in his face, in his eyes. In the way he interacts with
the crew.

Other people have noticed it too. It's not just me. The latest on the
gossip mill is that the head injury he sustained back during the Kazon
attack affected him more than the EMH originally thought.

Jesus. If they knew the truth...

I've changed too, I guess. I'm not as social for one thing. Oh, don't
get me wrong here, I haven't suddenly become a hermit. I still hang
with Harry and B'Elanna but... I've kinda taken myself off the lover's
loop of Voyager for the time being.

Oh yeah... the latest dirt on *that* is that I finally broke my dick.

Classy guys. Real classy.

The fact is, I don't really want to be with anyone right now.

Except for Chakotay and the chance of *that* happening is about as
likely as me sprouting wings and halo.

I just wish there was some way to make it better again. To make him
feel better.

I tried to broach the subject about a week or so after that last time.
The night he told me he was sorry.

The night he called me by my name.

I went to his office and kind of hovered in the doorway. I didn't walk
in, I... guess I didn't want to give him the impression that I was
gonna come onto him again or anything.

He looked up from his desk at me and... oh shit, his eyes. The look in
those eyes.

He'll never forgive himself.

Then again, I'll never forgive *myself* either so I guess that makes
us even.

"Commander, I..." I took a deep breath, struggling with it for a
moment. "I wanted to tell you..."

He nodded at me. "I know, Lieutenant. You don't have to say anything."

"Yes I do." I protested against that a bit. "I owe you an..."

He held up his hand, turning his face away for a moment. I could see
the muscles on his jaw rippling as he worked his way through it.

Pretty fuckin' funny when you think about it. For a guy who always
seemed to know what to say he was having a *real* hard time with
talking to me.

"You owe me nothing." He said it so softly that I had to strain to
hear it. "Nothing at all. I think that we should both do our best to
put this behind us. I think... if we're to have any chance of working
together successfully, we'll *have* to."

For a moment there, I thought he was dismissing me. Y'know? Not
interested, Tom, thanks but no thanks... But then he looked at me
again and I saw my own pain mirrored in his eyes.

I couldn't take it, so I agreed.

That was nearly a month ago.

Shaking my head like I'm trying to dislodge the memories, I change
into my old jeans and sweatshirt, ready to settle in for the evening.
Just as I'm about to dial up a meal, Harry comms me and asks me to
meet in the mess for dinner.

I don't really have any reason *not* to go, so I change into a
slightly better shirt and head out.

Harry's been a real pal over these last few weeks. He knows that
something's up, but he also knows me well enough not to push the
issue. He just does his usual thing, which is to be there. He drags me
out of my quarters on a regular basis and forces fun down my throat.
Sometimes B'Elanna even gets in on the project, but most of the time
its just Harry.

He doesn't know it, but he's kept me from falling apart.

He's at our usual table in the mess. Grinning and waving me over as I
walk through the door.

As usual my eyes make a quick sweep of the mess, looking for Chakotay.

As usual he's not there.

As I settle down to my meal, Harry launches right into a - "Remember
when..?" anecdote. I can't help but smile at the guy. He does this on
purpose. He *knows* I won't be able to resist trying to top him on the
funniest story line, and before I even realize it the night will have
gone past.

Once the meal is finished, we decide to check out the holodecks. That
is, *Harry* decides to check out the holodecks and I decide to go
along.

I know that most of the off duty crew will be in the Resort program
tonight. It's amazing how popular it's become.

Possibly the holo characters I designed are part of the reason. Shit,
bursting bikinis and big bronzed pects... literally something for
everybody.

"Do you feel like the resort?" Harry asks me as we exit the turbo
lift.

I consider it. Briefly. "Nah." I'm not really in the mood for the
crowd tonight. "Something quieter."

Harry checks out the wall console. "Well, holodeck two is running
Sandrine's."

That's unusual but not unheard of to have two going at once. And hey,
if someone wants to burn their credits running my program, who are
*we* to refuse to take advantage of it?

We step in and look around briefly. The only people who seem to be
here are the holo characters.

Harry shrugs and racks up the pool table. "Maybe they went to the
resort for while - forgot to turn off the program."

"Maybe." I pick up my cue and turn to the table, winking at Harry.
"Break, Har, and prepare to lose."

His easy laughter makes me feel good. I'm lucky to have a friend like
him.

Even as I think that, I have to wonder.

Who does Chakotay have?

---

Perhaps in hindsight it may have not been the best move I could have
made in coming here, but after another grueling journey through the
spirit plane I was restless, needing to escape the confines of my
quarters.

Of course, I realize what it is that I really need, but as I have
forever denied myself this right, I will take the next best thing.

Something built by his hand.

I turned on the Sandrine's simulation when I reached the holodeck and,
as I ordered a synth and took a seat in the deeply shadowed tables by
the side of the bar, I actually felt a measure of calm washing over
me.

I was still pondering that when I heard the holodeck arch doors open.

Now, I'm sitting hidden in the shadows, watching as Tom and Harry play
a casual game of pool. They're the only other real people here and
it's clear to me that they don't realize that they are not actually
alone.

I should stand up and make my presence known to them.

I should, but...

Something is wrong with Tom. I have seen it on his face for a month. I
can see it now and the realization that I have caused it hurts me.
Since I cannot ask him myself, I resign myself to waiting until Harry
does.

While I wait, I wonder exactly when I stopped thinking of Tom as just
'Paris'.

Maybe he is breaking under the strain too. We left so much unsaid. *I*
left so much unsaid.

How could I have been so foolish as to accept Tom's reckless
reasoning?

He thought it would be just a bit of fun, just a release, that it
wouldn't change anything.

He was wrong. It changed everything.

"Tom?" Harry finally gives up waiting and puts his cue down. "What's
going on?"

Tom shoots him a sharp look with those haunted eyes, freezing for a
moment. I can see that he's contemplating lying, trying to think of
some acceptable excuse for his increasingly quiet demeanor.

The problem for Tom is that Harry can see it too. "No bullshit, Tom,"
Harry says softly. "*Talk* to me."

Tom laughs softly, a hurt little sound, and passes a trembling hand
over his face. "God, Harry." He sighs softly, the weariness in his
voice very evident now. "I don't know if I can tell you everything,
OK? But I... I need to talk to *someone*, I... can't keep going like
this."

The worry on Harry's open face deepens as he realizes that Tom is very
close to tears. "It's all right, Tom. I can respect that. Just... tell
me what you can and I'll try to help."

"I know." Tom takes a deep breath and calls for a privacy lock.

Well, I can't leave now even if I wanted to. I don't plan on trying.
Whatever Tom says, however scathing, however painful, I deserve to
hear.

Consider it punishment for my sins, if you will.

Tom props himself against the pool table, his arms wrapping around his
own body in a peculiar gesture of self-comfort. Harry moves next to
him, patiently waiting.

"It's about the Commander," Tom says softly.

"I guessed that, Tom," Harry nods slowly. "I knew that *something*
must have happened. I mean, a month and a half ago you two couldn't be
in the same room without sparks flying, then overnight you both turn
into a parody of diplomatic etiquette."

Tom sighs again, his eyes closing.

His next words almost floor me.

"I'm a fool, Harry," he says with quiet conviction. "I'm a fool and
I've fucked up something that could have been for the rest of my
life."

Harry frowns, his hackles visibly rising. "Did the Commander say that
you?" he demands.

Tom shakes his head. "No," he whispers. He meets Harry's eyes. "No. He
wouldn't do that, he... would never willingly hurt anyone."

I close my own eyes as new pain shoots through me.

So you say, Tom, yet I managed to hurt *you*, didn't I?

"He's a good man, Harry," Tom is continuing softly, his eyes sad and
distant. "But every man has his limits and I found his."

Harry's frown deepens. "What happened, Tom? You didn't fight with him,
did you?"

Tom laughs sadly, another tight pained sound that hurts my chest. "No.
Nothing like that, I... I can't really explain it. I'm not really sure
that I *want* to." He sighs. "I'm not very proud of what I've done,
Harry."

Harry's expression grows grim. "What exactly did you do, Tom?"

"What *didn't* I do? I invaded his privacy..." Tom's voice is soft,
his eyes staring into the middle distance. "I goaded him and
antagonized him, just to see what kind of reaction I could get."

Harry says nothing. He simply waits silently.

"It was mistake. A big one." Tom shakes his head sadly. "By the time I
realized just how much I could lose, it was too late. The damage was
done." Tom pulls in a deep breath and meets Harry's eyes again. "I
hurt him, Harry. I *hurt* him, and now I don't know how to make it
better."

Harry struggles with it for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is
quiet, his words slow and thoughtful. "I'm not really sure that I
follow you completely, but I get the idea." He hesitates and chews his
lower lip for a while. "To tell you the truth, it sounds like you and
the Commander have a lot of things unresolved between you."

"No kidding," Tom replies softly.

Harry pats his shoulder gently. "You have to talk to him, Tom. You
have to work this out *with* him. There's *two* people involved here.
You have to deal with that."

"I can't" Tom whispers tightly.

"Why?"

"He won't speak about it." Tom's eyes shimmer again and he scrubs at
them angrily with his fingers, swiping away the moisture. "I've tried
to comm him off duty, I... I've left messages..." His voice hitches
softly. "He doesn't want to see me."

You're wrong, Tom. I *do* want to see you, to hear you. *Know* you...

I thought it would be better for you if I stayed away from that part
of your life. I thought it would hurt you less.

"I don't blame him." Tom's quiet voice splinters through my soul. "I
pushed so hard, Harry. I got myself in way too deep and I didn't know
how to handle it." For a moment, Tom's beautiful eyes skim over the
bar and for a split second I nearly panic, sure that he has seen me.
But he hasn't, he simply looks back at Harry and resumes talking. "At
first I thought maybe he was just angry at me, y'know? For going too
far. For pushing *him* too far. But I can see that it's more than
that. You've seen him, haven't you? On the Bridge? That man who
doesn't smile anymore, doesn't joke anymore. Jesus, Har, he hardly
*talks* anymore. *I* did that Harry. Me. It's *my* fault."

Harry is silent for a moment, his pain at Tom's anguish clear. "What
are you going to do?"

Tom sets his jaw firmly. "What I should have done in the first place.
I'm going to leave him the hell alone."

Harry pats his shoulder briefly and then, on some unspoken signal, Tom
calls off the privacy lock and they both leave.

I don't even think about it. I just get to my feet, end the
simulation, and follow.

Tom was right. He *did* push me.

But I allowed it.

And he *did* hurt me. By getting under my defenses, by provoking me
into acting in a way that is repugnant to me... he *did* hurt me.

But I hurt him too, so in my mind, that clears the slate.

Harry is right. Tom and I... we need to talk.

As I hit the turbolift and call the deck number, I find that my mind
is calmer and more focused that it has been in a long, long time.

One way or another, this ends tonight.

---

I feel better. Not much, mind you. Just a little, but it's something.

Speaking to Harry, even in a general sort of way, was good for me.

Jesus... "Talk to me." I tell ya', if a counselor had uttered those
words to me, you wouldn't have been able to pry my mouth open with a
fuckin' crowbar. But Harry's different, y'know? No hidden agenda.

So maybe articulating how I feel *has* helped me to sort it out a bit.

I don't know. Maybe not.

Shit.

I reach the door of my quarters and key in my entrance code, not quite
able to smother the huge yawn that nearly cracks my jaw.

God, I'm wrecked. I just want to hole up in there for a week and
sleep.

As the door slides back, I feel a soft touch on my arm. Warm fingers
curl around my bicep and gently turn me.

Brown eyes. Sad. Beautiful.

Fuck.

Chakotay.

He looks... different. More open.

He smiles. Oh Jesus, he's actually smiling at me.

"Hey," he says softly.

I swallow hard. Can't speak. Don't try. God, I can't stop staring at
him, can't believe that he's come here. Before I can stop myself,
before I'm even aware of making the move, I lean towards him, pressing
my forehead to his.

He lets me.

Thank God. I know that I would probably die if he pulled away.

He touches me. Warm fingers stroke my neck. The softest touch. For
some reason, that moves me. Nearly to tears. I don't know why. Maybe
it's because this is the first time he's touched me gently.

I'm trembling. Shaking like I have a fever which, if you think about
it, I do.

In a way.

That touch is fit to drive me crazy. Slow and feather light, just
brushing over the skin on the side of my neck and it... Jesus, it
feels sweet. I'm frozen here, standing in my open door like an idiot,
shaking like a terrified virgin because this man is touching me.

Just touching me.

We stay still, Chakotay and I, locked in this weird stasis. I don't
want to move because I'm afraid that if I do, he'll take his hand off
me.

Shit, Tom, get a *grip* will ya?

"Tom?"

His scent, his touch... Oh God...

"Tom?"

His second try gets a response. Not a good one, I'll admit to that,
but it's more than I thought I was capable of. "Huh?"

"Can I come in?"

I pull back and stare at him.

- Can I come in? -

A question, not a demand.

Not - I want you, Paris, or - Get on your hands and knees, Paris, or -
Bend over the fuckin' desk, Paris...

Just - Can I come in?

I'm as confused as hell at this point. I mean, I know this means
something, right? This is a good change, I think. I just don't
understand *why*.

Why now after all this time?

"Why'd you leave me?"

Oh shit. Did that fuckin' question actually come from my own lips?
Like I need an answer to that one. I *know* why he left... I as good
as *told* him to.

And while we're on the subject... what's with this crying bullshit
again?

Because my traitorous throat has closed up tighter than a flea's ass,
I nod to him. Then giving my face a rough once over with my sleeve, I
step back into my quarters and wave him to follow me.

He stands, silent but not tense, just waiting while I go to the
replicator and dial up cold water. While I stand there gulping it
down, he looks at the sofa and raises his eyebrows at me.

"Sure." I nod at him and he takes a seat.

For a moment, we just look at each other. The space between me at the
wall and him on the sofa can't be more than eight feet, but it feels
like a fuckin' chasm.

There are so many words in here with us. I can feel them, thick in the
air around us. There's so much to say and I... I don't have a fuckin'
clue where to start.

I know I don't want to go back there again, to all the fuckin'
insanity. It was too much. I ended up *needing* it too much and that
scared the shit outta me.

So no way. Not this time.

I think.

Maybe.

Shit, *I* don't know.

Finally, Chakotay sighs and leans back a little, looking up at me with
those sad wise man eyes of his.

"I uhm..." He clears his throat and tries again. "Tom, I left that
night because I was ashamed."

Ashamed? What for? For being a fallible human just like the rest of
the race? For responding to all my fuckin' button pushing?

For doing what you thought I wanted?

I can see that he thinks I'm not following him and he grimaces a
little, softly tapping the knuckles of one hand on the arm of my sofa.
"I hurt you," he says softly. "I hurt you. I caused you injury, Tom,
and I'm sorry. I never meant to, I... I lost control." He looks away
for a moment, his jaw clenching. "That's the part that shames me the
most, I think."

"Injury?" I frown and shake my head, not even *close* to knowing what
the hell he's talking about. "What injury? You didn't injure me."

He stares at me, his face filled with doubt. "Tom, you told me
yourself. You said that I was hurting you."

Oh God. Oh shit, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I settle for
doing a little of both as I answer him. "I wasn't talking about my
ass, Chakotay."

He stares at me, confused as hell.

I pull in a deep breath and meet his eyes. I can't even *begin* to
guess at what reaction I'll get to *this*...

"I was talking about the way I *feel*."

---

"I was talking about the way I *feel*."

For a moment I just sit there, stunned and silent, staring up into his
exhausted blue eyes. Tom look like he's expecting me to rear up and
strike him. It hurts my heart, but it doesn't surprise me.

Oh Spirits, his feelings. That's what he was trying to say. I was
hurting his feelings.

I sit there on his sofa, watching him watch me with his ridiculously
beautiful eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his nostrils flaring like a
nervous foal. As I look at him, I think back on every time I demanded
access to his body, every time that I pushed him forward, pushed him
down, taking what I wanted with only minimal regard to his physical
self and no regard at all for his heart.

I thought it was what he wanted. Every time I reached around him to
grab that gorgeous cock of his, I'd find it hard and hot in my grip.
He would come so easily, so powerfully, at that single touch,
screaming and cursing, the clenching of his ass incredible around my
own sex.

Because of that, that basic male response, I was able to justify my
actions towards him.

He wanted it, I told myself. Wanted it rough and hard and impersonal.
Why would he have come in my hand if he didn't?

I am a fool.

"Tom?" I speak softly, almost afraid to break the silence.

He jumps slightly, but covers it by putting his glass back into the
replicator. He turns back to me, waiting.

"Will you come and sit with me here?" I smile slightly. "I need...
there's some things that I have to say. Things that I have to tell
you."

Slowly, warily, Tom moves towards me. He chooses the armchair over
sitting beside me on the sofa.

I can respect the choice.

I pull in a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. It is
still a difficult thing for me to talk about, to tell him, even though
surely after everything that has happened between us, he *must* know.
At least, he should have a fairly good idea.

"I don't know exactly how to explain this to you, Tom." I begin well
enough, but falter there. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh out
my frustration, wondering what in the hell all those years of calming
and centering meditation were for if I can't apply the principals when
it matters the most.

"Just start where you can, Chakotay," Tom says quietly. He's leaning
forward, elbows on knees. His entire attention is focused on me and in
this disconnected instant I find that this gratifies me more than
fucking him ever could.

"There's a darkness in me, Tom," I murmur. "Even back as a child, I
struggled to make sense of it, to keep it from breaking away from me.
I tend to keep myself distant from others out here in order to control
this... this..." I spread my hands helplessly.

"Intensity." Tom finishes for me. He smiles a little and I feel myself
smiling back.

"That's exactly the word I'm looking for." I nod gratefully to him.
"Thank you." I pause for a moment, frowning in thought. "You reached
into it, Tom. With your words and your actions." I'm not saying this
to hurt him, but because it's true "You breached the walls that I had
constructed, and I lost control. I lost sight of who I was... who I
wanted to be."

Tom tilts his head a little, his eyes questioning me, asking me to
continue.

"All of the baser, less noble parts of me... I let them lose on
*you*." I drop my eyes for a moment. "I wasn't enough for me to just
have you for a brief while. I wanted, *needed* more."

I feel the sofa cushions dip slightly, and when I look up, he's right
there beside me, his eyes full of sorrow. "I didn't understand. I kept
fighting you. I thought it was just some kind of power trip you were
on."

"I know," I tell him softly.

"I thought you were punishing me."

"I know. Perhaps I was, in a way." I shake my head slowly. "I know
that I resented how easily you got through to me. But I think, in
hindsight, that anger was more for my own lack of willpower. I don't
know. For a long time there it seemed like I'd almost stopped thinking
at all. All I wanted... the only thing that made sense, that made me
feel like I had a bit of control was..." I trail off, feeling a dull
burn rise in my face.

Tom peers at me from under his lashes, the tiniest spark of his old
humor visible. "...fucking me?" he suggests, his mouth twitching.

I laugh a little. "Yeah."

He sighs and leans back, resting his head against the back of the
sofa. "God, what a fuckin' mess."

I can't help but agree.

"So, what happens now?" Tom asks me, sitting upright again. "Where do
we go from here?"

I look at that beautiful and bone-weary face and I can see how much
these last few weeks have drained him, how much they have cost him.
Although he looks more relaxed now than I've seen in a long time, the
mark of his experience is still there in his eyes.

It will take more than a single conversation to make right was is
wrong between us.

I want to. But looking into those pain-washed eyes I wonder if it will
ever be possible.

There is *one* thing that I want to set in stone tonight. Right from
the outset. If we are to have any chance, this is the way it has to
be.

"Where do we go from here?" I repeat his question. "That's up to you,
Tom."

He looks startled. "Me?"

"Yes." I take a risk and reach out to touch him, gently encircling his
forearm with my fingers, stroking my thumb over the impossibly soft
skin of his inner wrist.

The effect of that touch is remarkable. Now that I am inclined to
notice such things, I can see his expression change as he watches me
touching him. He simply... softens. There is no other way to describe
it. His eyes, his face, his entire demeanor relaxes. He *loves* this.
He's completely focused on the movement of my thumb, absorbed in this
simple, soothing touch.

For a moment, I feel bitter pain spear through me. All that time I
spent coveting his attention, demanding it with cold orders and
failing that, brute force... it was wasted effort. I realize that now.
All I ever had to do was touch him like I gave a damn and I would have
had it all.

I am, in my own earlier words, a complete fool.

"You have to make the choices now, Tom." I tell him gently. "You have
to. I simply can't. I won't. I can't be trusted in regards to us."

Tom's eyes widen. "You still want me?"

Oh yes. I do. Even now, even in this peaceful moment of connection we
are sharing, the old urge is still there. The desire in me to take
him, have him. My way. To have that frantic, powerful release. I take
a deep breath and push the image back again. I nod, closing my eyes
and waiting.

Tom sighs. "I need to think about this, Chakotay. Everything's
different now." He shrugs. "I need time to sort it out."

I feel the sharp cut of disappointment rise in me. But I promised and
this time, I intend to keep it. This time the promise was made to him,
not to me. Even if he doesn't know it.

Slowly I get to my feet, dropping Tom's wrist. I move to go, leaving
him sitting there, his eyes once more wide and staring, his face
distant, lost in thought.

Just as I reach the door, his soft words stop me in my tracks.

"I needed it too," he whispers.

I turn and stare at him. "Tom, I'm not sure if I..."

"I *wanted* you to fuck me like that, Chakotay," he explains, his face
sad, his voice low. "I... from that first time I..." He shrugs
helplessly, searching for the right words. "It was so deep, y'know? So
intense. For that little while, *I* was all you wanted, all you knew.
I could give over my control and just... go with it." His face darkens
a little. "I thought you didn't give a shit about me. I really did and
I hated that. What we did... It was the *one* way I had of getting
close to you."

I look at him, his perfect face set with a kind of grim honesty and I
feel pain touch me again. "We called this one pretty badly, didn't
we?"

Amazingly, he smiles slightly. "Yeah. Guess we did." He bites his lip
gently. "Chakotay?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"This thing between us... the potential for it to happen again. It's
always going to be there isn't it?"

I let out a deep breath. "I think it will be, yes. It happened, Tom.
There's no denying it."

He drops his eyes. "I know."

"You have to decide," I tell him again.

"I know that too." Blue eyes look up and soften slightly as he smiles
at me again. Kindly this time. "See you 'round, Chakotay."

The tiniest flare of anger rises at his dismissal, but I clamp it down
firmly. It's distant now, anyway. Understanding has brought back my
control. At least for now. Who knows? Maybe even for good.

And maybe it is for the best if we just let it go. Maybe we'll both be
better off apart, without constantly having to wonder if the dark
obsession that drove us both will return.

I have a feeling that it would always be there at the edges of us, no
matter what happened.

I think Tom knows this too.

"See you 'round, Tom," I reply quietly.

And then, with a feeling of loss far greater than I ever thought would
be possible, I turn and leave.

See you 'round.

---

Man, I love days off. I just love 'em. There's nothing like sleeping
in while Chak has to get up, then rising late and grazing through a
leisurely breakfast while everybody else is working their butts off
through the mid morning shift.

Then of course, there's the 'What am I going to do today?' question.

I love that question. I love that the answer is totally my call.

So... *I* decide to take all my WIP bridge sims up to the observation
lounge and do a bit of work in between ogling the stars.

Not a bad way to spend a day.

It's been a tense week. We've been working our way across some pretty
hostile border territory. Two powers have been fighting over this
sector for generations, each of them utterly convinced that Voyager
was spying for the other side. We've only just now gotten past the
danger zone and by order of the Captain, one senior pilot is hereby
enjoying forty-eight hours of blissful free time.

She's a romantic at heart, too. She's gonna cut Chak loose tonight.
We'll get tomorrow together.

Sweet.

Yeah, that's right.

Chakotay.

He's with me. I am, according to the man in question, the only one who
can give him what he needs.

Which in a nutshell, is *me*.

He was true to his word that night we talked. He left me alone. He
left the decisions to me.

For *two* whole miserable fuckin' weeks, the selfish, guilt-ridden
asshole left the decisions to me.

Jesus.

I cracked. I couldn't stop thinking about him, dreaming about him,
God... whacking off in the shower/bed/john/anywhere about him.

And it wasn't the fucking that was on my mind. Not that at all.

It was the way he touched me that last time he came to my quarters.

Warm fingers on my neck. Warm fingers on my wrist.

Shit huh? Who would've guessed? Certainly not me.

You should have seen the look on his face when the door to his
quarters slid open and he saw me standing there like a lost puppy.

One look at my face and he knew why I was there.

"I want things to be different," I told him.

He looked worried. Doubtful. Mostly about himself, I think.


"It's still inside me, Tom," he told me. "It will always be there."

I told him I knew. Told him that I didn't give a shit because I
finally got it. I understood.

He doesn't need to take if I *give*.

Anyway, it was a forgone conclusion. I was his from the moment I
realized that I wanted him.

So. It's good. It's really good between us now.

Well. Good days and bad days.

OK... so? Sure, it's not fuckin' perfect, but we're hardly Mr and Mr
Average now, are we? What the hell do you expect?

We're working stuff out.

God, the crew had a fuckin' field day when we started being seen.

In public.

*Together*

The betting pool sprang up faster than a jump to warp. The most
popular opinion was that our recent silent and polite phase was an
ineffective ruse to hide our relationship.

Gotta love *that* one.

Through it all, Chakotay and I just went on doing our thing.

I uhm... won a month's rations in the 'it won't last three months'
book though.

Fuck 'em.

We're OK together, y'know? We seem to have gotten it right so far.

Do I love him?

I don't know. It's a complicated thing for me. I know that I tell him
I do and he acts like he believes it. Probably for my sake. I know
that I want to love him.

I know that I can't live without him.

Maybe that *is* love.

Maybe it's the closest to it that someone like me can get. After all,
I haven't exactly had the best basis of comparisons in my life. Just
look at my parents.

On second thoughts, don't. *No one* deserves to see that.

Anyway, most of the time we're pretty normal. As normal as any other
couple, I guess. We share quarters; we hang out, have dinner, have
fun.

The sex is good. Great. I had to get used to the intensity of his
affection though. Chakotay is not a man who does anything by halves.
He puts his entire soul into it once he gets me naked.

'Quickie' is *not* in the vocabulary.

Did you know he spent nearly two hours the other night just playing
with my ass? *Two hours*. Shit, it was... incredible actually. He was
completely focused with what he was doing. Totally into this thing,
stroking me all over my butt, inside and out. Just *feeling* me,
touching me.

God, by the time he brought me off I was a wreck. Just a long blond
streak of boneless goop. I came so hard and so fuckin' *loud* you
would have thought I'd invented the orgasm.

For the most part, this is what it's like between us. Close. Intense.
*Way* more tender than I probably deserve.

But sometimes...

Oh man, how do I put it? Sometimes he needs it again. The release of
his anger, the crippling tension. When things have been tough and he's
starting to slip on the old control a bit, he...

"Chakotay to Paris."

Speak of the devil...

I pull my comm badge out of my pocket to reply. I pretty much carry
the thing with me twenty-four hours a day now.

"It's OK, Chak," I tell him. "I'm alone right now."

There's a pause, thick with tension. I can feel it through the link.
In my minds eye, I can see him. Sitting behind his desk, his eyes
closed in a furious grimace of faltering control, his white knuckled
hands gripping the arms of his chair. He'd be trying *so* fuckin' hard
to push it back, to keep it at bay.

His chest would be heaving. He'd be sweating.

In pain.

I don't make him ask. He *never* has to ask.

"Where are you, Chak?"

"My office." His answer is not much more than a tortured groan, one
that hurts my guts to hear.

It's been a bad week for him. We lost a couple of crew during the last
clash across the disputed sector. Chakotay takes that kind of shit
pretty hard.

I calculate how long it will take me to go back to our quarters and do
a quick prep on myself before heading to his office. Then grabbing up
my mess, I hit the corridor and head for the turbolift.

"Give me five minutes, baby," I tell him.

He cuts the link and leaves me to it.

As I enter our quarters and dump my various pieces of crap on the
shelf by the door, I can't help but smile a little grimly. This is
part of us now - this *need* that Chakotay has. This focal point that
slays the dragon for a little while.

It's *my* job, my responsibility as his partner to help him deal with
it. Which is only fair, since it was my fault that it escaped his
control in the first place.

I step into the bathroom, snagging the lube and dropping my pants as I
go. I've got the routine down pretty perfectly by now. It doesn't take
more than a minute and I'm greased up, re-dressed and hitting the
turbolift again.

Chakotay still has guilt about this. He's got this fucked up notion
that he's *making* me do this.

We're uhm, working on that...

See, what he has a hard time understanding is that I *want* to do
this. I *like* him doing me like this. I always did. It was never the
fucking. That was never the problem.

I just wish I could make him understand. The fact that he does care
about me makes it OK. He trusts me with this, with this secret of his.
This aspect of himself that he sees as an aberration but which is
really just the element of darkness that resides in *all* of us.

It's only natural that his personal demons are deeply intense and
focused.

Chakotay is the fuckin' *embodiment* of deeply intense and focused.

Like I said, we're working on it.

I reach his office and key in the code, stepping in and resetting the
privacy lock.

He's on me before I even reach his desk. His big hands grope over me,
pulling at my tunic, stripping it off, working my pants open and down.
A firm grip lands on the back of my neck, pushing me to the desk,
pushing me over it, pushing me down.

I just go with it. It's a lot easier on him and a *whole* lot more
enjoyable for me if I just let him do what he needs to do.

I just hand it all over to him. There's a strange sort of freedom in
that.

I feel his hands on my shoulders, stroking firm but not too hard. Just
enough to let me know I have to be still now. They slide down my back,
grip the swell of my ass. Just in passing I can tell you that the hold
on *this* part of my anatomy is a *lot* firmer. He parts my ass cheeks
and pauses back there for a moment.

I know what he's doing. He's checking me out. Wants to be sure that I
did the prep. Any minute now he'll push a couple of fingers into me to
make absolutely sure that I've gotten the job right and... Oh *God*,
yeah... yeah, he seems pretty sure now.

He made me promise. There was this one time... *one* tiny little time
that I forgot to do it and I bled a little. It was nothing, just the
tiniest tear, and I thought Chakotay was gonna have a stroke over it.

"That's it, Chak," I gasp over my shoulder at him. "Feel me, baby, I'm
so fuckin' ready for you."

He makes this little sound in his throat. Sort of non-verbal
agreement. He fumbles his cock out of his pants, lines up and sinks it
into me. One hard, deep stroke and he's all the way in there, filling
my ass. Ohhh, God, it feels *good*... he's ramming it up me, no
finesse in this, no words of romance... just basic animal fucking.

He's still holding back. I can feel it. I can hear it in his voice, in
the strained tone of his deep groans. The grip on my hips isn't quite
hard enough. That big dick of his isn't pounding as hard as it should
be. It's always the same to start with.

God, he fights with himself so much. Even now, he still fights.

Bracing myself on the desk, I snarl at him over my shoulder. I flick
the damp hair out of my eyes and gasp out the words he needs to hear.

"Jesus, Commander... a *ninety* year old could fuck harder than that.
Quit fuckin' around back there and *drill* me!"

That does it. The floodgates open. He roars furiously and changes his
grip on me. One solid arm clamps under my chest and lifts me bodily.
He turns and dumps me, face down and ass up, onto his office sofa.
Once more those hands clamp onto my hips, this time holding hard
enough to bruise the flesh and, cursing and shouting, he starts
hammering me hard enough to shake the fuckin' bulkheads.

Oh *YEAH*... *now* I've gotta start talking myself through this.

//Hold on, Tom. Don't come, *don't* come...//

It's wild. It's hot and deep and way too close to the threshold. I
know I'm gonna ache like hell when he's finished but I don't give a
shit. Every little bit of this I want. I love.

The pain and the pleasure merge inside me. The bruising shock to my
bowels is overlaid by the pounding attack on my prostate. All I can do
is grip the sofa with both hands and hold on, gasping and spitting
curses as he nails the living hell out of me.

He's nearly there. I can feel it inside me. His cock jolts hard and,
with an earsplitting roar, he drives it up into me as hard as he can.
He comes deep inside me, shot after shot, filling me with it,
releasing his anger and his pleasure in one perfect primal moment of
pure fuckin' ecstasy.

He collapses over my back, his chest heaving, his big body trembling.

I have to hold still now. So still. If I don't, I'll lose it. I'm so
damned primed that my whole body is thrumming with it. My dick is
leaking like a faucet... I'm only a heartbeat away... only a
heartbeat.

I pant like a dying dog as Chakotay pulls out of me. Carefully,
slowly. He strokes one hand over my rump and then turns me in his
arms, lifting me to him, holding me tightly.

I can feel my cock twitching. The heat in my belly rising, spreading.
I'm so close... Jesus, so close now...

He kisses me.

That's all it takes. I start coming the instant that lush mouth covers
mine. Chakotay doesn't touch my cock. He doesn't have to. All he has
to do is hold me tight so that I don't hurt myself by thrashing around
too much as my cock starts spurting, spreading heat and slickness up
between our bodies, as I scream in glory, scream in fuckin' rapture,
Chakotay catching the sounds with his kiss.

"Oh... *shit*, Chak..." My head drops back. I'm gasping like I've just
run a marathon. I'm covered in sweat; none of my limbs want to work.

I've never felt more complete.

It's a balance, the two of us. How we are and what we do.

Yeah, for the most part we go on like any other couple. The sex is
loving, a lot of fun and an equal measure of mess.

And sometimes it's *this*.

Our way of paring back to the bone, of reaching the connection between
us that lies behind what everybody sees.

Chakotay lifts himself off me, propping one arm over the back of the
sofa and looking down into my face.

His eyes are serious, his face somber. He also looks more relaxed now
than he has been in this whole last miserable fuckin' week.

It worked.

It always does.

I guess that's really the bottom line.

We work.

We didn't start out the conventional way, that much is true. And this
frantic coupling that we sometimes face together isn't exactly
conventional either.

But, we work.

In the end, I guess that's all that really matters. It's getting there
that's important. The journey is only one little part of it.

---

The End