The BLTS Archive- Sparks
by Jaye (wordsmith872@fastmail.fm)

---

(Copyright November 2002)

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all related characters and
concepts are the property of Paramount. No infringement is
intended or profit made. This is NC-17 for m/m sex. If you
aren't interested (or aren't old enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a note first so I know where it's going.
Please keep the text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure but be kind, or at least constructive.

Note: A prequel to a future story called "The Crucible".
Originally written as an answer to Polly's cliché challenge
for the Cha!Club anniversary. Set before the final scene of
"Ex Post Facto". The song listed is "Bother" by Corey Taylor
from the "Spider-Man" soundtrack. If you've never heard it,
you can get a 30-second sense of the mood and sound at
www.cdnow.com

The clichés were:

1. The boyz are 'trapped in a small enclosed space' (cave,
wrecked shuttle, or turbolift, etc.). 2. The 'amnesia'
cliché. 3. One of the boyz is a 'virgin with men'. 4. The
'life-threatening illness or injury' cliché. 5. The boyz are
'forced to fuck by an outside party', also known as the
'fuck or die' syndrome. 6. Songfic with one of the boyz
actually singing the lyrics. 7. One of the boyz has an
unsavory past as a rentboy/whore/party favor. (Bonus points
for a slutty Chakotay).

---


Tom stumbled into the turbolift and collapsed against the
wall. He felt it descend to answer another summons but
didn't have the wherewithal to order a destination for
himself.

Considering how awful he felt it was ironic he had just
*left* Sickbay. There was nothing the Doc could really do
for him now. He was suffering the aftereffects of the
removal of the Banean engrams---and the way he'd kept his
mouth shut during the subsequent lectures.

His lips parted in a silent snarl as he recalled the Captain
and the Doc droning on and on about "irresponsible and
irrational behavior" and "the enormous risk forced upon the
ship and crew through the unconsidered and inconsiderate
actions of one of its members". Along with the "clearly
defined protocols regarding sex with unknown species" and
the Captain's simply charming admonition to "find another
outlet for all that energy, Lieutenant." Kes's presence made
the experience doubly humiliating. He'd nearly bitten off
his tongue to keep from mouthing off, and now the suppressed
anger and frustration joined the dregs of anxiety and
adrenaline coursing through him.

But he had to suck it up until his body calmed.

Soon would be good, immediately even better, because right
now he felt like shit. The blood roared in his ears; his
vision dimmed and flickered at the edges. A heaving stomach
left Tom profoundly grateful he hadn't eaten much in the
last few days.

How could he, with a murdered man's memories parading
relentlessly before his eyes. Worse than the images
themselves had been the dread of knowing his moments of
respite were mere illusions; that the return of that visual
assault was as regular as clockwork and inescapable as
death.

He slid down the lift's unyielding surface to squat. The
press of forehead to knees eventually forced the nausea and
other symptoms back to manageable levels. Still, Tom
shuddered as he pondered how close he came to losing his
mind---even his life---to the Baneans' punishment.

Now he was safe and sound, but still not particularly happy.
He hadn't liked the tone of his crewmates' "sympathy" over
the last few days. Each expression of "get well soon" or
"hope you'll be okay" seemed tinged with a hint of
disbelief. As if the speaker hadn't quite been convinced
that Tom really was blameless this time around.

He snorted and lifted his head to rest against the wall. Why
lie to himself? They were right: he may not have been guilty
of murder but he wasn't exactly an innocent bystander. While
he didn't actually cross the line into adultery with Lidell,
he'd certainly flirted with it---and her.

A cynical twist of lips accompanied the recollection of how
he'd tried to explain his motivations to Harry. He'd
certainly watered things down for the kid.

Lidell hadn't been some irresistible siren, just Tom's first
chance for sex since the day of his arrest as a Maquis. The
moment Janeway had fished him out of prison he'd been eager
to celebrate his freedom by fucking someone's brains out.
But he'd never had the chance to scratch that particular
itch.

There'd been no time on DS9 to find a hooker to shove into a
dark corner. And the Fleeters' coolness combined with the
Maquis' disdain killed any chance of shipboard romance. Or
even just a quick tumble for relief.

So when the opportunity to score had finally presented
itself, Tom didn't plan to put up more than a token
resistance. He'd been flooded by an overwhelming urge to
screw Lidell; it was as if he'd been possessed by some kind
of alien force. Or was sick with lust, like his very life
depended on bedding the pouty blonde Banean. He *had* to
fuck---or die.

The shock that he'd actually paused to reconsider sleeping
with another man's wife still hadn't worn off. Not that
anybody would actually believe it.

A laugh trickled out to echo in the small space. Tom winced
at the bitterness of the sound as he levered himself to his
feet. So much irony to appreciate here. Everybody thought
he'd bagged Lidell but in reality all he ended up with were
a few lousy kisses and a quick grope or two. And in exchange
he'd endured a murder trial, conviction, punishment, and
people clomping through his mind like Grand Central Station.

All things considered, it wouldn't have been worth it even
if he *had* scored. He couldn't afford to lose the crew's
respect. Now they were all convinced he was the lascivious
cad rumors had painted him when he came aboard. Shit.

It was a good thing he was standing, even if the wall was
doing most of the work, because the turbolift suddenly
opened and Chakotay strolled in.

The Commander offered a brief nod, but spoke to the
computer. "Deck Two."

They traveled in silence.

At least the company was a distraction from Tom's morose
musings. He considered the man patiently waiting for the
door to open.

There was a remoteness about Chakotay since he'd donned the
Starfleet uniform again, something smooth and polished and
completely unknowable. His face had become a stoic mask, set
with enigmatic eyes that saw much but revealed little. In
some ways, very different from the man Tom had known during
his brief stint in the Maquis.

Even though Tom knew he was responsible for Chakotay's
attitude, he was irked by the faint expressions he
occasionally caught when Chakotay looked at him these days.
Disdainful. Indifferent. Or, rarely, as if his ex-captain
were coolly, secretly amused.

Like now. The faintest quirk in the full lips and those dark
eyes flicking over Tom rasped along the edges of his
hypersensitive nerves. His spine stiffened in automatic
resentment, but before he could speak an abrupt stop rocked
both men off their feet. Scrambling to his knees Tom rubbed
his sore elbow. He watched Chakotay uncoil in one sinuous
movement and hit his comm badge. "Chakotay to Engineering.
Lift A is stuck---between Decks Three and Four, I believe."

"Commander," Joe Carey's voice was a mixed signal: eager to
please and hesitant to be held responsible for
disappointment. "We have a problem with a blown-out bank of
relays. We're not sure how long it will take to get them all
replaced. B'Elanna---Lieutenant Torres---thinks we need to
find the short in the system first."

"Can we pop the emergency hatch then, or get a beamout?" Tom
piped up, eager to get out of the close quarters. He rose
and backed to his former position against the wall, his arms
automatically crossing.

"No." Carey's voice was a shade less respectful. "We're
getting random power surges and outages. Everyone's stuck
where they are for the time being."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Update us if the situation changes."
Chakotay signed off and chose his own patch of bulkhead,
relaxing against the gray surface.

Tom's teeth gritted at the nonchalance of the movement. The
other man's calm irritated him and he just wasn't in the
mood. Especially when Chakotay's eyelids drifted closed. And
stayed that way.

His blood began to boil at the Commander's sang froid. Here
they were, stuck in the lift for who knew how long, and
Chakotay was just leaning there like he didn't have a care
in the universe.

And *ignoring* Tom in the process.

Any other time Tom would have held his temper and his tongue
and let the silent treatment slide.

But not today.

"You should thank me," Tom drawled as he pasted on his most
annoying Flyboy smile.

The brown eyes opened and one brow moved a centimeter. It
wasn't much of an invitation to continue but Tom took it
anyway. "I was sitting there, being scanned by the Doc,
listening to his long-winded speech about my 'sexual
peccadilloes'. Then it was Captain Janeway's turn." He
snorted at the memory. "I had half a mind to let the Captain
know about her precious pet Commander's past. That would
have shut her up fast enough."

"So why didn't you?"

The tone gave Tom pause. He stared at Chakotay, reassessing,
but his first impression was correct: the older man showed
no huff, no bluff, just a mild curiosity. Tom rolled to his
side, shoulder against the wall, surprised out of his anger.
"What?"

"I asked why you didn't." Amusement glimmered briefly as
both raven brows rose and the powerful body turned to mirror
his. "Have you decided you enjoy being dressed down as much
as you do being undressed?"

Tom didn't answer right away, using the time to regroup.
Chakotay's offhand quip sparked memories of another time,
and a place far away from the Delta Quadrant. A period in
his life he never revisited. It was as if Tom had arranged a
case of voluntary amnesia, deliberately suppressing the
memories of their first meeting.

Despite his threat to Chakotay, even now he preferred to let
the past lie undisturbed, and the older man's casual
question threatened the status quo. Caution was definitely
called for. "Of course not...I just figured you wouldn't
want rumors like that to get started. Small ship, big ears,
you know."

Broad shoulders shrugged indifferently. "But they wouldn't
be false rumors, would they?"

"What are you saying, Chakotay, you *want* me to tell the
Captain what you were up to in the Maquis?" Tom was still
trying to wrap his mind around the older man's lackadaisical
attitude.

"Not particularly, but I'm not going to creep around this
ship afraid of the truth, waiting for the sword of Damocles
to fall." One hand was flung out in a dismissive gesture. "I
don't understand why you think I'd have a problem with my
past. I'm a Maquis. I *killed* people for the cause."

Chakotay tilted his head. "So why would I be concerned about
having had sex with our allies?"

Tom picked up his jaw off the lift floor and blurted,
"Because you were a fucking *gigolo*!"

Dark eyes frosted as Chakotay corrected him. "No, I'd have
to disagree with you there. I never saw a single credit from
those...encounters." Then he looked straight at Tom. "You
know that better than anyone, Ace."

Tom's mind reeled as the use of that old nickname delivered
a jolt that sent his mind racing back to the first time he'd
heard it.

---

Tom didn't know whether to thank Ro Laren or pop her one.
She'd shown up out of the blue to stand before his barstool.
And he really did consider it *his*, since this backwater
dive had practically become his home since being tossed out
of Starfleet.

At first the Bajoran had been just another mark, someone to
hustle for drinks or a meal. But then she'd asked if he
still knew his way around a navigation console. The lure of
flying again had been enough to get him off his ass and into
a clinic. He'd been de-toxed, the damage from his liquid
diet repaired, cleaned up, and fed.

Of course, now that he was stone-cold sober he realized that
he'd been offered a piloting job with the Maquis. That's not
what the contract said, of course, but he'd be a mercenary
flying for the rebels just the same.

He sat in the diner where Ro had arranged to meet and
re-read the terms, which were by no means generous. The
up-front portion of the deal would just about clear his
debts, and the credits he'd get at the end of his first
mission would last a month if he were careful. Of course,
working for the group his father despised---yet in a
roundabout way had created via the Cardassian treaty---was
pure gravy.

Still, the job was not without its downside, including the
fact that getting caught would land him in a Federation
prison or much worse, a Cardassian one.

He was still staring at the padd, debating whether to affix
his thumbprint and seal the deal, when Ro finally lost
patience. "Look, I can't wait around here all day while you
decide whether to touch the Orb of Destiny or close the
cabinet." She stood and grabbed his arm, hauling him along.
"You're coming with me."

Tom couldn't think of a reason to refuse, so he followed,
still clutching the contract and pondering his fate.

---

They ended up at a bar/nightclub on the swankier side of
town. Tom was surprised that the bouncers waved them in with
just a glance at him and a nod to Ro.

The interior was softly lit, a cool contrast to the sultry
jazz filling the air. A small stage was tucked into a
corner, with crowded tables arranged in concentric arcs
around it.

The Bajoran led him to a table off to the side. There were
seven people sitting around it, but only one brought Tom to
a dead stop. His skin flushed and prickled with instant
sexual awareness, a heat Tom hadn't experienced in a while.
And never with such intensity.

The stranger sensed their presence before the others and
stood to welcome them. Tom nearly stopped breathing as he
took in the full picture.

The hair caught Tom's eye first. Night-black locks fell in
an glossy cascade practically to the man's waist. Two small
braids kept the strands from obscuring his face: high
cheekbones, sharp blade of nose, smooth brow, full lips and
strong jaw. The eyes were a deep, rich shade of brown, and
filled with speculation as the dark gaze leisurely surveyed
the newcomers. Ro received a flash of affection while Tom
was brushed with a kind of languid attraction.

That was the man's whole aura: a lazy sensuality that spoke
of grace and experience and a rock-solid confidence in his
own appeal.

He'd get no arguments from Tom. The dark-haired Adonis's
skin glowed bronze, strong arms bared by a sleeveless vest.
The leather was unzipped to the man's midriff, exposing part
of a completely smooth, muscled chest that made Tom's mouth
go dry with lust. The matching pants hugged the curves of
calf and thigh and oh, he wished he could get a better look
at that ass. But instead he and Ro were being waved to two
empty seats.

Tom was glad his clothes were loose and the table covered
him as he hurriedly sat and surreptitiously adjusted
himself.

"Glad to see you could make it," Tom's new obsession drawled
as he casually tossed a padd to Ro. The soft voice made
Tom's cock twitch but he resisted fidgeting. Then dimples
made a brief but devastating appearance as the man smiled at
Tom. "So, who do we have here?"

"A visitor, Chief." Ro shrugged. "Someone who's considering
a piloting offer from our associates and needs a nudge to
sign on the dotted line. I figured he might like to join us
this evening."

Tom's back stiffened as his eyes narrowed warily. He looked
at the remaining six silent strangers at the table as they
glared back at him. They were all very well dressed, and
obviously not happy with the idea of his participation. He
stood abruptly and pulled Ro with him a short distance away.
"What's going on here?"

Ro showed Tom the padd. "It's very simple. This," she
indicated the device, "is a list of donations to
humanitarian efforts in the DMZ." Her expression of
innocence was as credible as a Ferengi's sales pitch. "All
of these people have simply gathered to...coordinate their
beneficence."

"Cut the crap, Ro. What are you trying to get me into?"

Ro's smile turned shark-fierce. "Okay, I won't sugar-coat it
for you, Paris. These people are giving money and materials
to the official aid operations---medicine, food,
blankets---so the Maquis can spend their credits on
more...esoteric items. Your contract is also legit, at least
on the surface. So agreeing to become our pilot counts as a
bid in this little silent auction."

"Auction? For what?"

"For Chief's company this evening." Ro gave him a look and
headed back to her seat. "And don't bother to pretend you're
not interested. That hard-on will poke a hole in those pants
pretty soon."

Tom spluttered as he hurried back and sank into his chair.
He stared at Chief. Even knowing what the guy apparently did
for a living, Tom was hot for the man's bod. Still..."So
what exactly are you, Chief?" Tom asked without preamble,
his chin lifted belligerently, "some kind of---"

"I'm simply an extremely grateful man," Chief smoothly
interrupted. He grinned, unperturbed by Tom's question.
"Someone who is very appreciative of the sacrifices others
make to help the people of the DMZ."

"*Very* appreciative," purred the Betazoid woman on Chief's
left. Her dark eyes glazed over in memory. The other faces
also went slack, then avid.

Tom felt a spark of envy as the bronze man leaned over with
a smile to kiss the lady alien's neck, making her giggle
then quietly moan. Then Chief stood, his smile full of
delightfully wicked suggestions.

"You take some time to think, Ace, while I go do my little
thing on stage. If you decide you're interested," a hint of
heat set the dark eyes smoldering, "do let me know."

Tom swallowed to keep his tongue from hanging out as he got
a look at the grade A-plus butt making its way to the small
performance space.

Chief picked up an electric guitar, sat on a stool and
briefly checked the settings. The club quieted.

Tom had to admit, the guy was quite a tasty carrot for Ro to
dangle as a signing bonus. Tom was definitely open to this
type of persuasion. And after all, he did want to fly again.
He was halfway convinced it might be worth the risks of
joining the Maquis to fuck that bronze beauty.

Then the first notes were struck and Tom knew he'd be
signing the contract. The song wasn't the sexual tease he
expected---it was full of anger and bitterness and passion,
all carefully restrained. This Chief wasn't the playful
charmer of the table, but someone else entirely. The
contrast was fascinating, and the mystery of which man was
the true one irresistible.

Decision made, Tom pressed his thumb to his padd and handed
it to Ro. He was relieved she hid whatever satisfaction she
was feeling behind a professional nod. She stood to let the
others know that they were out of luck this night.

Tom didn't even notice as they dejectedly slouched away. The
lyrics began to penetrate, and they intrigued Tom even as
they found an echo in his own forgotten soul.

Wish I was too dead to cry My self affliction fades Stones
to throw at my creator Masochist to which I cater

You don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll keep
slipping farther But once I hold on I won't let go 'til it
bleeds

He was focused on the man singing on stage, the shadows
painting Chief's features, the slide of dark hair as it
drifted forward to ripple over arms and shoulders.

Wish I was too dead to care If indeed I cared at all Never
had a voice to protest So you fed me shit to digest I wish I
had a reason My flaws are open season For this I gave up
trying One good turn deserves my dying

You don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll keep
slipping farther But once I hold on I won't let go 'till it
bleeds

Tom shivered at the sight of those full lips forming the
words to the song. Bronze fingers shifted to hit the chords.

Wish I'd died instead of lived A zombie hides my face Shell
forgotten with its memories Diaries left with cryptic
entries

You don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll keep
slipping farther But once I hold on I won't let go 'till it
bleeds And you don't need to bother I don't need to be I'll
keep slipping farther But once I hold on...I'll never live
down my deceit

There was silence as the final notes reverberated into
nothingness. Then the applause started. Tom felt irrational
jealousy burning in his gut as he saw the hunger in all the
eyes devouring Chief as he removed the guitar and leaned it
against the stage wall. Without deigning to acknowledge the
crowd, he returned to the table.

At that moment Tom realized that Ro had left and the two of
them were alone. His breath quickened as his companion
approached and held out a hand. "Looks like you're the big
winner this evening," Chief said simply.

Tom reached out and his fingers were engulfed as he was
tugged to his feet and led away. When second thoughts made
him hesitate, the other man looked back at him with a grin.
"There's nothing to worry about, Ace. Satisfaction is
guaranteed." He winked. "And nobody's asked for a refund
yet."

---

They didn't go far, just to a set of rooms two floors above
the club, far enough away to guarantee privacy and quiet.

Tom stopped just inside the doorway, watching as his
companion sauntered in to balance on the arm of a chair
padded in dark burgundy velvet. There was another chair,
bureaus, and a few small tables. Otherwise the room was
dominated by a bed graced with a matching cover.

The bronze man bent to slip off his boots and socks, then
wiggled his toes with a contented sigh. The homeyness of the
action made Tom smile, which earned him a dimpled grin.

"So, Ace," Chief said as he settled more comfortably on his
perch, swinging one leg. "what's on the agenda for the
evening?" He gave Tom an appreciative once-over as he waited
for an answer.

"Um..." Tom felt uncharacteristically gauche. He certainly
knew his way around a bedroom, but this wasn't quite the
setup he was used to. "Why don't you tell me what you think
I want, and I'll let you know if you're right."

"A challenge." Humor glinted in the dark eyes as the other
man stood and stripped off his vest. The zipper that had
taunted Tom slid the rest of the way down and parted, fully
revealing a sculpted chest and abdomen. Then Chief beckoned
Tom with a smile.

Tom stepped forward and once more put his hand in a meaty
palm, this time to be led to sit on the bed. The powerful
figure went to one knee before him and he felt his shoes
being removed.

Tom's fingers of their own accord slid into the dark hair as
it fell forward, hiding the other man's face. He stroked the
long strands, enchanted by the soft weight of it.

Stillness reigned as Tom continued his hesitant caresses,
leaning forward to follow a few locks to the end as they
drifted through his fingers.

When the strong chin lifted Tom was startled to see the
careless bonhomie gone from Chief's face. Instead there was
an intensity that pinned him in place, eyes wide.

The moment stretched as Tom found himself lost in the
mystery of the dark gaze below his. Then the other man
leaned back and rose to his feet.

Tom stood as well, though he couldn't say why.

"I think, Ace..." The soft voice sent a shiver down Tom's
spine. "That you want to be seen." The brown eyes held his.
"That you want to be touched." One tawny hand rose and
curled as Chief stroked the backs of his fingers along Tom's
face from jaw to temple. It was an oddly tender, intimate
gesture that took Tom by surprise. He swallowed, caught up
in the moment and the unexpected connection he felt to this
stranger.

Then the hand cradled his nape as the tempting mouth drew
close to ghost along Tom's cheek to his ear. "I think you
want to be loved," was a whisper more felt than heard.

"Yes," Tom admitted.

"Yes," the other man confirmed. Without another word he
started to kiss and taste the length of Tom's neck, making
him moan and shudder with desire. Then he began to caress
the clothes from Tom's body, kissing each limb as it was
bared.

Tom's senses reeled, his skin drawn tight in reaction to the
brushes of fingers and lips and tongue. His eyes closed and
he concentrated on the sensations as teeth lightly tugged at
the hair on his chest. He groaned, reaching out to grip
broad shoulders draped in living black silk. His fingers
spasmed, clutching, as a nipple was encased in heat and
suckled. The other was rolled and teased by capable fingers.

The raven strands in Tom's hands bunched and tangled as the
teasing mouth slid lower, circling his navel. A strangled
moan forced its way out of Tom's throat as his pants were
opened and his cock freed. Precum chilled the touch of air
along its throbbing length.

Tom felt lips exploring his balls, a hot tongue snaking out
to stab the sweet spot behind it. Then a long, slow lick up
his cock to the glans. When that talented mouth finally
surrounded him Tom used his grip on Chief's hair to hold him
in place. He dropped his gaze to watch himself fuck his
partner's curved, glistening lips. The sight made him groan
deep in his belly as his balls drew up tight.

Then he felt warm hands cup his buttocks, parting them to
brush against his opening. The dip of a fingertip sent him
over the edge with a shout, his hips driving.

His legs were trembling as he finally stopped and moved to
slip his cock out of its newfound haven. Instead he felt
Chief's fingers increase their grip to hold him in place as
his spent organ was sensuously licked clean. A kiss on the
head marked the end of the encounter as Tom was gently
lowered to the bed. He felt his ankles being freed from his
bunched trousers and forced open his eyes.

Tom watched as his companion stood and removed his own
pants. He caught Tom's gaze, gave a grin and lazy wink and
turned a slow circle.

It was certainly an impressive display. Tom admired all that
golden-brown skin gleaming under the low lights. Muscles
flowed and stretched as Chief gathered and lifted his hair
to try and bring some order to it. His bared back was strong
and smooth, set off by a pair of small dimples, one over
each round buttock. The firm globes flexed as Chief finished
and lowered his hands, shaking his head. "I should make you
comb out all these knots," he said teasingly over his
shoulder.

Tom just snorted as Chief approached the bed and settled on
his side, palm supporting his head. He noted the contrast as
dusky fingers walked across his hip to play with the tuft of
hair below his belly button. Tom glanced sideways and down
to catch sight of a respectable erection. He shifted one
thigh to slide across the blushing tip.

The fingers stilled as the other man moaned, then shifted
out of reach.

Tom frowned, but whatever he was going to say was stopped by
a single finger against his mouth. He was lost again in the
liquid depths of the dark eyes. He felt as though he were
being measured, explored---seen, touched...loved?

"Just rest a while, Ace," Chief said. "Let me lie beside
you, keep watch over you. The night's not finished yet."

Tom's lids lowered of their own accord. He felt the caress
of fingers against his cheek once more as he slipped into a
doze.

---

Tom grunted awake as another body made contact with his. He
felt soft-skinned thighs straddle his hips and a slick hand
enfolding his dick. A few teasing strokes and he was hard
and aching.

Tom's eyes flew open to see a powerful form carefully
lowering onto his engorged cock. Tom gasped as he felt the
heat and pressure enclosing first the head, then the shaft,
in a long, torturously slow descent.

The strong bronze features were twisted in concentration.
Tom watched, fascinated. He lifted a hand to brush one
sharply-drawn cheek, cradle the bold jaw. Brown eyes flew
open.

Tom slid his fingers back to tangle in the raven locks once
more. He pulled down and forward. Bronze hands settled on
his shoulders as all that long hair fell around them.

They were enclosed in their own world, flashes of light
stealing in through the gaps between the strands, glancing
off their faces as they moved together.

Tom felt his body gathering itself, his hips lifting to
drive deeper into the slick channel surrounding his cock.
His fingers slid down, exploring the smooth contours of
Chief's chest and abdomen, then lower still to grasp his
partner's weeping cock and pump in a fast rhythm. They rode,
and thrust, eyes locked on each other's faces.

Suddenly the dark head flung back, throat arching in a shout
of release. The exquisite vision pushed Tom over the edge
and he groaned, stiffening, cum pulsing into the muscular
sheath squeezing around him.

He sank back, feeling the weight on his shoulders disappear
as his companion rolled off to slump beside him. Eventually
their heaving breaths quieted.

A warm cloth ran over his chest and belly to clean up the
spattered cum, then shifted lower to wash his flaccid sex.
Tom relaxed into the touch with a sigh.

Then the cover slithered against Tom's cooling skin as he
felt it being tugged out from under his body. He rolled to
help, then crawled between the sheets. His eyes slit open to
see the other man settling down for the night, dark hair
swept up to spill over the top of the pillow.

Tom stared at the handsome face until sleep claimed him once
more.

---

Tom opened his eyes and stretched, his hand automatically
reaching for his companion, his mind already anticipating a
round of wake-up sex.

He was surprised to find himself alone. He hurriedly rose
and checked the bathroom, but it was empty as well.

The ache of disappointment was surprisingly sharp. Tom
quickly showered and dressed, his mind full of questions.

He was just on his way out when the door opened. Ro strode
in, all business. "Your debts have been cleared," she told
him, handing him a padd. "We'd better get to your rooms and
pack up. We'll be moving you to one of our secure locations
until transport is arranged."

"Wait a minute," Tom said, then stopped, embarrassed. But he
wanted to know, so..."I, uh, was wondering what happened to
Chief."

Ro's high cheekbones flushed as she shook her head, earring
swinging. "Look, Paris, he's gone. Cleared out over an hour
ago to receive rush orders for his next assignment."

"I want to talk to him." Determination firmed his jaw.

Ro's eyes flashed annoyance. "Look, Paris, that's just
not---" A beep signaled an incoming transmission. She made a
frustrated sound and disappeared into the bathroom a moment.

Tom shuffled his feet, uncertain why he was so adamant. It
was just that he hadn't felt so much like himself...hadn't
felt so much...since Caldik Prime. He brushed a hand against
his cheek, remembering another's touch.

"All right, Paris," Ro growled as she returned. "Plans have
changed, so you've got your meeting. But *after* we get your
stuff, not before. You'll be leaving immediately for your
first job."

---

Soon after Tom found himself in a cramped office aboard a
Maquis freighter. He raised his brows at the Bajoran,
surprised at his surroundings.

"He'll be here in a moment, Paris." Ro sighed and gave Tom
an odd, but not unsympathetic look. "Good luck."

Tom dropped his bag and wandered the small space, hands in
his pockets. He turned to face the door when it opened.

His jaw dropped.

The beautiful long hair was gone, reduced to a military buzz
cut. The wide forehead now sported a tattoo, graceful lines
etched in indigo ink. Chief's powerful body was encased in
brown leather, and wore the mantle of command like he was
born to it.

But the dark brown eyes were the same, this time filled with
welcome and regret. "Hey there, Ace."

"It's Tom, actually." He shrugged. "Tom Paris."

"Yes, I know. My name's Chakotay," the other man said as he
walked over to lean against the desk, arms crossed. "I hear
you were looking for me this morning."

"Yeah, I was." Tom's chin tilted. "I figured you'd at least
say goodbye."

"Why? Because we had something special? Because we 'made a
connection'?" Chakotay's voice wasn't harsh, and his eyes
were sad and kind. "You use what you have to get what you
need---that's the only way the Maquis can survive. That's
what I've been doing the last few weeks, an undercover
assignment of sorts, a side job while my ship was being
upgraded."

Tom's blank look seemed to spark exasperation. Chakotay
opened his hands. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Ace? All
those repeat customers? Satisfaction guaranteed?" He held
Tom's gaze. "It's a fantasy. Wish fulfillment. That they may
pay to get me into bed, but once I'm there it really means
more to me. That they mean more. That they're *the
one*...not just a john; that they're being made love
to---not fucked."

Chakotay looked away a moment, then stood and faced Tom
fully. "But it's just make-believe. In the morning I
regenerate the marks, wash off the stink, and start all over
again. It's not supposed to mean anything."

Tom swallowed down a surge of bile. But he didn't look away
as Chakotay took a deep breath and continued.

"I'm sorry. Usually I let people keep their illusions. That
was supposed to happen with you as well, we were never going
to see each other again. But our suppliers' timetable was
pushed up and the engineers were done early so you got
reassigned to my ship."

The full lips thinned with regret. "Now you've gone from
customer to crew, and I can't have you thinking there's
something between us that doesn't exist." Chakotay seemed to
hesitate, then offered quietly, "If it's any consolation,
you were the only man I ever actually did that with.
Everybody else who wanted to go all the way ended up on the
bottom."

"So I had a virgin---and for no extra charge. I guess I
should be flattered." Tom saw Chakotay wince but couldn't
seem to stop himself. Last night he'd started to hope again,
and disappointment was bitter in his mouth.

The older man sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
His short hair. "Look, we're going to be stuck together for
a week or so until we reach the rendezvous coordinates. From
there you'll be taking a shuttle to a drop-off point in the
DMZ." His eyes searched Tom's. "The Maquis hired you to
pilot for us. Are you going to be able to treat this like
just another job?"

"Yeah." The word fell flat between them. Tom shifted and
shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Besides, you've got this
all wrong. It was obvious the whole time that you were still
on the clock. Pros never kiss."

He continued, trying on a sly smile. "So I wasn't looking
for hearts and flowers. You were just one prime piece of
tail, Chief. I didn't want you to leave without getting your
number---and a list of your rates."

Chakotay looked ready to launch a retort, but instead just
shook his head and moved to the exit. "Then there's no
problem. I must have been misinformed. I'll have Greg Ayala
stop by to show you to your bunk." He paused in the doorway
and looked over his shoulder. "By the way, Paris, now that
you're aboard my ship I'd prefer it if you addressed me by
my title." He left.

Tom waited until he was alone to let his expression of
indifference drop. It took a minute to steady his breathing,
his thoughts whirling. Then his eyes narrowed, his chin
lifted, and he pasted on another smart-aleck smile. Chakotay
wanted a mercenary, he was damn well going to get one. He
murmured, "Just a job, *Captain*." It was a promise to
himself.

---

So Tom made it very clear he was only with the Maquis for
the money. By the time he was ready to leave for his mission
Chakotay's crew were well on their way to despising him, and
the Captain himself wasn't too far behind.

Better that than having those soulful brown eyes watching
him with regret, or worse, pity for being the schmuck who
fell for a one-night stand---in an encounter that was only a
business transaction at that.

Underneath all the swagger and smartass, though, Tom hurt to
see how much of Chief could be seen in Chakotay off-duty:
the infectious grin, the puckish good humor. And of course,
the face and body. Adding---more likely uncovering---the
tattoo kind of made up for losing the dark mane. Though Tom
still dreamed of it wrapped around his hands while brown
eyes reached into his soul.

Bottom line, though Tom played the part of a jerk he never
did figure out if he did it because he wanted revenge, or
just wanted what he couldn't have: Chakotay. And he always
wondered if anything about that night was real.

But Tom never had the guts to ask, and by the time he was
captured his and Chakotay's interactions had devolved to a
kind of barbed truce.

So Tom deliberately locked away the memories, shrugging away
his speculations as just another one of life's mysteries.
Even after Voyager brought them together again.

Until now.

---

Tom focused on the triangle of gray shirt revealed by
Chakotay's usual half-open jacket when he came back to
himself. It was an odd, absurdly comforting bit of
familiarity. He wondered if it could also be a subtle touch
of defiance on the Commander's part for being forced to wear
the uniform once more.

Blue eyes narrowed as Tom moved up to look into Chakotay's
face, then widened as a realization struck him. As far as
Tom knew Chakotay was only 36 years old. Less than a year
ago, when they met, he appeared closer to 30.

Now Chakotay did look his age, maybe more. He was harder,
harsher, grayer, and definitely colder than he'd been in the
Maquis. And while it was a tough life in the DMZ, that
wouldn't account for all the changes.

What the hell had happened? Tom was shocked by how urgently
he wanted to know. But he had to tread carefully.

"You're right, Chakotay," Tom's voice was quiet. "I should
have remembered. And of course I wouldn't say anything. If I
mentioned you were...providing certain services, I'd have to
admit that I know about it because I...availed myself of
them."

He drifted a little closer. "But there is something I can't
figure out, Chief. If you don't have a problem with your
colorful past, then why have you erased all traces of it?"

For a moment, emotions that Tom couldn't name flared in
Chakotay's eyes as they stared at each other. Tom reached
out a hand.

Then the lift started. The motion seemed to shake loose
their connection. It broke completely when Carey's voice
sounded over the comm announcing that repairs were finished.

Chakotay withdrew, stoic and remote once more. When the door
opened he departed, leaving Tom's hand and question to hang
in the air unacknowledged.

Tom silently watched Chakotay leave. As the panel slid shut
he straightened and asked the computer for Tuvok's location.
His exhaustion was gone, replaced by a new sense of purpose.

First he had to thank the Vulcan for the detective work that
saved his life---and make sure all the secrets Tuvok had
plucked from his mind during the meld would be safe.

Then Tom would begin an investigation of his own.

---

The End