It came out of nowhere, the punch did. It absolutely came out of nowhere. If you'd asked Paris six hours ago what he expected to be doing at three in the morning, well, in a million years he'd never have answered, "Standing in my room wheezing from a punch and trying to stave off an attack from Commander Chakotay." 

And yes, that's the right word, dammit.   Direct physical attack--the whole thing was imbued with a surreal, sleepy, early morning strangeness. 

He made the mistake of asking Chakotay what was going on. 

And in one smooth motion Chakotay had him trapped up against the wall again, employing all of his bulk to pin Paris in position. 

"I'll give you one guess, you worthless piece of shit-" 

 He's really angry, his mind chittered. I've never seen him this angry. Shit. Unbelievable. It's three in the morning and I'm up against the wall with Chakotay in my face¬Ö and he looks like he's about to kill me.  Paris choked down the urge (rather nobly he thought) to grin into that fury and drawl something along the lines of, "¬Öbecoming a habit..." 

 Nobly. Yeah right. He choked it down mainly because he wanted to live to see his next duty shift. Say something, anything to diffuse this guy- 

 He didn't plan it, the words just came, whispered out into Chakotay's lips. "Hit me again." 

It worked. Chakotay didn't release him, but he loosed his hold a little and jerked his head back. "What?!" 

 "Hit me again. I deserve it," Paris returned fiercely . "And I know you want to." 

 I'm crazy, he decided. I am officially one hundred percent completely crazy. I can't believe I- 

 Chakotay slammed up against him, shoving his arm into the pilot's neck. "You're right Paris," he snarled. "I want to pound you into the deck so hard you fucking break. I want to see blood on your face and feel your goddamn bones shatter - I want you hard and hurting and I want to be the one that makes you hurt-" Then that low voiced snarl purred itself into quiet. "I want¬Ö" 

There was a moment of exquisite silence; chest heaved against chest. 

 "Say it," Paris ground out. The hard press of the Commander's body had started tension screaming through him. The crush on his windpipe was spinning stars before his eyes. "Say it, you fuck." 

 The moment twisted, altered, wrenched itself into a tight fist of heat. This wasn't about anger suddenly, oh God, it was about- 

 I can't want this, Paris was insisting to himself. There is no way in hell. Even I am not screwed up enough to want to fuck a guy who hates me. 

Foreplay. Sick, vicious and aggressive. When Chakotay looked back up it was to lean into an almost-kiss pose and spit out, "Say what Lieutenant?" 

 "Say..." But then Paris, his breathing roughened, turned his head to one side. It was the only gesture of avoidance he was capable of. 

He didn't answer the question. 

 Chakotay shook him sharply. "Lieutenant?" 

 Paris' head turned back finally. His blue eyes were blazing. His voice was deadly calm. "Get your hands off me. Now." 

 No sooner said than done. Paris was left reeling, with darkness dancing at the edge of his vision. 

He coughed reflexively when the arm detatched from his neck. He leaned his hand and his bodyweight on the wall and took in deep, deep lung-fulls of air. 

 "You miserable piece of shit," said Chakotay's voice from somewhere. 

 "You fucked up, perverted psycho," Paris returned, still experimenting with breath. "Next time you get a hard on at 3 am you can take your twitching sadistic little dick elsewhere." 

"You're hard, aren't you Paris?" Chakotay asked evenly. His gaze trapped Paris when the pilot finally looked up. "Violence turns you on? Do you get off when you get it rough?" 

 "Fuck you. Fuck you Chakotay - In your fucking dreams. You can-" He broke off when Chakotay took a step forward. "Shit. Back off." 

 "Don't flatter yourself," came the reply. 

 "Flatter? You sick bastard. I just don't want to be choked half to death-" 

 "You're alive, I'm alive-" Chakotay said. "I don't see the problem." 

 Paris squirmed. "Oh, God. Listen I don't know what-" 

 "I'll take it to the Captain," Chakotay said, and left. 

 Shit. Oh, shit. 

 The reason for the Commander's visit was a mystery forgotten. There was only one thought racing itself through Paris' mind. 

 I wanted it... 

 *** 

 "¬Öon a dare his first year at the Academy. The shuttle came back in pieces, and Mr. Paris was retrieved from the helm semi-conscious¬Ö" 

The Captain listened calmly. 

 "¬Öreceived an official warning from the regulatory board¬Ö" 

 "Set a manned shuttle flight record too, if I remember correctly," she interrupted mildly. 

 "¬Öto never pilot a¬Ö" It took Chakotay a few moments to grasp the import of her words. Then, "Captain, the issue here isn't the record set, it's-" 

 "Where exactly did you obtain this information?" 

 "I reviewed his Academy records the night before the away mission-" (Janeway raised a brow at this, but didn't comment.) "-and then found out the relevance of the flight later¬Ö completely by accident¬Ö" 

 "Commander, I know that Lieutenant Paris and yourself have a great deal of personal history-" 

He actually interrupted her. "This isn't about a- a personality conflict!" 

 "Fine," she said, with deadly calm. "Why don't you tell me straight out what you see as the major issue here." 

 "Reckless endangerment," he returned, facing down her stare. "Behaviour that's irresponsible and inappropriate. Lieutenant Paris has been relying on self-assurance in his piloting - self-assurance rather than talent, experience or sound procedure - for as long as I've known him. He could have destroyed the ship with that beta three - he could have devastated the away mission in that polaron field, not to mention get himself and his commanding officer killed.  He's certainly done it before." 

 The Captain expelled a breath. "I'm tempted, sorely tempted, to force the issue and send for the Lieutenant, Chakotay. As it is¬Ö Are you making an official complaint?" 

 "I certainly am." 

 "You'd have me investigate the matter according to Starfleet protocols?" 

 "I¬Ö" He faltered. 

 "I trust you enough to give credence to your concerns, Chakotay, even if I don't share them. I'm prepared to compromise - unofficially review the Lieutenant's performance." 

 "Thank you, Captain." 

 "In return I suggest you start doing what it takes to resolve some of your... differences." 

 "That's only fair," he managed. 

 "I'll give you my answer as soon as possible. Quite frankly I've had enough of seeing the two of you at each others throats. Two people who rub each other the wrong way..." 

 That couldn't have been a blush on Chakotay's face, could it? 

 "...more than you two, I've never seen." 

 "There's always been a strain in our working relationship," Chakotay replied tightly. 

 "I know," Janeway said, giving him a rather odd look. "You don't like him." She paused. "But the funny thing is, Commander, I don't think it's mutual." 

 Goodness, she thought, caught up in observation. It really is a blush. It really- 

 "There is one other matter I'd like to discuss," Chakotay said finally. "Well- discuss isn't really the right word. I was hoping for a few extra days to enter the official log from the Dal'sar mission." 

 "Anything I should worry about?" 

 "Mr. Paris was¬Ö intimately¬Ö involved in the negotiating process. I don't want to colour his actions with any kind of-" He said the last words a little sharply. "Personal bias in my report." 

 "Well." She weighed the words carefully. "Why don't you let the Lieutenant submit the report?" 

 She did not expect Chakotay's reaction. The man choked. Then, "You- wouldn't mind?" 

 "Not at all," replied Janeway. "Janeway to Lieutenant Paris-" 

 *** 

 Alpha shift was so uneventful it had Paris vocalising at the top of his sarcastic form, Kim fidgeting around at the Opps station and even the Captain drumming her fingertips on the arm-rest of the Big Chair. 

 Calm before the storm. Chakotay's shift ended; he stepped into the turbolift and requested a destination¬Ö and Paris skidded into the lift just before the doors closed. 

 "Commander," the pilot greeted him, then told the lift, "Deck four." 

 "Can I ask you something Mr. Paris?" 

 "Shoot," replied Paris, who seemed to be in a remarkably good mood. 

 Chakotay folded his arms across his chest. "Do you always flirt with your commanding officers?" 

 "Hmm." The grin was irrepressible, though Paris tried his hardest. "No - I'd say I only flirt with the gorgeous ones who rough me up in my quarters when what they really want to do is-" 

 "Listen, Lieutenant - I think we really¬Ö need to talk about what happened¬Ö" 

 "Sure," Paris breezed back. "I've got to drop the mission reports off at your rooms tonight. I guess we can talk then." 

 The lift doors slid open and Paris took off down the corridor. 

 And it was Chakotay's turn to think, Huh? 

 *** 

 "¬Öancient spirits of the wind¬Ö" 

 He was trying to meditate. 

Tuvok would have used a Vulcan expression to describe it. The Vek Norr. The Vulcans have a word for the mental state of 'trying to meditate', and it's certainly no co-incidence that 'Vek Norr' can also be loosely translated to mean, 'extremely $%#@ frustrating'. 

 Good thing Tuvok wasn't in Chakotay's quarters to mention this, because the Commander would probably have hit him. 

 "¬Ömany paths of the traveller¬Ö" 

 He'd stormed into Tom Paris' rooms, furious at the pilot, and then some how, in the heat of the moment he'd- he'd- 

 He'd almost told the man that he wanted to- 

 "¬Öwho guides the- shit." Chakotay swore mid-chant, and gave up on the exercise. There was really only one thing on his mind anyway. 

 Why? 

 He rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. I don't like Paris, he thought. I've never liked him. Never. 

 Aloud he said, "So then why do I want to-" 

 Spirits, I can't even say it- 

 The door chimed. 

 "Come in," he called, scooping up the medicine bundle and moving to the bedroom to replace it in its cabinet. 

 Chakotay returned to the living area to only find that Tom Paris had sprawled himself out on the couch by the door. He gritted his teeth. 

 "You've made yourself at home, Mr. Paris." 

 Paris smiled humourlessly and shook his head. "What a line, Commander. I swear, I'm kicking myself that I didn't say it to you last night." 

 "I should think you would be." 

 "Hmm. But then again it might feel to much like I was depriving you of a pleasure." 

 The Commander let out a little breath. "I see. Can I expect a point anywhere in the future of this conversation? Or are you just going to lounge on my couch and chatter for the rest of the evening?" 

 Paris smiled another mirthless smile. "We don't have to talk, Chakotay..." 

 "Did I say 'chatter'? I meant to say 'throw yourself at me'." 

 "Fuck you." 

 "I know-" Chakotay bit back whatever he was going to say with an effort of pure will. "Why are you here, Paris?" 

 The young man stretched a little, feline-like and looking supremely comfortable, despite the situation. After a moment, he tossed a data PADD onto the sidetable - the report, obviously - and then said, "You said you wanted to talk." 

 "That's true." 

 There was a pause. 

 "Well then?" Paris asked impatiently. 

 Chakotay found himself caught in a laugh- there was just something about Paris' exasperated expression- "Yes, but- I don't know. Can we talk, you and I?" 

 Paris grinned a little from the couch. It looked - strangely - genuine. "I don't know either, Commander. Not by precedent, that's for sure." 

 Was it a truce? Maybe. Maybe he's here to make peace... There came a moment of quiet, a pause in the conversation between them. Not a long one. Paris broke eye contact after a few seconds, and looked off absently to the left. 

 "Alright," said Chakotay, gathering his courage. "This is something I have to say. I'm sorry about last night. I- over-reacted." 

 I over-reacted and then I went crazy, and if you hadn't said, 'hit me' I might well have- 

 "Yeah, I didn't think I'd committed any up-against-the-wall offences recently-" 

 Chakotay took a deep breath. "I was concerned about your piloting¬Ö performance, but I've discussed my problems with the Captain and they're being handled. It shouldn't have turned so personal¬Ö I know that, and I apologise." 

 "Concerned about my-" Paris cut himself off. "Alright," he said, his anger quashed. "Fine. Thank you. Commander."   Before Chakotay could take objection to the brusque response, Paris added in a strange voice, "Listen, you don't need to apologise. I know I keep¬Ö pushing things. I shouldn't. I can't seem to help myself. I know how much it pisses you off but I..." When he ran out of words he smiled a tiny, self deprecating smile and tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his uniform. It was obviously a nervous habit. 

And it was absolutely charming. 

 The warp drive hummed, stars flew past the window, Voyager cruised around nine point five; outside these rooms crew members attended to their duties, went about their lives, kissed maybe. Found comfort. Smiled, or didn't, were happy or lonely- Nothing had really changed. 

Had it? 

 Chakotay felt like he'd been gutted. He couldn't move - he just stood and blinked at this different Paris, unable to think of anything, anything to say in response- 

 "I guess I'd better go," Paris said finally, when the silence had stretched out too long. "Other couches to visit, lounges to lounge on¬Ö you know the drill¬Ö" 

 You bastard. You little bastard. How can you have made me want you more? 

 Paris rose from the couch. 

 "Wait-" Chakotay said quickly. "Thanks. I should have said it before, but¬Ö I mean¬Ö" he tried to keep his voice light. "I'm in shock. We just had a five minute conversation without¬Ö" 

"Arguing?" Paris said, his brows arched. 

 Chakotay nodded. 

 "Because I was going to say flirting," Paris said, in something more like his usual tone. 

 "We don't flirt," came the definate response. 

 "No?" 

 Chakotay sighed. "Great. At least we made it to the five minute mark." 

 "Well," Paris said, grinning. "I was restraining myself. I mean, five minutes, no problem. But I don't know if I can go a whole ten without making another pass at you." 

 "Sure, Paris." 

 Paris pouted a little, but his eyes were shining, and his voice was laced through with laughter. "Oh, you think I'm joking?" 

 Chakotay drew in a breath. "Paris-" 

 "With your permission, sir, I'll tell you what I'd really like-" 

 "Permission?" 

 "To speak freely, of course," said Paris. 

 "Granted¬Ö" said Chakotay, suddenly uneasy. 

 "Thank you." Paris whetted his lips and then, with the most impudent look on his face said, "What I'd like is for you to order me to get down on my knees, wrap my lips around your dick and suck you off. You want it, you know you do..." His gaze dipped, his pose falsely demure. "¬ÖAnd you know I'd do it..." 

 Arousal, like a slap across the face, sudden, startling, and absolutely devastating. Image of Paris in bed, moaning, cheeks flushed, absolutely abandoned. Do it, he wanted to say. Take me. Do it. I want it. 

 "So does that count as a pass?" Paris asked, smirking a little. 

 Heat and inspiration hit; a tiny simultaneous explosion. 

A way Chakotay could finally put an end Paris' fiery, mocking sexual advances. 

 Call his bluff. 

 "Alright Lieutenant," Chakotay said softly. He had the satisfaction of seeing Paris' eyes go wide with shock. 

 "...what?" the pilot whispered. 

 "I want you on your knees, now. Get down on the floor, and put that pretty cocksucking mouth of yours to use. That's an order." 

 Paris froze for a second, its true. But then, very slowly, his expression changed. The shock melted¬Ö the amusement returned. He had probably guessed Chakotay's gesture for what it was. 

 Bluff. 

 And Chakotay realised, in one panicked second, that if there was one sure fire way to get Tom Paris to do something it was to throw it to him as a dare. 

 Paris dropped to his knees with slow and deliberate grace. "Alright," he said in a lush, breathy little voice. Bedroom voice, oh God... "Let's see what you're made of, Commander." 

 A need so fierce it was pain exploded into Chakotay's cock, into his nipples and into his cheeks. There was something about that soft tone, those parted lips, that blonde hair bright against the red of the starfleet command uniform- 

 Spirits- 

 Paris on his knees was the most erotic thing Chakotay had ever seen. 

Take that golden haired head in your hands and fuck his mouth like you've... 

 God help me, I want this. 

 No, no no.This isn't love or loving, this is nothing you want to do. It's fucking and it's fucked - a sordid, seedy blow job from a guy who's trying to piss you off- 

 The room spun. It wasn't the situation, it wasn't that the lieutenant was pretty or available or- 

 It was simply the fact that, spirits, this was Tom Paris - the smart ass hot shot pilot, the silver spooned Academy rich boy, the arrogant braggart, the maddening flirt, Maquis traitor, Captain's pet, the guy who could have anyone on the ship - this was Tom Paris on his knees about to suck Chakotay's cock. 

 It occurred to Chakotay that he was feeling a little of what the Dalian Telach had probably felt. See the superior, condescending Voyager human with his vaunted technology and his holier than thou attitude overpowered, subjugated, debased and- 

 It shouldn't have been a turn on, but oh Christ, it was- 

 See the mercenary turncoat Paris on his knees, gagging, choking, struggling to take you deep in to his- 

 "Get up Paris," he said thickly. 

 "Chicken shit," said the pilot pleasantly. To all appearances, he was perfectly at ease. 

Chakotay didn't look hard enough to see that he was trembling. And the lighting was too dim to- 

 "Get up. I mean it." 

 Silence. Paris let it ride a moment longer, then he rose, and broke eye contact. "I'm blushing," he said ruefully, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek. "I can't believe it." 

 "You're blushing." 

 He snorted. "Yeah well. I think I'm entitled." 

 "I think you're seriously screwed up-" 

 Paris paused at the door. "Oh, yeah," he remarked, without turning back round. "I thought I'd tell you¬Ö You just blew it. I'm not one for second chances." 

 And with that, he left. 

 Shit. 

Ooohhh, shit. 

 Chakotay couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't breath- 

 *** 

 Paris shuddered and rested his back against the bulkhead outside Chakotay's rooms. 

 Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- 

 *** 

 Harry Kim rounded the corner of the corridor. 

"Tom?" he squeaked. The pilot was leaning against the bulkhead with his eyes closed and the strangest expression on his face- 

 "Hiya Harry," Paris replied, without opening his eyes. 

 "Tom¬Ö are you¬Ö" Harry really sounded as if he was going end the sentence with 'crazy'. It was actually a surprise when he said, "¬Öokay?" 

 Paris kept his eyes closed, and smiled like a cat. "Hmm? What makes you think I'm not okay?" 

 "Well, you've got this look¬Ö Seriously, you should see your face right now. I don't want to know what you're thinking--" 

When Paris didn't reply, Harry reached out and touched him hesitantly on the arm. "Tom?" 

 Blue eyes fluttered open. After a moment, Paris pushed himself away from the bulkhead and cupped Harry's face with a hand. "Harry¬Ö" 

 The young ensign rolled his eyes but didn't move away, even when Paris leaned in and started to nuzzle his neck. "Gee, let me guess," he said dryly. "You were thinking about sex." 

 "Good guess," replied Paris, looking up. He nudged face to face a little, the movement filled with the promise of a kiss. "Do you mind?" 

 Kim found himself caught up in a comfortable embrace. "I don't believe this," he said. "No, I don't mind, I guess. But-" 

 "Shh," Tom whispered, and kissed him. 
 

Go to part V 
Back to main page