"A Question of Perspective"
by Maisie (maisierita@comcast.net)
copyright 2004
(Voy, C/P, 1/2, R/NC-17)
Summary: A comment from Chakotay causes Tom to pay the First Officer a late night visit.
Warning: Hard R or soft NC-17 for moderately explicit descriptions of sexual acts. I wouldn't read it at work if anyone might be peering over your shoulder. Some angst, because that's just what I do.
Setting: A few months into the Delta Quadrant, after Seska has left the ship.
Disclaimer: I own none of 'em. Paramount rules. Except that they took these fantastic characters and made 'em milquetoast and bland so now I've gotta write fanfic. It's not my fault!
Acknowledgments: My first acknowledgment has to be to Mandragora, who, if she reads this, will likely be very surprised to hear it. But see, she posted this unfinished C/P fic to her LJ, and it was delicious, and it got me craving C/P from the good old days, when everyone wasn't civilized and there was actual friction between Chakotay and Tom. So I popped around the web reading all this good C/P and then my muses got all busy on me and here is the result. :) Also, as always, eternal thanks to Sapphire and Starmei for doing stellar beta work and putting up with me when I was stubborn.
Feedback: Please! If anyone's still reading C/P, that is.
Website: http://members.aol.com/maisierita/index.html
http://www.livejournal.com/~maisierita
Stardate 48751.4
2200 hours
The stars look especially bright tonight. Every night before bed I stand and stare out the viewport, trying to find some order in the chaos of our lives, and every night all I see are stars, oblivious to us entirely. Even though there's no physical reason for it, some nights they look brighter, others dimmer. Tonight's an especially bright night. It's a good omen, I think, though I don't know of what.
The door chime rings and I turn reluctantly away from the view. "Come in."
When the door slides open, the man who walks in is the last person I expected to see here. Tom stops just past the threshold of the door. "Commander," he says diffidently.
I think I might be gaping at him. Tom has never been to my quarters, and it's a lot to take in. Here he is, where I'd never expected to see him, in sleek off-duty clothing, framed by the doorway with the light glinting off his hair and a funny, hesitant look in his eyes, like he's as surprised to find himself here as I am. In all the time I've known him I've never seen him at such a loss. It's peculiarly endearing.
"Lieutenant," I finally manage, pleasantly surprised at how even my tone is. "This is unexpected."
He nods distractedly but doesn't speak. His eyes are roaming everywhere, taking in every detail of the room, mainly, I think, to avoid looking directly at me. Or maybe he's just curious about my quarters, or envious of them. They're twice the size of his, and better furnished. Ah, the perks of first officership.
"Is there something I can do for you, Lieutenant?"
He startles a little bit at my voice and finally risks a look at me, which only lasts a second before his eyes dart away again. He's got a bad case of nerves, which is strange because I've seen him face down three Kazon warships without breaking a sweat, and I can't imagine what in my quarters he could possibly find more frightening than that.
"Nothing," he says. "Nothing really. I just ..."
It becomes obvious after half a minute that he's not going to finish his sentence. He's fidgeting awkwardly and I find that endearing too. But I'm his commanding officer and I'm not supposed to be finding him endearing at all, certainly not twice in two minutes, so I throw all my years of command into my voice and prod, "Yes?"
"I heard something tonight in Sandrine's."
Well, shit. Damn Chell and his big mouth, anyway. This is precisely why I shouldn't drink. Especially not with Bolians, who don't get intoxicated and who don't really understand the concept of keeping a secret. I wrack my brain for a brilliant rejoinder, but the best I can come up with is, "Oh."
"I wanted ... I wanted to find out if it was true."
For an instant, a heartbeat, I seriously consider lying, but it's harder than it looks to lie to someone's face, especially about something like this, and I was never very good at bluffing. "It's true."
He shuts his eyes and exhales slowly. In relief? In exasperation? In anger? I don't know him well enough to be sure. The man's a chameleon. A million different expressions can cross his face in the time it takes me to crack a smile. Old wooden Indian, that's me.
"Oh," he says distantly. "Okay."
I'm not sure how I expected Tom to react, but I don't think it's this way. I think I expected him to deck me. Or maybe tell me I'm a crazy, horny old bastard and he wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole if I was the last sentient creature in the universe. Or maybe, just maybe, smile and kiss me. Improbable, sure, but hey, every man is entitled to his fantasies.
Meanwhile, he's standing there looking unsettled, and I feel guilty for putting him in this awkward situation. "Is it a problem for you?"
He breathes in deep and draws his chest up, flashing a strained smile in my direction. "No, no problem. It caught me a little off guard, that's all. I didn't think you went in for that sort of thing."
My mind works in strange ways. Most people would be mildly offended or put off by that kind of comment. Me, I'm tickled that he's been paying enough attention to form an opinion of what I might go in for. But still, we've only been out here for a few months, and there hasn't been a lot of empirical evidence one way or the other. "We're all full of surprises."
"Apparently," he answers. He studies my face for a minute, looking for something. He does or doesn't find it; I can't tell which. "It's just a little hard to believe you actually want ..."
"I do."
He stares at me some more, then runs his hand roughly through his hair, leaving it attractively mussed. "God, Chakotay, are we even talking about the same thing?"
"I want you," I say baldly, and there, it's out in the open once and for all.
"Right," he says dazedly. His gaze wanders to my desk and he stares at it for a while, brow wrinkled, eyes blinking a little too rapidly. "Right. Okay, so we are talking about the same thing."
"I didn't mean for you to hear it from someone else," I say stiltedly. Damn, this is awkward. It's what I deserve, I suppose. Never, never, never drink with a gossipy Bolian.
"Yeah, it's not exactly the kind of news you want making the rounds."
"I was going to tell you myself ..."
He narrows his eyes at me, not in suspicion, but as if I'm blurry and he's trying to bring me into focus. "Why didn't you? Hearing it from Chell of all people ..."
"I was waiting until I'd worked up the nerve."
Now his eyes are open wide, and he gives his head a little shake. He looks utterly confused. "Worked up the nerve? Why?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd react," I admit sheepishly.
He barks out a laugh and turns away. I'm a little sad for a minute because I can't see his face, but on the other hand I get to ogle his ass, so it's not a complete loss.
"For god's sake, Chakotay," he says, beautiful ass still toward me, "did you actually think I'd say no?"
Well, yes, as a matter of fact. Except for a few wild middle-of-the-night erotic fantasies, I'd been pretty certain he'd say no. "It had crossed my mind." King of the understatement, that's me.
"Well, I won't," he says, turning back around and depriving me of the view of his ass. But I get his face back, so again, not a complete loss. "I'm not stupid. I'm not going to turn you down just because you took me by surprise." He looks at me some more, biting his lip, which is, god damn it, endearing three times over. "I've just got to know why. I mean, why now? We've been out here for months, and you never ..."
"Things change," I say mildly, understating again like the true champion I am, as if a simple two-word phrase is big enough to encompass the long journey from hatred to dislike to tolerance to affection to lust, as if I haven't been obsessing over him for weeks straight, now. "Like you said, we've been out here for months."
He smirks. "You got lonely?"
"Something like that."
"Something like," he repeats oddly. He stares at me some more, then with a sudden intake of breath he straightens up and crosses the room to me in a few long strides. "Okay. Okay then."
He's right next to me, studying me from a few inches away, his proximity intoxicating. It makes me dizzy and giddy and I have to grab onto a chair to stop from swaying toward him like a drunken idiot.
He leans in toward me, pitches his voice low. Idly, he murmurs, "How do you feel about kissing?"
I gulp. I hate myself for it, but I gulp. "Generally I'm in favor of it."
"All right," he says easily, and then the three inches separating us shrink to two, then one, then none, and his lips are on mine, and this is the part where I usually wake up trying to french my pillow.
For once, I don't wake up. Tom slides his tongue across my lips, easing them open ever so gently, and then he's kissing me like there's no tomorrow, which is probably pretty accurate, because I'm sure I'm going to have a heart attack tonight.
The kiss goes on and on. Tom has one hand threaded into my hair, and he's gripping my ass with the other, kneading gently and pulling me closer. I'm not contributing much to the kiss except for my tongue, but that's due to the fact that Tom has turned me into a big pile of executive officer jelly. Sheer willpower is the only thing keeping me from melting into a red and black puddle on the floor.
I do have to breathe, unfortunately, and during one frantic inhalation Tom pulls back. There's a faint tremor running through him, but I can't see his face because he's turned away. "Sorry," he mutters thickly. "It's been a little while since I've done this."
Even though my head is spinning, I'm feeling pretty good right now. I made Tom Paris tremble, and I wasn't even trying. "You haven't forgotten how, have you?" I ask flippantly, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
He snorts a laugh in response. "Like riding a bike, Chief." His tone is light but when he turns back around, his expression is wary and his voice goes flat. "I don't want any shit from the Maquis, Commander. There are too many of them."
Personally, I don't think he has anything to worry about. I haven't heard a single untoward comment about him in over a month, and even that wasn't serious. The Maquis are nothing if not practical, and there's little to be gained from harassing the ship's best pilot until he has a nervous breakdown. Plus, really? My sex life? Most of the Maquis could care less who I'm sleeping with, or if I'm sleeping with anybody at all. They just want me to keep the Captain off their back and the ship pointed toward the Alpha Quadrant.
I can tell from the look in Tom's eyes that he's truly concerned about this, though, and who am I to say his fears are completely unfounded? One or two of the Maquis could be holding a grudge, I suppose, and maybe seeing Tom on my arm will rub them the wrong way. "They're my crew," I offer as reassurance. "They won't touch you if I tell them to leave you alone."
He grins a little tiredly at that and looks me at in silence for another minute, thoughts running rampant behind those azure eyes. Considering and weighing me, maybe wondering if I can really protect him from people he has no reason to trust. Just when I think he's going to decide it isn't worth the risk, he blinks and smiles seductively, and has me back in his arms with one graceful step.
Kisses trail feather-light across my chin and up to my brow, sending shivers down my spine. His voice is next to my ear, low and breathy. "Tell me what you like, Chief."
The only answer I can manage is a moan, but it's okay, because Tom doesn't seem to mind the lack of specific input. He kisses me and kisses me, and leads me gently to the bed, and then, oh god, what he does to me. I'm not a blushing virgin. I've slept with a lot of people, both men and women, some of whom I've even wanted as desperately as I want Tom. But none of them have ever been able to read me so well, like I'm a book written in large-print. Or maybe my goosebumps are spelling out directions in Braille. "Kiss this. Stroke that."
All I know is that I'm reduced to utter incoherence and it doesn't matter. Tom does everything I know I like, and a few things I never knew I liked, and when he guides me into his body I think I've just touched heaven. He moans and growls beneath me and each little utterance shoots straight down to my groin, and how does he know to move like that, exactly the way that drives me crazy? It's perfect, fucking perfect, perfect fucking, perfect perfect perfect ...
Right as I'm about to explode, he arches and bucks wildly beneath me, and we come together in a sweaty, sticky mess. He doesn't scream as he orgasms, just lets out a startled little "oh" that matches my own muffled exclamation.
My forehead is pressed against his shoulder and I can feel his heart beating furiously beneath mine as we both struggle to catch our breath. With a barely audible groan, he shifts out from under me and rolls over, tossing an arm haphazardly over his eyes.
The uneven rise and fall of his chest is mesmerizing, so I lie down on my side and watch him for a while. I can't quite believe he's here. I can't quite believe we did what we just did. "That was unbelievable," I murmur.
He doesn't remove the arm from his eyes. "Unbelievably bad, or unbelievably good?"
"Smartass."
"Just checking," he says glibly. He sounds exhausted. I'm kind of proud of myself for wearing out such a vibrant young guy.
"I can't imagine you get too many complaints." Actually, I can't imagine he gets any complaints.
"No," he says tiredly. "Not too many." With a sigh, he lifts his arm off his eyes and lets it drop heavily to the bed. He turns his head and starts a little at seeing me so close, staring at him. It's something he's going to have to get used to, because I can't imagine I'll ever get tired of looking at him. "I've got an early shift tomorrow," he says abruptly. "I'm going to head back to my quarters." He sits up, casting his eyes about for his clothes.
I can barely keep the pout out of my voice. "Do you have to go?"
He's already out of bed pulling on his shirt, but he stops in mid-button and focuses on me. "Once a night's usually my limit."
"That's not what I meant. You could just stay here to sleep."
He frowns. "Is it going to be a problem if I don't?"
"No, of course not." He's skittish, I guess, and I suppose I can't blame him, what with his worries about the Maquis and the way this came at him from left field. "Maybe next time."
He frowns again but doesn't say anything as he pulls on the rest of his clothing with swift economy.
"There will be a next time, won't there?" I ask worriedly.
He's framed once again by the doorway, less sleek and more rumpled than when he entered, but just as beautiful. Mouth quirked up in a quizzical smile he answers, "Whenever you want, Chief. Just comm me."
"I will," I promise.
With a whisper, the doors shut behind him and I sink back into the pillows, utterly sated. The sheets are damp and messy, fragrant with sweat and sex, and I'm lying right smack dab in the middle of the wet spot, but I don't care. It's possible I've never been this content.
Life just got a whole lot better.
~~~ End Part 1 ~~~