The BLTS Archive- My Chakotay #2: As Only He Can by MaisieRita (MaisieRita@aol.com) --- copyright 1998 Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em. I take 'em and muss their hair a little, but I don't really do any damage. I promise. Warning: NC-17. No one under 18 allowed. This story contains sex of a sort between two men. If that bothers you, stop reading right now. Psychological warning: This one's a little bit twisted. No worse than the first, but still . . . Feedback: Please! All constructive comments will be seriously considered. Grammar nits welcome. --- My heart's pounding. I'm sweating. Shaking. B'Elanna is fortunately oblivious to my distress. She sleeps like a log. I suppose if I were screaming, she'd wake up, but I don't scream when the demons come. Not anymore. I lay here for only a little while longer before desperation drives me out of the bed. I've been putting it off for too long, trying to pretend that I can handle this on my own. It's bullshit. I need him. I always have, ever since that first time. It's been three weeks since I've been here and I'm aching for him so badly, my hands are trembling as I ring at his door. When it finally opens, he's standing on the other side, dressed only in a robe. He wears nothing underneath. I don't know for sure whether he sleeps in the nude or whether he simply gets undressed when I come by. It hardly matters. The end results are the same; once the door shuts behind me it only takes a few seconds before he's naked. God, it must be three in the morning and yet he doesn't complain, doesn't question. He just slips off his robe silently and helps me with my clothing. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. He sees how I'm shaking, knows how long it's been. He knows how badly I need this. It only takes an instant and then I'm kneeling before him, in my proper place. Already, I can feel the tension start to dissipate. The hard knots in my shoulders and back are loosening even as I begin to do what I have to. It's difficult at first, of course. The memories are almost overwhelming and I can't quite remember that I'm here because I want to be, that this time it's of my choosing. I focus on the scent of him, the shape of him, the taste of him in my mouth. As I run my tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock, he moans, and I concentrate on the timbre of his voice. This is Chakotay, I remind myself. He isn't forcing me to do this, he is allowing me to do this. He permits it because he knows it helps me. And suddenly it's all right. It's sacred, perfect, holy. I'm relaxed now, and I can concentrate on my task a little better. I remember all the hundreds of times I've done this before. I remember what worked best, what prompted the loudest moans, the harshest cries. I remember what made their knees shake, what satisfied them enough so they'd leave me alone for a little while. I take all that knowledge and apply it now. Chakotay shudders and swells to full hardness in my mouth. He's so big. He's beautiful. He moans again and my cock comes to life. In seconds, it's full and heavy, resting on my own thighs as I kneel here on the floor. I want to touch myself, but I remember my promise to him and I restrain the movement. My self-control lasts for all of a minute, until Chakotay gasps out my name into the darkened room. Tonight, as always, I am helpless at his cry. I need to stroke myself. To do otherwise is simply not an option. At the same time as I snake one sweaty hand down between my thighs, I speed up the motion of my mouth on him, wondering if perhaps I can bring him to orgasm before I come myself. I feel guilty even as I do it. I'm cheating him. He deserves the best I have to offer, not this rush towards fulfillment. I compromise, slowing down the pace slightly and touching myself as lightly as I can manage. He's shaking the way I love to see him shake. Gasping. Sweating. He's going to come soon and god, so am I. I hold it back somehow, working my tongue and the muscles of my throat so that he's helpless. He orgasms suddenly, crying out, and I wrap my hands around his thighs to brace myself as his seed flows into me. I feel victorious, complete. I have his essence within me, and it's my choice. Mine. Contentment floods me, driving the demons back again. Chakotay lands hard on his knees as he finishes, and then takes a reflexive look downwards. I see a disbelieving smile cross his face when he realizes that I'm still hard. It's my turn to shake now, but it's with apprehension, not passion. In all this time, I haven't let him touch me. For some unfathomable reason, he wants it, though, and I think I might be healed enough for it, so I do my best to relax when he reaches his hand down to me. It's no use. The seconds his fingers wrap around me, I go limp. I can't enjoy his touch. I can't permit myself to enjoy it. It will ruin everything, taint us in a way that I can't tolerate. Somehow I know that it will be the end of everything. He's frowning now, as he gently kneads my unresponsive organ between his fingers. Sorrowfully, he lifts his eyes to mine. "I'm sorry," I say lamely, humiliated and uncomfortable. Resignedly, he pulls his hand away and rests back on his heels. He looks at me pensively and speaks softly. "Did you know that would happen?" "Know? Not really." "You suspected it." "Yes." "Why?" "I'm not -- I don't know." He's still frowning, and I feel awful. "It's not your fault, Chakotay." He nods. "I know. I just can't help wishing this weren't quite so one-sided." "One-sided?" I can't quite parse it. Surely he realizes that I get at least as much out of this as he does. Maybe more. "You're doing all the work." I don't understand. It *has* to be this way. I say as much. He looks at me evenly, curiously. "Why does it have to be this way, Tom?" "It just does." He stares at me, disconcerted, and I'm uncomfortable under his steady regard. "I have to go. B'Elanna will notice if I'm gone for too long." I rise to my feet and head for the bathroom, getting a towel so I can complete the last part of our little ritual. I clean us off and get dressed while he slips the robe back on. He won't force me to talk about it, and neither will he refuse me the next time I need his help. I'm not sure why I need to do this, why it needs to be Chakotay, but I *must* do this and it *must* be Chakotay. I'm not even sure why he allows it, why he stops whatever he's doing to help me. At best, it's inconvenient for him and at worst . . . hell, I don't even know if he likes men. And yet he saves me when I need saving, puts up with my appearances at all hours of the day, unplanned, unannounced. He accepts it all without complaint. I worship him for it. I leave without another word. He doesn't thank me, and I don't thank him. I wonder, as I always do, if this will be the last time I'll have to come here, but I know it won't be. The demons will come back for me and when they do, I'll come back here. I'll come back to Chakotay, and he'll save me again as only he can. --- The End