The BLTS Archive - The Magic Hand of Chance #4: The Uncooperative Chair by raku (raku2u@aol.com) --- DISCLAIMER: Copyright in these characters and location is owned by Paramount and Viacom. This is an original not-for-profit work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended. ARCHIVING: OK for ASC/EM, R'rain; ok to download copies for personal reading. Others, please ask. RATING: Implied cheerful intimate relationship between two men. Nothing very wild happens, but innocent cockroaches are killed. This one accidentally answers the "chair challenge," but I began it a while ago after a request for pizza erotica. For Sasscat and Zeborah, fellow fans of pizza. --- "You look tired, Tuvok." "Indeed, Commander Chakotay." "That holographic warp-core breach still bothering you?" "No, that was a simple problem in the end--the equation was quite straightforward." Tuvok seemed to hesitate at the mess-hall door. "Anything I can help with?" Chakotay seemed all concern. Tuvok had noted his skills as ship's counselor. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt... "I am finding Lieutenant Paris--Tom--something of a challenge." "Ah, how do you mean?" Chakotay smiled nervously. Paris could be a challenge in a million ways, about five of them legal. "He is very--untidy. It is not logical." Chakotay laughed with nervous relief. "Tuvok, lots of people don't think tidiness is all that important. I think Tom got demerits at the Academy for the condition of his quarters, if I remember correctly. But he's always been tidy where it counts--he's a good recordkeeper, for example." Tuvok sighed. "Yes, I am sure that is true. Regrettably, living with someone requires little in the way of recordkeeping." As they left the mess hall Chakotay gestured down the corridor, and they continued their conversation as they walked. "Have you talked about it with Tom? Is it something in particular, or a general problem? "Well, both." "Why don't you try talking to him about it? Maybe you could agree on a list of things to do? or not do?" Tuvok did not reply immediately, and Chakotay noticed he seemed embarrassed. "We tried that. We managed to agree on a list. But I do not think we got farther than the third item." The third item had been "rearrange clothing in drawers" and Tom had turned that into a lingerie show. It had been a ... long night, in the end. Not unpleasant, yet not productive. Hmn. Chakotay smiled at his companion's distressed expression. Half-kiddingly he said, "I remember at the Academy, sometimes people who disagreed about that kind of thing would divide their quarters in two, with tape, or laser strips, things like that. Each person would have a section that was his or hers, to furnish according to personal taste." He clapped Tuvok on the back. "Maybe you should divide your suite and just let Tom rip." He waved cheerfully, and walked away remembering the time the Holodoc caught Paris using an IV bag from a shuttlecraft medpack for a tomato-soup drip... He might never have noticed if it hadn't been for the croutons sticking in the tubing... Tuvok watched Chakotay's retreating back with an almost-glum face. //Vulcans do not do 'glum',// he reminded himself sternly. //There must be a logical solution to this problem.// He turned in the direction of their quarters, reflecting on the changes Paris had brought about in just a short time. Singlehandedly he'd turned Tuvok's living suite from something worthy of "Dignified Homes of Shi'Kahr" to a lifelike rendition of squalid students' quarters in 12th-century France. Paris had chirped, "Makes me feel at home!" and grinned like a madman. Tuvok had remained uncertain whether it was a geographical joke, or pun, or what. Humor. It was a difficult concept. Lately he had been troubled to see growing stacks of food containers left haphazardly around the suite. Bowls, bags, all sizes and materials. Pizza boxes in the corner. Cartons on the table. All of them used. Tuvok was certain it was not sanitary. Tom had offhandedly commented he was experimenting with holographic programming using mobile emitters. He liked working with food because it varied so much--color, texture, taste, temperature, and so on. Tuvok had indicated his skepticism that holographic food could be nutritious, but Tom had waved him off and continued his experiments. The floor gradually became a little crunchy with holographic potato crisps, a "breakfast food" that looked like little bales of hay, and something rather orangey called "Cap'n Crunch." At the memory Tuvok shuddered delicately. He let himself into their quarters and inwardly groaned at the mess. The crumbs alone would play merry hell with the fine electronics in the suite. He began to pick his way across the room when a loud "Hey!" stopped him. "Watch where you're walking, Tuvok!" Tom Paris shouted from his desk. Tuvok made no reply but raised the eyebrow that was inevitable when dealing with humans. "I'm working on some holographic cockroaches. Kinda makes it all feel real, right?" "Holographic cockroaches? You are manufacturing insects?" "Yeah, I had the idea to use the mobile emitters along with some of those Borg nanoprobes that reproduce so quickly. Presto! virtual cockroaches!" Tuvok silently armed himself with a heavy boot and a static field emitter. A thump and a zap indicated he was trying each approach on the tiny livestock. "Hey hey hey! What are you doing?" An indignant pilot, clothed mostly in a bathrobe, came stalking across the room toward Tuvok. "I am attempting to rid our quarters, and the ship, of unwanted vermin. A security officer should be prepared for intruders of all sizes and shapes." Tom reflected that Vulcans took Win, Place, and Show in the Keeping A Straight Face competition. "You know, those were several days' work. Now they're just electronic crumbs." "Speaking of crumbs, Tom, we must discuss the condition of our living quarters." "Yeah, it's pretty annoying when your lover destroys your handiwork before your very eyes." Tom sidled up to Tuvok, pulling at the sash on his robe. Tuvok dropped the boot he held in his hand. As the human howled and grabbed his foot, Tuvok remarked, "I am *so* sorry." Tom took a deep breath and set aside the pain. He wrapped himself around Tuvok and purred, "How sorry are you? A little sorry? or *very* sorry?" Tuvok peeled the pilot's arms from around his waist and said, "Crumbs, Tom. Remember the crumbs?" "Sure thing--it's just about dinner time so I'm thinking about crumbs a lot, sweetie. What did you have in mind?" "I had in mind removing quantities of food detritus sufficient to assure the accurate functioning of the suite's electronic equipment." "God, Tuvok, you're no fun at all. OK, fine, crumbs it is. But you know, I've been a bad, bad boy about keeping this place tidy. Don't you think?" "Indeed I do think. Vulcans are primarily known for thinking. Just now I am thinking about cleaning. If you don't know where the vacuum cleaner is, perhaps you could program one for me." Tom again wound his arms around his lover's torso and whispered, "I broke it. I broke the vacuum cleaner when I tried to suck up the weetbix with it. I've been a bad, bad boy, Tuvok. Very bad." He nibbled on the elegant ear. He nestled his head under the Vulcan's chin. Speaking over the top of the younger man's head, Tuvok said with what sounded like frustration, "I do not understand your insistence on comparing yourself to misbehaving young children. You are a grown man." "*Some* people think so," grinned the pilot. "Others think I need a lot of discipline." His eyes suddenly glittered brightly. "When I was a kid, and I did something really awful, my parents would put me in the Uncooperative Chair." "Your furniture had the characteristic of cooperation?" "No no no, Tuvok, it's an old Earth trick for getting kids to behave. Or trying to." "Our furniture will assist you in tidying our quarters? I do not understand." "No, I still have to do the cleaning. But I get punished first for making such a mess. C'mon. It'll be fun." "Punishment will be fun?" "Ah.... Well, I'm not gonna go there right now, old man. Lessee..." "And do not call me 'old man.' Technically I am neither." "Oh come on, you love it when I tease you." "I 'love it' when you use accurate denotation and forms of address." "Ooooh, mama. And *I* love it when you use words like 'denotation' and 'forms of address.' Come on, Tuvok, sit down next to me and say 'shield harmonics.' Nice and slow..." "Tom, I thought we were going to commence cleaning...?" "Boy, you are *no* fun at all. Ok, ok, we'll clean. But first, I have to sit in the Uncooperative Chair for a while to remind me how important cleaning is." Tuvok rolled his eyes. Some days he did *not* understand humans, let alone this particular one. This jocular humor was not like anything he had previously encountered. New life forms, indeed, he mused. The founders of the Federation had had no idea. He watched his companion pull a chair away from the desk and park it in a corner, his back to the room. At first Tom merely sat there, not moving much, but tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh. "Am I done yet?" he eventually queried over his shoulder. "What scale of measurement are we using to determine the parameters of 'yet'?" "That's just a saying, Tuvok, all the Earth kids use it when they're in The Chair. Same thing when they're confined to their rooms. Now I suppose you're gonna tell me that Vulcan moms never send their kids to their rooms..." "Disobedience is not logical. There is little reason for such conduct on the part of mother or child." Tuvok had been prepared to go on at greater length, but broke off when he remembered Tom's analysis of Vulcan day care. Tom had speculated that Vulcans assigned each child a symbol to identify their property based on principles of scientific taxonomy rather than "cuteness." Tom had mercifully digressed to recall the "cute" bunny that his own cubby had sported, years ago, and the bunny that had been stamped on all his own possessions for identification. But Tuvok had been alarmed by Tom's astute observation. Even now, many decades later, he could recall the row of tiny closets that had held the miniature Vulcan cloaks of the three-year-olds. And he could easily remember the colorful insects, arranged variously according to taxonomic order, that had marked each closet: //diptera, hemiptera, homoptera, hymenoptera, lepidoptera, neuroptera, orthoptera ... // Tuvok felt all warm and fuzzy thinking back to those happy days of childhood, when he was first learning things like the value of pi . . . He shook himself out of the reverie and noted his companion had slouched down in the chair. His legs, knees bent, were braced against the wall and he seemed to be -- eating? a *pizza*? Tuvok walked over to investigate. "Just a little something I tried out with the mobile holoemitters," said Tom through a mouthful of mozzarella. "Wanna bite?" He grinned lasciviously at the nonplussed Vulcan. "Terran children are required to consume food as punishment?" "Nah, they're supposed to sit still and do nothing. But I got bored, and I was already hungry. So I thought I'd do a couple things at once. He reached a slice backward over his head toward Tuvok and smiled. "Come on, sweetie, you know how you love those Italian plum tomatoes . . . " Tuvok walked away from Tom toward his desk. He took up his Chief of Security stance and folded his arms across his chest. "Those are not plum tomatoes. Those are holographic projections." "Remember that holographic breach of the warp core? That had you jumping pretty fast." "That was a potential risk to Voyager. To my knowledge, no starship has been threatened by Italian plum tomatoes." "Oh, I don't know, Tuvok, maybe we're just not in the right quadrant." Tom closed his eyes and began to mumble aloud, dreaming of cosmic strings made of mozzarella, nebula-sized pools of tomato sauce, asteroid belts formed from meat balls . . . He licked his fingers and took another bite. He chewed appreciatively. At length he finished his dinner and tossed the box to the floor with a clunk. Tuvok winced at the addition to the mess. Tom reached down and wiped his hands on his robe, thoroughly. Very thoroughly. Tuvok noticed how the robe bunched across his lover's thighs. The muscles in Tom's shoulders worked underneath the cloth as his hands ran back and forth, back and forth. Tom began rocking the chair backward and forward on two legs. He hummed to himself, eyes closed. The Vulcan broke into a light sweat as he observed the large muscles in Tom's legs swell and release, swell and release, with the movement of the chair. After a time Tom folded his hands into his lap and leaned his head forward intently. He began to do something Tuvok couldn't quite make out since his hands were hidden from Tuvok's view. Could he be-- was he--? Tuvok licked his lips, finding it hard to concentrate. The chair suddenly fell over in a clatter as Tom stood up. Tuvok could now see that Tom--had been removing crumbs from his robe. Tom broke into a broad grin as he observed how hot and bothered his companion had become. He walked over, chuckling, and said, "Still want to clean?" Tuvok replied, "I did not anticipate the complete effect of the 'Uncooperative Chair'." Tom kissed him on the cheek. "Sweetie, just wait until I show you the 'Uncooperative Bed'." --- The End