The BLTS Archive- Friends In Low Places by Joanne Collins (luchenbackoutlaw@gmail.com) --- Disclaimer: Everything Trek belongs to Paramount/Viacom. Friends In Low Places belongs to the incredibly talented (and cute ) Garth Brooks. Seeing that there is no canonical version of just *how* our fair-haired pilot was recruited to the Maquis, I offer up a version that does *not* involve Chakotay. It does, however, involve Ayala. For those of you who do not know, Ayala is the man who beamed across from the Maquis ship with Chakotay and Tuvok in Caretaker, and he is often seen in the background on Voyager. He is also the subject of a few other slash stories. That's what *happens* when such a beautiful man appears in a Trek series/movie. In my stories, Ayala's first name is Miguel. This is also part of my Garth Brooks series, because I haven't written one in a while, and this song fits Tom's recruitment to the Maquis (IMHO). The other, unrelated stories in the Garth Brooks series are: The Dance [NC-17] Crossover with DS9, Chakotay/Sisko; A Debt Repaid (We Shall Be Free) [NC-17] Crossover with The Sentinel, Chakotay/Blair, Chakotay/Paris, Jim/Blair; If Tomorrow Never Comes [NC-17] Paris/Kim; Shameless [NC-17] Crossover with First Contact Paris/Hawk; In Another's Eyes [PG-13] Paris/Kim, Chakotay/Paris, Janeway/Chakotay, Janeway/Kim. Mostly UST. For those who have not realised yet, this is a slash story, and it contains sex between two utterly delectable men. Do not read further if this offends. Distribution: PKSP archive, R'Rain's archive, ASC archive. If you wish to archive this story anywhere else, you must ask me first. Feel free to pass on to anyone who might enjoy the story, or link to it at the above sites. --- Miguel Ayala entered the bar. He didn't like France much, it was too...open, too free. He hadn't been free for a long time, not since Claudia had died, leaving him to bring up their sons alone. Not that he blamed her for her death, not by any means. It was *their* fault, and the reason he had joined the Maquis was to destroy as many of them as he could. It was all he lived for now, and that was what he wanted to be doing, not playing chauffeur to some hotshot pilot who'd managed to screw up every chance life had to offer him. But Chakotay had asked him to, and he could not refuse Chakotay, who had been invaluable as a lifeline after Claudia's death. Which of the layabouts would be Paris, he wondered, then realised. The blonde. It had to be. The most beautiful man that he'd seen in his life. He would have laughed if he'd thought he could get away with it in this place. Of *course* that had to be Paris. He even looked like a recruiting poster for Starfleet, or he would if he were wearing a Starfleet uniform and not that vomitously-coloured waistcoat over a mustard-coloured t-shirt...which did show off his lightly furred arms nicely... "What the hell am I thinking about his *arms* for?" Miguel asked himself, wrenching his mind away from the way the light played on those golden hairs, not to mention the hair on the young man's head. "Young. Yes, *too* young for me," Miguel thought, ignoring the fact that he was no more than three years older than the other man at the very most. Paris threw his head back, and gave a bark of laughter to a teasing remark. "I can't spend the rest of my life here, no matter how much I'd *like* to," he replied in a world-weary tone, "And, no, I have no idea when my contact will arrive. I hope she's pretty," he leered. Miguel decided that this was *too* good an opportunity to resist. Maybe he could take the arrogant young man down a peg or two with a few well-aimed remarks. "Paris?" "Yeah," the young man answered, warily. Miguel arranged his features into a covetous look, raking his eyes over the slender, muscular form of the younger man. "Am *I* pretty enough for you?" Miguel would have laughed if he hadn't had to keep the leer on his face. Paris backed away, with an expression of utter shock (but not, Miguel noticed, revulsion) on his beautiful features. "Well?" he asked again. Then Paris managed to get a table between them, and the look of shock was replaced by a look of challenge. He spoke in a low tone. "I *presume* you are my contact," he said sarcastically, "And you didn't even *think* that there might be a Starfleet spy here? I hope you're not the best the Maquis has to offer," he finished, giving Miguel an even more blatant appraisal than he'd been subjected to earlier. "But, you talked about your contact, Paris," Miguel pointed out. "And you think I'm enough of an idiot to let *everyone* know that it's a *Maquis* contact? I established the story that the contact was for a trade vessel that needed a pilot. Not a lie, exactly, but I'm certainly not idiotic enough to advertise the truth." Miguel had the grace to admit that he might have been wrong in his initial assessment, and said so. "Story of my life," Paris replied, in a tone of such bitter resignation that Miguel decided that he preferred the cynical attitude of earlier. "I'm sorry. Let's start again. I'm Miguel Ayala," and he offered Paris his hand. Paris looked down at it, and took it. The contact was searing, sending a rush of heat through Miguel's body, although he tried his best to hide it, his face reddened slightly. "Tom Paris. And please, call me Tom. I don't acknowledge *his* name," said with such venom that the heat in Miguel's body almost dissipated. "Your father?" "The man who is in part responsible for my existence disowned me. So I don't use his name any more than I have to." Tom looked so lost and vulnerable, it was all that Miguel could do not to gather the young man into his arms and kiss away the expression on his face. "Whoah, wait a minute," his conscious mind caught that thought, "I'm not sure I even *like* the guy, and I want to protect him? What *is* this?" Tom was talking again. "So, when do we leave?" Miguel brought his mind back to the tedious details of life, rather than the interesting details of Tom's mouth. "Not till tomorrow. We can't fly out till then because of the border patrols. Is there anywhere I can stay near here?" "There are rooms upstairs," Tom replied, not noticing the speculative look on Sandrine's face as she refreshed their drinks. "So...you got kicked out of Starfleet," Miguel said, as casually as possible, wanting to know more about this complicated man's life. "You know, I'd understand if it was for the accident," Tom said, surprising Miguel at his openness, "But it wasn't because I killed three people. It was because I lied about it, which I don't apologise for or explain. The reasons don't matter now, anyway. So, I have to go on with my life. And I want to fly. It's what I do, what I have to do. And the Maquis...I have a certain respect for what they're doing. I don't know if I think the cause is right...but I do respect anyone who's as committed as they are. Gods...if my shrink could hear me now," he laughed, "I have no idea why I just told you all that." "Sometimes it's easier to talk about things like this to a stranger," Miguel replied. "I don't think of you as a stranger," Tom replied, "I know we only just met, but I feel like I've known you for a long time." "Connection? That's what my wife called it," Miguel said, a look of nostalgia crossing his face as he remembered his first meeting with Claudia. "Your wife? Well...and aren't I reading the signals totally wrong?" Tom said, quietly. "What signals?" Miguel was completely confused. Tom didn't answer, moving from behind the table to get more drinks. Miguel realised that maybe he had been giving off signals. There *was* something about Tom that he responded to....but why would Tom think that he was reading the signals wrong? "Of course," light dawned, "I mentioned my wife. And of course, Tom doesn't know..." Tom plunked down two mugs of beer on the table. "Sandrine told me that there are no vacant rooms, or beds, except the spare bed in *my* room. I have no problem with you staying there if you don't." The walls were *way* up again, Miguel realised. Damn, he had to learn to think first and talk second. It had just been so long since he'd met anyone who *didn't* know about Claudia that he hadn't even thought about mentioning it. "Tom..." he began, hesitantly, "My wife was killed three years ago, by Cardassians. She left me with two young sons, and an attitude of complete hatred towards Cardassians. That's why I'm here now." "I'm sorry. So," Tom smiled, "Does that mean that I *wasn't* reading the signals all wrong?" "I...don't know. I am attracted to you, Tom, but I don't know if it's just physical or more." "We've just met, Miguel. What's wrong with acting on the physical part, and waiting till things shake down a bit to see if it's more?" Miguel laughed. Tom's attitude was a breath of fresh air after the intensity of fighting Cardassians for three years. And he was right. Why *not* explore the possibilities of a physical relationship now, with the view to becoming more later. It wasn't as if he or Tom were likely to be going anywhere soon, after all. He and Tom sat there talking late into the night. Miguel had never learned to play pool, "No misspent youth, then," Tom had said, almost enviously. Miguel had wanted to ask for an explanation of the term, but the younger man had looked so unapproachable when he'd said it that Miguel knew it wouldn't be worth asking about it. "So, you have friends in high places," Miguel teased a little while later. "Not any more I don't. Not since that reception at my father's house where he kicked me out and said that he never wanted to see me again. I didn't mind. I've got friends in places higher than he'll ever know, even though he'd think they were low places," Tom smiled, almost dangerously as he moved over to the piano and began to play. Miguel was shocked at the sweetness of the sound, and when Tom began to sing... Blame it all on my roots I showed up in boots And ruined your black tie affair The last one to know The last one to show I was the last one You thought you'd see there And I saw the surprise And the fear in his eyes When I took his glass of champagne And I toasted you Said, honey, we may be through But you'll never hear me complain 'Cause I've got friends in low places Where the whiskey drowns And the beer chases my blues away And I'll be okay I'm not big on social graces Think I'll slip on down to the Oasis Oh, I've got friends in low places Well, I guess I was wrong I just don't belong But then, I've been there before Everything's all right I'll just say goodnight And I'll show myself to the door Hey, I didn't mean To cause a big scene Just give me an hour andd then Well, I'll be as high As that ivory tower That you're livin' in 'Cause I've got friends in low places Where the whiskey drowns And the beer chases my blues away And I'll be okay I'm not big on social graces Think I'll slip on down to the Oasis Oh, I've got friends in low places Miguel applauded when Tom finished, and Tom blushed, realising as he looked away from Miguel that they were alone. "Care to dance?" Tom asked casually. "Sure, why not," Miguel replied, getting up from the table. Tom called up a music program, all slow, romantic stuff, and moved into the other man's arms. They fit together almost *too* perfectly. The tall, dark-haired rebel, and the disgraced Starfleet pilot. The fit was perfect, both knew it from the start. After a song or two, Miguel could wait no longer. Without warning, he picked the younger man up in his arms, and carried him up the stairs. Tom was startled at first, then relaxed and enjoyed the journey, not knowing where it would lead them, but the getting there would be fun. "You're so beautiful,' Miguel whispered against Tom's neck. "So are you," Tom replied, as he indicated the door to his room. Miguel somehow managed to keep Tom in his arms, place a few more kisses on his neck and open the door. Tom wondered if he had an extra hand that he couldn't see, but then they were inside, and he was being lowered to the bed, and then he couldn't think any more. Miguel slowly and carefully undressed Tom, then himself. Tom looked at Miguel's powerful shoulders and broad chest, and wanted nothing more than to lose himself in that beautiful flesh, so he did, kissing it everywhere, loving the sounds his new lover made. Miguel did some explorations of his own, finding a few sensitive areas for Tom in his journey over the young man's body. He kissed Tom's chest, then moved his lips and tongue over Tom's stomach, tonguing his navel to a gasp of pleasure, then moving to take Tom's hardness into his mouth. He explored gently with lips and tongue, then engulfed Tom completely, opening his throat to take Tom as far inside as he could. He began moving his lips up and down, allowing Tom to thrust shallowly, not too deeply inside his warm, welcoming mouth. Tom was moaning and gasping, unable to keep silent, and when Miguel did something creative with his tongue, he gave one last thrust and climaxed, screaming in Miguel's mouth. Miguel drank Tom's essence eagerly, then slowly allowed the softening hardness to slip out of his mouth. "Wow," Tom said when he could speak. "You liked?" Miguel asked, lazily, pulling Tom close to him. "Very much," Tom said, kissing him, then smiling as he felt Miguel's hardness. He kept up the relentless thrusting of his tongue in Miguel's mouth, and moved a hand between them, wrapping it around Miguel's hardness. The dancing, teasing fingers didn't take long to find a rhythm that Miguel liked, if his movements were any indication, and before long, he arched his back and came with a soft cry of pleasure that seemed to echo through the room. Tom got some towels and cleaned them both up, and they curled up together to sleep. The next morning, they lingered over breakfast, not really wanting to leave, but unfortunately they had to meet a contact, a Bajoran woman who Miguel worked with. As they emerged from the bar, Tom got a strange feeling, he didn't know quite what it was, that this was the end of something, and the beginning of something new. He dismissed the strange feeling, kissed his lover, and flew them off to meet the future. --- The End