The BLTS Archive - Truth and Dare
by Voywriter (VoyWriter@aol.com)

---

From a story, Killing Time by YCD and fully mused by her. It has
edges from my story War Crimes, too, but is not a sequel - more a
continuing. I urge you to read War Crimes, then Killing Time by YCD,
then this story as the other two will add a lot to your understanding.
This is rated R, maybe more, maybe less and describes in not too
graphic detail consenting sex between two adult males.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the rights and title to everything Trek but
my ideas and presentation of them. Feel free to distribute this via
email with all comments intact and without revision.

---

Chakotay caught up with Tom Paris after his shift as the younger man
was heading down the corridor to Sandrine's.

"Tom. I wanted to ask you about something you said a couple of weeks
ago. It's been bothering me."

"I didn't mean it whatever it was," Paris shot back.

"Would you mind coming to my quarters? Or we can use one of the
briefing rooms if you're more comfortable there."

He studied Chakotay. This seemed serious. The First Officer's
expression was guarded, a bit withdrawn.

"Ok," he agreed slowly. "And your quarters are fine," Tom decided
this was the appropriate answer. This obviously was not a public
matter.

---

They were seated at the small table in his quarters which Chakotay
used for meals or work or both. A pot of tea sat on the table. And a
mug of beer. That was Tom's.

He took a sip and stared at Chakotay. "So what's so important? You
look a little shook up - if you don't mind me saying so."

"I do mind."

"So it's going to be like that. Great. I thought we were over all
that crap."

Chakotay pressed his lips together. "When we were - on the planet -
you told me there had been rapes - by Maquis members. That you knew of
them from your time in the Maquis."

"Yeah. And you said not on your watch."

"You were serious."

Tom stared at him. "You knew what Seska and Dolby were up to. Hell,
Suder told me more than once that he was just following your orders."

"And you believed him."

"I did at the time."

"And now?"

Paris paused. "I'd wager a month's replicator rations that there's
not one thing that happens on Voyager you don't know about - close to
the truth?"

"Close enough."

"So how do you want me to answer that? Either you're a fool or some
kind of sick..." Paris stopped.

"I didn't know."

"Okay."

"Okay, you believe me?"

"Okay - I don't know. Why is it so important I believe you?"

"It's not."

"So you just want me to make you feel better? Well, it didn't happen,
Chakotay. I made it up. I was just trying to get a reaction out of
you. There. Is that better?"

"Now I don't believe *you*."

"Why don't you try telling me what you did know about," Paris
suggested. He rose and crossed the room, leaning casually against the
First Officer's work station. "Truth or dare, Chakotay. Ready for
another round?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, Paris."

"Oh, this is no game, Commander," Tom drawled. "This just a way to let
you off easy. I'll even let you pick truth or dare after I ask the
question."

"That kind of makes the whole game pointless, doesn't it?"

"It let's you tell me as much or as little as you want."

"I just want an answer to my question."

"I answered your question. There were rapes. I never saw one. But I
know it for a fact. I can be a witness at your trial when we get home.
If we ever get home."

"Dammit Paris, I wasn't there! I didn't know."

"Okay."

Now Chakotay rose and paced, rubbing the back of his neck with his
hand. He was a big man. A powerful man. Yet he had never used his
strength against any member of the Voyager crew - Maquis crew either -
at least as far as Paris knew. Tom could appreciate that. But he also
knew that people could change - hell, he had. So who knows what or who
Chakotay really was when he was with the Maquis. Something different
than this usually calm, spiritual man who seconded Janeway's command?
Of that Tom was sure.

"How many people did you kill?" Paris wondered.

Chakotay looked like he was going to blast him, then said. "Personally
or with a ship?"

"Personally."

"Good, because I can't answer the other."

"So how many?"

"Eighty four."

"You killed eighty four people...!"

"You asked."

"And you kept count?"

"I kept count."

"How did you kill them?"

"Most of them - close range phaser blast. One with my hands. Another
with a full body block. A few in less clean ways." He took his place
back at the table, cupped his mug of tea in his hands.

"Did you torture any of them first?" Tom saw Chakotay's eyes flicker.
Dark to dark obsidian and back again. "Truth or dare."

"I told you I'm not playing that game."

"So you did." Tom whistled. "Captain know about this little breach
of protocol?"

"She knows something."

"Did you talk about it on the planet?"

"What we talked about is none of your business. And no, I didn't tell
her about it then."

"So you didn't talk about it?"

"Are you going to tell me what you know?"

"It just seems like a pretty big topic to just ignore or gloss over.
And you did have all that time... What did you do with it all anyway?"

"Drop it, Paris." Chakotay warned sharply. There was genuine anger in
his eyes now, and his voice was a level colder. Chakotay spoke slowly
now, deliberately pacing his voice as if it could pace the anger
that drove it. "I want to know what you know about the rapes."

"What's the point? So you can add another little burden of guilt to
your back pack?"

Chakotay just glared.

"What if I told you I was raped?" Paris wondered.

"Were you?"

"Not then."

"Ever?"

"Are we playing the game now?"

"You don't have to answer."

"I don't mind. No. I never was. Were you?"

There was no answer. Chakotay picked up his mug of tea.

"Jesus - you were!"

"I wasn't."

"Something shook you up there."

"This was a bad idea. Drink your beer and get out of here."

"What do you know? What is it that's eating your gut? What is it that
my comment on the planet got you all stirred up?"

"I saw one."

"You saw a rape?"

Chakotay stared into his mug of tea, at the wall, out the viewport -
anywhere to avoid looking at Paris. "The Cardassians raped Lon Suder.
They made me watch."

"You couldn't close your eyes?"

Chakotay closed them now.

Tom saw some horribly deep expression of rage and guilt reflected in
them before they closed completely. God. Chakotay was really shaken.
Tom moved back to the table and put his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. It explains a lot about Suder though. They're bastards
for making you watch."

"The Cardassians are experts at torture. It's all in the choice of
weapon."

"I never knew you were a prisoner of the Cardassians," Tom realized.

"It's in the past."

"Like hell it is. It's breathing right here in front of me."

"Leave it alone."

Tom crouched down before him. He knew what a man in pain looked like -
he'd looked in that mirror himself for a lot of years before Janeway
rescued him from it all - and this was a man in pain. Paris placed his
hands on Chakotay's thighs, looked up into his face.

To his credit, Chakotay did not flinch or move away at the contact. He
knew help when he saw it - and he needed help with this one. Anything
else, he'd go to Janeway. Anything but this. She was still not
comfortable with what little she did know of his time in the Maquis.

"What happened to Lon wasn't your fault."

"We had been pretty casual about our methods, too," Chakotay told him.
"What you say happened might have happened. I wanted to know the
truth."

"You should have asked Seska."

I did. She said whatever I wanted to hear or served her purpose."

"I guess she would."

Paris took his chair back. "The thing with Lon. How long..."

"Several hours."

"Jesus."

Chakotay reached for his tea. His hand was shaking. Just a little.
Imperceptible - except to Paris. He covered it with his own, guided it
past the tea to the beer.

"No."

"It will make you feel better."

"No it won't."

"What will then?"

Chakotay flicked his eyes up to meet Paris' gaze and then back down
again.

"You can't tell her about this, can you?" Paris said.

"Hell no, I can't."

"But you need her to hold you - run her hand down your cheek, tell you
it's okay."

Chakotay pushed abruptly from the table. "Enough Paris," he growled.
He walked to the viewport, his arms wrapped around himself.

Paris watched for a moment, then followed. He stood behind Chakotay a
moment and then slipped his arms around the other man and pulled
Chakotay's back tight against his chest, laid his head against
Chakotay's shoulder blade. He could see their reflection in the black
expanse of space in the viewport. Chakotay's expression was
unreadable. They stood like that for a few seconds, maybe more. Then
Chakotay pulled away, moved closer to the viewport, rested his head
against the coolness of the plasteel, his hands on either side of the
viewport frame.

Tom gave him a moment, then came to him again. This time he could feel
Chakotay shake. The muscles rippled and then relaxed. Then again. Tom
pushed his way in front and tipped Chakotay's head up, his hands
mingling with the falling tears. It was sheer loneliness. A secret
kept too long. Maybe even more to the story. Things he would never
hear. Tom knew that by rights Janeway should be here. Comforting him.
Holding him. But telling her would reveal too much - too much about
the wars, too much about Chakotay's own personal hell. Their
relationship was too fragile, too clean, for that.

Tom half directed, half led Chakotay to the bed, pushed him gently
onto the edge and sat beside him. Chakotay put his head in his hands.
His breathing was ragged. The eye of the storm. More to come.

Tom reached up and touched his cheek, one hand along one cheek.
Chakotay pushed it aside.

"I know. I'm not her," Tom said gently. "I'm sorry for that. But I can
help you let go of this, if you let me." He gave it a minute and then
touched his finger to the cheek again. This time there was no
resistance.

Tom drew him down then, onto the bed, and held him in a lover's
embrace, Chakotay's head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around him.
Chakotay curled his legs up tight. Protective.

The storm came again. More furious this time. Less control.

Tom stroked his face. His back. Pulled him closer. Chakotay fell
asleep - the half drugged sleep of someone spent with grief. He looked
battered almost. It would make anyone with any ounce of compassion
hurt for him. Tom gently touched his lips to Chakotay's tear swollen
ones. Touched them softly. Once. Twice. Again. He laid his cheek
against Chakotay's cheek. Chakotay opened his eyes. He was a bit
confused. Tom read need there. Hunger. The desperate bid for human
contact that grief wrenches from you. And Tom could feel Chakotay's
growing erection against his thigh too. Not lust. That was too simple.
Tom knew only one answer. He slowly disengaged himself and stripped
off his uniform, then stripped off Chakotay's and took him back in
his arms.

"No," Chakotay said hoarsely. The first thing he'd said for thirty
minutes.

"It's ok. Let me help."

It was not an act of lust nor love, but compassion when Tom guided
Chakotay's hand to his own erection, turned so his back was against
Chakotay's front, raised his legs, pressed his buttocks against
Chakotay's erection, reached back to touch the other man.

Chakotay pressed himself slowly into Tom, ancient rhythms guiding his
motions. His mind was still bleary, but yet cognizant of both the
empathy and the gift. He collapsed in a cry of strangled emotional
pain and release. Tom found his own erection had disappeared.

He reached down and pulled up the blanket from the end of the bed,
ordered the lights down and drew Chakotay close. The other man was
already asleep, spent in every way.

They slept like that.

---

Chakotay awoke first. He was showered and dressed by the time Paris
woke up to the smell of coffee and the sight of Chakotay at work at
his desk.

Paris sat up in the bed, blanket slipping to his waist. He had no idea
what to expect.

Chakotay noticed him immediately. He brought him a cup of coffee.
"You're on duty in 20 minutes. I'll change your shift if you want."

"No. I can be ready."

"Fine." Chakotay handed him the cup and met his gaze, deliberately
opening himself up one more time. Paris saw relief, a little
embarrassment, but mostly gratitude.

"We can say we had an all night poker game," Paris suggested,
diverting his eyes and attention to his coffee.

"We can."

"Or we don't have to say anything."

"It's your call, Paris."

"Chakotay."

"Yes."

"It was a lousy thing to have happen to you."

"What's that?"

"The rape."

---

The End