The BLTS Archive - Rock and a Hard Place by Tara --- Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and its characters are owned by Paramount. They're simply borrowed for this story. WARNING: This story is *Slash*, i.e. m/m. If you are under 18 or the thought of such stories doesn't appeal to you, don't read this. Thank you. --- Sandrine's again. Seven in the side pocket. *crack* Damn, I'm bored. The Delaney sisters are working the graveyard shift. Harry's tired. Probably just tired of pool. Can't say I blame him. This is my fantasy, and it's even starting to annoy me. I could go down to Engineering--see what B'Elanna's up to. Get my balls busted. Ouch. Not sure I'm up for that, though I can't say it doesn't have it's appeal. Five in the corner. *crack* It's quiet tonight. What's everyone up to? What do I care? Could go for a snack. Maybe I'll go down and raid Neelix's kitchen. Get a sneak preview of whatever frightening delicacy he's cooked up for tomorrow. How bad could it be? Bad as prison food? Couldn't be. Could it? *crack* Shit. Scratched. That's it. I'm out of here. Go back to my room, read something. Hell, I don't feel like it. May as well hit the sack . . . What was that? Is someone else here? "Going to rack 'em again, Paris?" Chakotay. Shit. I didn't see him sitting over there in the corner. "No, Chakotay. The table's all yours. Think I'll just call it a night." "Already? Aw, come on, Paris. It's early yet." Not again. He's getting up, coming over. God, he's built like a bear. "No, really. That's it for me." Yeah, here he comes. Closing in on me. Got something in his hand--rolling it around in his fist. He's in my face. Pressing up against me. Pushing me back against the pool table. "Look, if you want to play a game, I suggest you use one of the holo patrons." That look on his face. That smirk. Oh boy. Here we go again. "Is that what you want to do, Tom? Play pool? Or is there something else you'd like? Hm?" He's not really waiting for an answer. "Computer, secure holosuite. Personal access code, Chakotay-9-7-Alpha-2." It's always the same. In the shuttle bay, the turbolift, the mess hall. Neelix would hemorrhage if he found out. "Damn, you. I didn't ask for this." He's got his hand on my crotch. No preamble for this guy. "I owe you, Paris. I owe you my life, remember?" Just repaying my debt. I don't like to owe anybody--especially you." Practically spat in my face. "You don't owe me nothing. I never said you did." Damn it! What is it about this guy? Is it a smell? Shit, he knows he's getting me hard. I hate that! "It's not a question of what you think, Paris. It's a personal code--tribal honor. That's something someone like you will never understand. You're a traitor, a rogue--a nobody." Oh yeah, squeeze my balls like that--um, a little too hard, buddy. Catch your breath, ace. "Doesn't say much for you, does it. Coming on to a nobody like me. Lowering yourself to my level, just for a piece of ass." That smirk again. "Just paying you back on your terms. This is all you really understand, isn't it?" "Fuck you, Chakotay." Why do you always let yourself fall into this trap? Now he's laughing at you. We do this every time. "Whatever you want, Paris. And that is what you want, isn't it?" God, his breath is hot. Hot, and sweet. Funny, I wouldn't have expected that. Hot on my neck. Tongue on my neck. Chills up my spine. He reaches around me. Lays something down on the pool table. A tube of lubricant. Raiding Sick Bay again, eh, buddy? Commands the computer to delete all the patrons. They were beginning to gawk. Tugging at my uniform. Not so fast--don't rip it! Let me get in there. Push the top over his shoulders. He's got big shoulders. He's big--all over. And he's hard. All over. Yeah, just like me. You want it too. He doesn't kiss me. We never kiss. Just fuck. Uniform, briefs tangled around my ankles, his ankles. No need to take off our boots. "Chakotay, you're a sonuvabitch." Pulling the shirt over his head muffles his reply. Bare chest, smooth, and hard. Dark, and so smooth. I run my hands all over it. "Yeah, a lying son of a medicine man, you know that." "I don't lie. I'm not like you." Pinching my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, making them swell. Drives me nuts! He's pulling my chest hair. He always does that. Plays with my hair. I think he likes it. "Bullshit." My breath's coming out fast now. Making me pant like dog. Goddamn him! "You're lying now. Lying to yourself." "What am I lying about?" He's breathing hard too. Finger up my ass--my finger up his ass. Rubbing hard against each other. Friction. Oh, mother! Sweet friction! "About what you want--why you're here. You don't owe me--this. You want it. You're a horny, frustrated, lying bastard." I run my tongue around his ear. Nip at the lobe. He squirms. "Oh, really." He's got my balls in one hand now, my cock in the other. Better watch your mouth, slick. He's literally got you between a rock and a hard place. Ahhh!! Too much. Too fast. I'm gonna come in a second if he doesn't slow down! "Horny? For *you*? Don't flatter yourself, boy." "Yeah? What about *her*? Huh?" "What are you talking about?" "Janeway. Yeah, you can't hide it. From me. From anyone. You want her. So much you can't stand it. But you can't have her, can you? Uh-AHH!!" Brings me to the edge. Then stops, cold. Bastard! Puts his face up to mine. His lips on mine. But doesn't kiss me. I can feel his breath. Feel his lips moving. "I hate you, Paris." "Fuck you, Chakotay." He grins again. A cold grin. "Always comes back to that, doesn't it?" He moves off me, then positions himself against the pool table, legs spread. Offering himself to me. Looks over his shoulder at me--urging me on. "Pay back time again, Tom." I can't help myself. I run my hands over his ass. Caress it, massage it. He's got a nice ass. Soft, like a baby. Shit. Why does this turn me on? I'm not attracted to him. To men. Well, a couple times, maybe. Once, at the Academy. And then there was that layover on DS9, before we ended up here. That pretty Arab doctor. Too damn pretty for his own good. And I'd just got out of Auckland, after all. Fuck it. Stop analyzing. Just take him. "Don't forget the lubricant." He's always giving orders. Loves it that she made him second in command. I push the gel up his rectum, roughly. He likes it that way. Coat myself pretty generously. We don't talk at this point. He waits. I oil us up like a couple of pigs. Then I'm ready. Past ready. "What are you waiting for, Tom? Forget how?" That's the impetus I need to push me over the edge. I press myself into his ass. I want to ram my cock inside him--but I don't. I take it slow. I don't know why. Maybe I just don't want to hurt him. He arches back against me--drawing me in, taking me further, until . . . I'm all the way inside. My hips meet his, my chest hugs his back--sweaty. We're both slick. He's tight. Tighter than a woman. I feel him shudder against me. I wrap my arms around his chest, and start moving--in and out. Slowly, at first. Carefully. He gyrates his hips--rocks back in synch with me. We do this for a couple minutes, in silence. The only sound is our thighs slapping together. The smell of sex wafts upward. That smell makes me crazy. I suck on the back of his neck. He's going to have a helluva hickey tomorrow. I reach down to grab his cock. God, he's a handful! Like a bottle. I stroke him, massage him. A moan escapes his lips. He likes this too much, the bastard. He can't deny it. "Ta-talk about frustration. Look at you--slamming me. Can't help yourself. You-you're pathetic, Paris. Who are *you* thinking about right now? Huh?" Why does he do this? "You talk too much." I barely pant that much out. "B'Elanna? Eh, Tom?" "Shut up." He's trying to get to me. Distract me. No way. I'm too close. I can't help it. I pick up the pace. I really am slamming him now. Jerking hard on his dick. I shouldn't give him the satisfaction. But I do. Another moan--more like a groan. From who, I can't tell. He's still taunting me. His voice, barely a whisper. "She can't stand you. You-you don't have a chance. Not one. Not in this life time. Ohhhh!!" "Fuck you." "I hate you." I pump him furiously now. I control his release. He needs this. Needs me--to make him come. I don't know why . . . why we're here. Separate, and together. Liability. Frustration. Loneliness. One or the other, or all of them. He's moaning in earnest now. I'm about to explode. But I bring him first. He grips the table edge so hard, his hands shake and his knuckles go white. He comes with a shout. A rush of warm, sticky fluid spills into my hand, and runs down my wrist. I can't hold back any longer. I bury my face in his shoulder, and stifle my cries as the dam breaks, and I empty myself inside him. Goosebumps down my ass and thighs. It always happens that way. I buck and contract--once, twice, three times. Until I'm empty. And then we're still. It's quiet now. No talk, no taunts, no cries of ecstasy and despair. Just our breathing, labored. One sound. One voice. I hug his back, my cheek on his shoulder. I stare absentmindedly at a small, oval birthmark there. He wraps his arms around mine, and clasps them to his chest. I can feel his heartbeat. I know he can feel mine. We remain like this for a little while--forever. And then there is an unspoken word, an understanding that we're through--for now. We pull apart, slowly. I grab a napkin off the closest table, and wipe my hands and cock. No need to throw it in the clothes processor. It'll dissipate when the program shuts down. We pick up our clothes off the floor. Dress quickly, without speaking at all. Finally done. Ready to go. Chakotay palms the tube of lubricant, then releases the security lock. I tell the computer to end the program. Sandrine's disappears, only to return tomorrow, and the next day. And the next after that. Whenever it's needed. We exit the holosuite together. Once outside, we part company. Say our goodnights, making minimal eye contact. "See you tomorrow, Lieutenant." "Goodnight, Commander." He exits to the left. I escape to the right. Absurd, since our quarters are on the same deck, and along the same corridor. Each time, I wonder if it'll happen again. When the debt will be paid--if it ever will. If we ever want it to be. --- The End