INTRO: This fic owes a huge debt to the stunning story, "Rock and a Hard Place". I mean, it doesn't follow the same premise, it's not even that similar in style. But it's still definitely a spin off. The same genre, maybe. I know, I know... I'll never do Tara's story justice - my excuse is, this scenario would not get out of my head.
PREMISE: Another PWP, this one Chakotay POV! Um. The stardate sets 'Night' in the middle of the 2nd series 'Bad Paris' plot arc, but since it's not exactly canonical... (Oh, and warning, it's late Wednesday night here in Melbourne Australia (No, wait, better make that early Thursday morning!) and Cat's off on her own personal caffeine *trip*...)
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the characters, the ship and just about all the fun stuff. **waves to them** Be nice, Paramount-heavies. I'm just, you know, borrowing the boys for a bit. ;-)
The following story is rated NC-17 (yum!) for language and explicit m/m sex. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't. Feel free to mail me **said all casual-like** at firstname.lastname@example.org with any comments and/or CC...
Oh, and PS. If you're gonna copy any of this or link to it or whatever, that's fine, just drop me a line to let me know, hmmm?
Pool table, pretty girls, shady hustlers, bad beer. It's him, all over. His style. His personal brand of flashy, overripe charm.
Like a too strong after-shave you can't wash off.
The place reeks of Tom Paris.
He's moving around the table now, bantering, flirting, whatever it takes. Trying to throw Gaunt Gary off his game. Three hours, he's been here. It's a lot of off-duty time to spend in a holographic bar. A lot of effort to put into an interaction with flickering shadows of people, with cliched pool sharks who spout cheesy, anachronistic, 20th Century mock-up dialogue...
I hate this place. It's everything I hate about him. Academy thoroughbred, playing poor little rich boy. He loved it, of course. Loves it still, judging by this fucking bar. Loves playing the part of jaded tough - boy with a tortured soul - though it's about a million miles from the truth of his pampered upbringing.
"You'd rather die than let me be the one to save you," he panted, high on that ledging.
And I nearly answered, "Yes."
He notices me. Mock salutes. I return the favour. I warn myself, Don't give him the rise that he wants, and I don't. I've learned that I can stay calm, even in the face of him. "Mr. Paris."
He moves over to my table. "Fancy a game, Commander?"
"Of pool?" I don't sound thrilled, and I think that hurts him.
Why do I care, you ask. Ah, well. It's my one conceit. One of my few conceits, out here - Tom Paris' reaction to me.
"...wants your respect, Chakotay..." This from Janeway. True, Kathryn. Respect. And he also wants my-
That's between us too, you know. Though I don't often admit it. A kind of low grade burn between us. Always. And it's a good feeling. A kind of power. For a second I let myself ride on the vision. Fucking Tom Paris. A common pass-time, from what I've heard, but wouldn't it feel good...
"Well, if pool's not your vice," he hedges awkwardly, and starts to turn away.
Vice. How far would he go, I wonder. And does he want it as much as the pretty, teasing, spoiled expression in his eyes hints that he does?
It's madness, but I've caught his arm, and I'm spinning him back to face me. "Just you and me tonight, Paris," I say, and the words spark the ever-lurking fire between us into a blazing, open flame.
Blue irises darken. Pupils dilate as I look into his eyes. "Oh God," he says quietly, freezing. "Oh God, Chakotay."
I lean forward. Take him a little roughly by the neck and pull him toward me. My mouth's at his ear. In close quarters like this, I think, its disconcerting that he's the taller one. "Tell me you don't want it, and I'll back off," I whisper.
He lets out a breath, like a desperate laugh. Nervous. He's nervous. I want to smile. Tom Paris is utterly fuckable, I discover, when he's nervous and out of control.
I expected it. It and the smirk. I've known Tom a long while. His nerves kick in, so do his defenses. He's trying to force an admission, fencing, like it's a game. And he's better at it than I am, so I win by not playing. "Your choice," I tell him, shrugging and turning away. "I'll leave you Sandrine's."
I turn back. He's leaning against the wall, hugging himself. Looking shy as hell, and I've no idea why that's a turn on. It is though. Despite everything I know about him.
His gaze dips. He shoots glances at me from beneath his lashes. "Stay?"
I move back towards him. "Stay?" I echo, lip to lip.
His cheeks burn with the blush. Right at the end of the sentence, he looks up. "Stay and... fuck me, Chakotay."
This time I do smile. His lips are already on my neck. Hot moisture. Trailing fire. My hands slide into his uniform, find hard little nipples, twist, and make him cry out. I do it harder. Vicious almost. Liking the reaction, and probably more than I should. He's panting now. Panting my name. I think to myself that easy isn't the word for this guy-
Stellar fuck, Megan had said. The words pulse in me as I submit, let him touch. He's perfect against me, and I shouldn't be thinking like this, stellar fuck, stellar fuck, stellar fuck-
"Computer, secure holodeck," I order. "Authorisation Chakotay, five one omega."
"I think," he manages, as we pull out of clothes. As the holodeck coughs up lubricant, and we slick it on each other's cocks. "We just made Gary's night..."
I swear. Hadn't noticed. "Freeze program," and not before time. Gary's expression is something to see, yes, but it isn't enough to distract me from Tom.
"Quite the exhibitionist," he purrs, winding himself around me. His hands slide down my back, which is lovely. But his fingers creep towards the cleft of my buttocks.
Uh-uh, I think to myself. Not in your lifetime, Tom Paris. And I smile on his shoulder. Smile, then bite there. His hand jerks away. Much better-
I take his cock, greased, in my hand. Pump it a little. Watch his face as it turns the same colour as the organ. Pink. Flushed. His eyes squeeze shut. He starts thrusting, shamelessly, pushing into me.
"Smartass," I whisper. "Fucking smartass. Nice to see you're a natural blonde, though."
"Chakotay," he moans. "I don't... Why are you..."
"I don't know," I tell him calmly. "I don't usually fuck people I don't respect-"
"Bastard." His thrusting speeds up. His cock slipping fast through my fingers. "You bastard. Oh God, yes, I'm going to-"
But I let go before he can come. Spin him around to face the wall and spread his buttocks. Touch the perfect, round pink of his anus. I'm slick enough with lube that my cock rides straight in. More or less. It's tight as hell. He makes a lot of noise about it.
"...God, oh God, yes, yes, do it..." Interspersed with, "I hope you're fucking getting off, Chakotay, you son of a bitch..."
Fucking Tom Paris. And I was right, it feels good. Good. Oh, God... I can't help it, suddenly. My arms wrap around him. I'm panting, and thrusting into him, and far too close to calling out his name-
His own arms press to the wall, his head bows. He shudders, then shoves backwards. "Expedient," he gasps out. He can't stop himself moving with it, I notice. "Though somehow I always thought you'd be more the kissing and candle-lit dinner -- type."
"Let's not trade war stories," I return, trying to match his level of coherency. "I don't want to know where you've been--"
He presses his face to the wall. It's reddened by sensation. His eyes are closed. His mouth's open. The gasping cries coming from his throat are absolutely devastating. But before I come, his teeth bare in a smile. "At least not... in a Cardassian... which is more than you can say, Chakotay..."
Furious. I come, furious. Slamming into his ass. Slamming him into the wall. I jerk and spurt hard. Crush him to me. And wrench out and away the second I'm done. "It's over," I tell him, malicious instinct half-satisfied. He'll go without, I think. That, or have to bring himself off.
A shiver spills through me. Here, the thought continues. With me watching-
But when I turn back to him, I see that he's already come; his cum streaks the wall. The wall that he's clinging to, like it's the only thing keeping him standing-
"No hands," he says dazedly. "OK. Wow. That's definitely a... first for me..."
I wipe off my dick and dress in the meantime. "I'd clean that gunk off the wall, Paris," I advise him. "It's not going to dissipate when the program ends."
He looks strange, I think out of nowhere. Defeated. And his voice, it sounds broken.
He's good at it, too. I've seen him in action. It's how he got Megan back, when she dumped him for screwing her sister. Paris drama. Paris pretend angst. The shattered expression in those dilithium-clear eyes.
I'm not going to fall for it.
"I'll see you on the bridge, Lieutenant."
"Yeah," he says softly behind me. I'm leaving. "Yeah. Goodbye, Chakotay."
Back to main page