Well, dear C/P fen, we are about to take a short interlude in the "Sweet
Dreams" saga. (As Sarah pointed out, I am in desperate need of a title
for this series. Any suggestions?). It has been brought to my attention
that, so far, this series has been written entirely from Chakotay's point
of view. While that was my original intent, the other night I was
inspired to write a short segment exploring what thoughts might be
running through Tom's mind. Give him a voice, so to speak.
So I offer this little tidbit to tide you over in between the main courses.
(Translation -- yes, there will be a sequel to "Plush Toy", but it's not
written yet. No, I haven't even started it. Sorry.)
Oh yes, here is the usual rundown of the stories in the series so far:
"Sweet Dreams", "Jitterbug", "Aftershocks", "Rose Garden", "Plush
Toy". If you can't find 'em in the archive, or on R'rain's slash page
(which only has the series through "Aftershocks", so far), send me an
e-mail and I'll mail them to you.
"SLEEPWALKING"
by Maisie (maisierita@comcast.net)
Copyright 1997
(Voyager, C/P, NC-17, 1/2)
DISCLAIMER: Star Trek, Voyager, and all of the characters
contained herein (except for the occasional extra) are wholly owned
by PARAMOUNT! I borrow 'em, I play with 'em, I put 'em back, a
little mussed perhaps, but none the worse for wear.
Feel free to archive or distribute, so long as you keep my name
and this disclaimer attached. Comments, as always, are warmly
welcomed at the edress above.
WARNING...WARNING...WARNING! This story contains
explicit consensual sex between two men. They're both over the
age of 18, but if you're not, or if that offends you, you shouldn't be
reading this! Continue reading at your own risk. Consider yourself
warned.
*****
Tom lay awake in bed for over half an hour, just listening to Chakotay
breathe, before he finally got up and went into the bathroom to wash
his face. For as long as he could remember, he'd had the habit of
waking up in the middle of the night. Really waking up. As in wide
awake. If he was in his own bed, either alone or with someone else, he
could just roll over and go back to sleep. If he wasn't in his own bed --
well, he'd usually just get up and go back to his quarters, and *then*
he'd fall asleep.
Now, though, it was different. Here he was, waking up in Chakotay's
bed, and he wasn't leaving. Unfortunately, he couldn't get back to
sleep, either. He knew if he went back to his own quarters he'd fall
asleep in a minute, but Chakotay had asked him to stay again, and he'd
said he would, so here he was at 0345, not in his quarters and wide
awake. Which was unfortunate, since he was on duty at 0800, and
they hadn't gone to bed until after midnight. Correction. They'd gone
to bed nice and early at 2230 hours, but they hadn't gone to *sleep*
until after midnight.
Tom looked at his tired face in the mirror and shook his head. His
mother, if she were here, would undoubtedly tell him this sleeplessness
was the physical manifestation of a deep-seated fear of commitment.
You're probably right, Mom, he thought wryly, then straightened up
and walked out of the bathroom. Too damn late at night for self-
analysis. Not as if he were prone to self-analysis anyway. Not
anymore. He'd given that up after Caldik Prime. Ha. One
particularly intense session of analyzing his actions and feelings, and
he'd gone insane and confessed all to his CO. Two days later, minus a
commission and in the brig, waiting to be court-martialed, he'd
wondered what exactly it was that had possessed him to do it. Still
couldn't figure it out, all these long hard years later, but since then,
he'd made damn sure not to think too hard about anything he did. Go
ahead and do it, then move on. Don't look back, don't look forward.
Unpredictable, Chakotay called him, and Tom supposed that, to
anyone else, it would seem to be an accurate assessment.
He paused in the doorway of the bathroom, at the edge of the bedroom,
staring at Chakotay's sleeping form for a few minutes. Gods, the man
was so peaceful when he slept. No tossing or turning, no mumbling in
his sleep; it was like having a goddamn log in the bed. A wave of
unexpected tenderness swept over him, and Tom shook it off furiously.
Shit. The last damn thing he needed was to be getting all soft and
mushy over Chakotay *sleeping*. He passed through the bedroom and
in to the living area, where he turned on a soft light and collapsed into
a chair.
The chair was big and comfortable. Tom loved sinking into it at the
end of a long day and relaxing, watching Chakotay work for a little
while at his desk, trying to finish up one last report. The man was so
unbelievably dedicated, to the ship and the crew, and to Captain
Janeway. A good First Officer. A good man. Another wave of
tenderness swept over him, and Tom sighed. Fuck. Looks like Stage
4 is starting, flyboy, whether you like it or not.
He tried to pin down the exact time and place it happened, but couldn't
quite put his finger on it ... yet. He shut his eyes, and settled deeper
into the chair, pondering. Stage 1 had been easy. It covered most of
his life. Admiral's son, precocious pilot, 'Fleet golden boy. He knew
the exact moment when it had all ended, and it wasn't during the
accident, and it wasn't when they'd cashiered him from the service.
No, it was that awful instant in between, after he'd written those
reports the way he'd desperately wanted them to be, not the way they
really should have been, when he was still dazed because he just
couldn't believe how badly he'd fucked up -- it was that instant when,
instead of hitting the key to delete the false reports, he'd hit the key to
file them. It was right then, before the computer had even verified his
thumbprint, that life as he'd known it had ended, and the years of hell
had started. Stage 2.
He skipped over them. No sense dwelling on the miserable past.
Suffice it to say that as time went on things got worse instead of better,
until he found himself in a Federation penal settlement in New
Zealand. Knowing he'd permanently sealed himself off from the one
thing he had to do to survive, wondering how in the hell he was going
to live the rest of his life without flying again. Knowing that if he
couldn't fly, the rest of his life wasn't going to be very long ... that he'd
end it, one way or another, by accident or with intent. Gods. He
shivered, remembering the hopelessness he'd felt then, and the shields
he'd erected to shut himself off from the pain. Then Captain Janeway
had shown up.
That wasn't the end of Stage 2, although it was certainly a preview of
things to come. For one thing, Janeway had spoken to him like an
actual person. Like maybe he was still worth something. But still,
Stage 2 hadn't ended then. No, he could pinpoint the instant Stage 3
started, and it wasn't until a few days later, in the mess hall on
Voyager, when Harry Kim had looked at him, and listened to him, and
had said, "I don't need anyone to choose my friends for me."
A friend, when he hadn't had one for so long ... and all because, for
gods only knew what reason, he'd helped the kid out in that Ferengi
bar on DS9. It was at that instant that Stage 2 ended, and at the time,
he could feel it like a physical weight being lifted off his shoulders.
Stage 3 was ... redemption. Atonement. Absolution. Finding himself
in the midst of a group of people who knew who he was and what he'd
done, and who despite it would talk to him, and laugh with him, play
pool with him, occasionally sleep with him, and just generally be
friends with him. It was almost too much to believe, sometimes. And
more unbelievably, he was flying this ship ... gods. A dream come
true. She was a beauty, she was *made* for him. She moved under
his hands like a lover. He knew he was a good pilot -- hell, he knew
he was a *great* pilot -- but he could swear sometimes the ship was
responding to his very thoughts. They were perfect together; he flew
her and she flew him. A unit. Inseparable. Like the way it was with
Chakotay.
Hell, we're back to Chakotay again. His thoughts didn't wander too far
lately, before finding themselves once again on this topic. Yes, well,
that brings us squarely to Stage 4, doesn't it, flyboy? And suddenly, he
knew when it had started, down to the second. That instant on
Chakotay's bed, almost three months ago to the day, when Chakotay
had gripped his shoulders and stared into his eyes and said he wanted
him.
Gods. No one had *ever* looked at him like that before. Never. He'd
flirted with plenty of women in his life, and had slept with a
respectable percentage of them, but none of them had ever looked at
him that way. He was good looking -- he'd known that from an early
age -- and he'd never had the slightest compunction about using it to
his advantage, but he'd also never doubted that it was his looks which
were responsible for most of his successes with the opposite sex.
"Oh, Tom, you have such beautiful blue eyes."
"...such a nice smile."
"You're so handsome, Tom."
They'd compliment him, then they'd fuck him, and then they'd
congratulate themselves on having bagged such an attractive catch.
He could see it when they looked at him, assessing his value as a
potential lover based on looks alone. Not that he played hard to get.
Hell no, why bother? Sex was fun, and by the time he'd left the
Academy he'd already given up on the possibility of having anything
other than a superficial relationship, so he figured he might as well at
least enjoy the fucking.
He remembered, with some irritation, a fling he'd had his junior year.
Some second year cadet, whose name he couldn't even remember.
He'd made a real effort, that time, had taken her out several times,
tried to have serious conversations with her, tried to be romantic.
Hadn't let the physical side progress anywhere beyond a chaste kiss
goodnight. She'd endured it all with patience, then pushed him down
onto the bed on the fourth date and told him to fuck her already. So he
had. Quite thoroughly. Two days later, he'd overheard her talking to
a friend. "What's he like?" the friend had asked, and the girl had
answered, "He's great in bed." "No," the friend had continued, "I
meant his personality," and the girl had sounded surprised and said,
"Oh! I wasn't really paying attention." Tom hadn't called her again
after that, and she'd moved on to some med student, another guy in
much the same boat as Tom. Too damn good looking for his own
good.
But Chakotay -- when *he* looked at Tom it was different. Not that
Chakotay wasn't attracted to him for physical reasons too -- he told
Tom often enough how beautiful he was -- but when they were
together, Chakotay would just look at him, look into his eyes, so
deeply, that Tom knew Chakotay was with *him*, the real Tom, not
just another pretty face and warm body. It was the single most
arousing thing he'd ever experienced, more than all the kisses,
caresses, and compliments combined. Knowing that Chakotay looked
into his eyes, and saw his soul, and wanted *him* ... still, after all this
time, Tom couldn't resist it, couldn't resist him, would do anything
Chakotay wanted.
It was strange, though, he admitted honestly to himself. Deep down
inside, he was still certain that by nature he was heterosexual, and it
was with a considerable amount of surprise that he'd realized just how
much he could enjoy sex with another man. That's all it was, he'd
sworn to himself in the beginning, just sex. Experimenting. Trying
out something he'd simply never considered trying, before. He'd
agreed to a three month 'trial' period, because, frankly, he'd never
expected it to last that long -- fuck, the longest relationship he'd ever
had before this one had lasted all of two weeks -- and he figured
sooner or later Chakotay was going to break it off.
After a couple of weeks, he realized Chakotay was *not* going to
break it off. The way Chakotay looked at him, all the time, not just
during sex; it was obvious the other man had feelings for him that ran
deep. And Tom couldn't bring himself to break it off either; every
time Chakotay looked at him in that way he had, Tom felt a little piece
of himself melting inside, and he thought, perhaps, some of those
barriers he'd erected in prison were starting to come down, a little. It
was irresistible, and addicting. The more Chakotay looked at him, and
cared for him, the more Tom needed to be looked at and cared for.
It was only after two months, when they'd been forced to spend some
time apart, well, all of three days, that Tom realized how serious
things had become. After that short, short period apart he found
himself looking forward to seeing Chakotay with such eagerness that
when he had spared the time to think about it, he'd panicked. Utterly.
Like a scared rabbit, he'd hared off to find a simple friendly fuck,
something *normal*, and he'd almost wrecked everything. Again.
Thanks the gods, Chakotay had forgiven him. It wasn't as if Tom had
done it on purpose; he hadn't. He hadn't been thinking about it at all,
really. It was just something he had to do, a way to reassert control
over his own life, because he sure as hell had been feeling out of
control before then.
And now, where was he? What was this? Chakotay said it was love,
and sometimes, Tom thought it might be too, but he'd never felt love
before so he wasn't sure he'd recognize it. Maybe he was still
infatuated, and this was just an intense case of lust, masquerading as
something more serious. Tom didn't like to probe at the emotion too
deeply. He did, however, look around the ship, at the other
crewmembers, gauging his physical reaction to them, as if it were
some sort of barometer for his relationship with Chakotay.
Megan. Well, he'd slept with her a lot. She'd been his favorite
bedtime companion, before Chakotay. Pretty, fun, intelligent, with a
wicked sense of humor, and not remotely interested in anything other
than having a really good time. Not an easy lay, not at all; gods, the
men on this ship were such morons, they couldn't distinguish between
a slut and a happily sensual woman who enjoyed a healthy night of
sex, and that was why most of them never made it into Megan's
quarters. She was one of Tom's best friends, here; she'd never judged
him, not once, and she knew all about Caldik Prime. When she
smiled at him in that certain way she had, his body still leapt in
response, so much so that he'd actually felt compelled to ask her to
stop doing it. He *had* promised Chakotay to be good, after all.
Jenny. He'd slept with her a lot too, and if it was weird for the two
sisters to share the same lover, neither of them had ever mentioned it.
Just as sweet as Megan, maybe a little prettier, not nearly as witty, but
also extremely intelligent. A little more interested in getting into a
relationship than Megan was, so Tom was careful about how often
he'd sleep with her in any given time period. Still, she could give that
same smile Megan gave, and Tom's body reacted the same way. He'd
had to tell *her* to stop, too.
Sue. A different kettle of fish entirely. Lots of fun, but *definitely*
more inclined to find a relationship; she slept with Tom when she was
in-between men, and wanted a one-nighter, no strings. Fine by him ...
Sue was extremely talented and could do the most amazing things with
her ... hmmm, now his body was reacting, and she wasn't even in the
room. Tom thought about warp equations until the budding erection
went away.
B'Elanna. Gods. Don't even get into that one. Too complicated.
Nothing had ever happened, more's the pity, but he had a whole host
of unresolved feelings towards her; feelings that would *never* get
resolved now that he was involved with Chakotay. It was probably just
as well, because B'Elanna was a good friend to them both, and Tom
figured he could use all the friends he could get. Another element to
his relationship with Chakotay -- they hadn't been friends before, so it
had been less risky to get involved with him. Nothing at stake, really,
except their working relationship, and Chakotay was professional
enough to keep his personal life off the bridge.
So. Tom reviewed the list, and concluded that he was definitely still
interested in women. Not a surprise. He'd been interested in women
all his life, after all. How about men? He ran through the crew roster
in his mind, Starfleet only, he'd be damned if he'd *ever* sleep with
any of the Maquis assholes. Rollins? No. Batehart? No. Harry?
Tom had to hold back a laugh. Gods, Harry was sweet, but he was so
straightlaced and uptight, it's a wonder the man could ever relax
enough to have sex with a woman, much less with a man. Seriously,
though, Harry was a good friend, and certainly handsome enough, and
still Tom felt not the slightest bit of sexual attraction towards him.
No, Tom wasn't attracted to *any* of the other men on board. Just to
Chakotay. Did that mean he was in love? Hell, how was he supposed
to *know*?
He slumped down a little further in the chair. What was the difference
between love and lust? 'Cause there was certainly plenty of lust in this
relationship. Hell, he'd told Chakotay once that he couldn't get
enough of him, and, if anything, he was *under*stating the case. He'd
always liked sex, sure, and he'd always been ... how had Meg put it? ...
a walking hormone factory, but *this* level of activity was unusual,
even for him. Gods, when they'd first started sleeping together it had
been a few times a week, and Tom had been waiting for the frequency
to lessen as the novelty wore off, but Chakotay had so much to teach
him -- mmm, like that deep throating thing, that was *fun*, Chakotay
moaned so endearingly, and gods, what about those restraints, they
drove Tom *completely* out of his mind, and there was that one time
when Chakotay had -- whoops, let's get back on track here, Tommy.
So Tom had been waiting for the frequency to lessen, but as time went
on he found himself with Chakotay every night, and it wasn't enough,
they had to fuck at least once a night, but twice was better, and then
there had been that unbelievable night when they hadn't slept at all,
but had fucked every hour, like clockwork, leaving Tom completely
exhausted and painfully sore, but unspeakably happy.
And then there was that time in the turbolift -- Tom blushed scarlet in
the muted light -- after lunch, on their way back to the bridge,
Chakotay had given him the look, and Tom had felt his knees buckle,
and before he'd known what was going on, Chakotay had halted the
turbolift, and had him up against the wall, taking him in his mouth,
and Tom had had to shove his hand in his mouth to muffle the scream
when he came. Hell, they'd had a briefing right afterwards, and that
had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, sit there and
pretend like he hadn't had an orgasm all of two minutes ago, like he
*wasn't* thinking about taking Chakotay back to his quarters and
ripping his clothes off. Kes had given him the *strangest* looks, all
through the meeting, and Tom wished, not for the first time, that she
weren't so darn empathic.
Shit. Tom shook his head, firmly. How had he gotten started on this
train of thought? The average male thought about sex, what, six or
seven times a day. So why was he thinking about it all the time?
Because, gods, it was so incredible with Chakotay. It had never been
like that, never, not with anyone; no matter how much he'd been
attracted to them, he'd never once been as completely overwhelmed as
he was with Chakotay, every single time. Maybe *that* was love.
Or maybe not. Fuck! Tom ran his fingers through his hair, making it
worse instead of better. The problem was, really, that he'd never been
in a serious relationship, he'd never been able to make it work, and he
was petrified he was going to screw this one up too. And he didn't see
how he'd survive that, going back to being friends with Chakotay --
well, no, that wasn't exactly right. They hadn't been friends, before.
Strange, he couldn't really remember how he used to feel about him.
Despite what everyone thought, he hadn't hated him. He hadn't even
disliked him, really. Actually, if there had been any emotion Chakotay
had provoked in him, it was irritation, which had given him an
uncontrollable desire to needle the man.
Needle him, yes, get under his skin and shake him out of that false air
of serenity in which he wrapped himself. It was as big of a shield as
any of Tom's emotional defense mechanisms, and more irritating
because it was less obvious, and nobody except for Tom seemed to
notice it. So he'd teased and tortured and generally annoyed Chakotay,
on a daily basis, for years now, trying to goad him into some sort of
reaction.
Tom laughed silently to himself. Well, he'd gotten a reaction all right,
but it sure as hell wasn't the one he'd been expecting. What a shock
*that* had been, to realize that all the needling was the one thing
Chakotay really needed, that the daily teasing had been one of the
things that caused Chakotay to become attracted to him.
Too bad no one else understood it. Harry couldn't figure it out at all --
poor kid, Tom thought, interrupting his own train of thought, he hasn't
been the same since he walked in on Chakotay and me. I've got to talk
to him -- but at least Harry tolerated it, for Tom's sake. B'Elanna
understood it, just a little bit, but the Chakotay she'd been involved
with years before was a very different man from the one Tom was
involved with now. Captain Janeway -- here Tom's thoughts turned
slightly cynical -- she didn't understand it, but she was enjoying the
hell out of herself anyway, prodding Chakotay for all the dirt, and
damn the man, he'd actually *tell* her. She, Tom thought as an aside,
really needs to find a man.
And these were the *best* reactions. Neelix and Kes were happy for
them, but didn't pretend to understand the attraction. Neither one of
them had ever seen a same-sex relationship before. Tuvok ... who
knew what he thought about it? He was mostly concerned with the
effect of the relationship on bridge efficiency. The rest of the Starfleet
crew seemed to be watching the situation evolve with mild
amusement. The Maquis -- Tom clutched angrily at the arm of the
chair -- assholes, all of them; they'd appointed themselves Chakotay's
guardians, as if the man weren't old enough to take care of himself.
Fuck them, anyway. Tom had known they wouldn't be too happy
when they found out about the relationship, but he hadn't been
prepared for the level of hostility he'd be facing.
Shit. They'd trashed his room again, after he'd decided they'd finally
gotten bored with doing that, they kept after him in the turbolift, and
in the mess hall, and in the holodeck, and anywhere they ran into him
alone. The problem is, flyboy, that you were dumb enough to believe
that after three years they'd forgiven you a little bit. Hell, you should
have known, no more Cardassians around to hold a grudge against,
you're the next best thing. A traitor to the cause. Shit, as if that even
*matters* out here.
He glared angrily out the window until his pulse returned to normal.
Don't let them get to you, or they win. Stay cool, like Chakotay does.
Tom's mind flew back to that night in the bar, a few days before, when
Chakotay had stood up to the Maquis. For him. The man had once
been their leader, and he'd stood up to them for Tom, had defended
Tom against their attacks, had said he *trusted* Tom. Tom hadn't
been able to believe it as it was happening, and now, with a few days
distance, it seemed even more impossible to credit as truth. That
Chakotay would do that for Tom ... and then think Tom would be
*angry* with him? Idiot. Tom grinned fondly. Chakotay obviously
had no idea how Tom's mind worked. Maybe that was just as well. It
kept things interesting. He settled back into the chair, feeling himself
get sleepy again.
*****
Soft footsteps padded behind him. Tom turned around to find
Chakotay blinking against the soft light. "Hey," Chakotay said softly.
"Can't sleep again?"
"Yeah," Tom answered softly, shrugging his shoulders slightly.
"You want to go back to your quarters? You always seem to sleep
better there," Chakotay said.
Tom felt a warm rush of emotion pass through him, a sudden burst of
affection for the man standing in front of him, yawning and rubbing
his eyes sleepily. "No," he said, with a slight smile. "I said I'd stay. I
don't break my promises, Big Man."
"I know you don't. But if you can't sleep here..."
"I'll be fine." Tom stood up and faced Chakotay squarely. The
starlight streaming through the window highlighted the square build
of the older man's body, the well-defined arms and shoulders that
possessed such strength, but could be so gentle ... Tom caught his
breath as desire surged through him. Gods. Was he ever going to get
over this? This wasn't natural, wasn't normal, wasn't *right*, was it?
It couldn't be healthy, feeling this way, every day, all the time.
Neither of them were wearing any clothes, and Tom's state of growing
arousal didn't escape Chakotay's attention. "Looks like you've got a
problem there, Lieutenant," he said, gesturing with a slight smile.
"Chakotay, you're half asleep," Tom protested, weakly.
"I'm awake enough," Chakotay said, and drew closer. Tom was rooted
to the spot, unable to move, as chocolate brown eyes bored into his
soul. He let out a little cry of protest; it wasn't fair, this power
Chakotay had over him. Tom couldn't resist that gaze, not at all, and
his vulnerability to it left him shaken. Shaken but unbelievably
aroused -- it was an odd combination. Chakotay was right, he was so
afraid to surrender to this, but gods, when Chakotay was looking at
him that way it was almost impossible *not* to surrender to it; all he
wanted to do was offer himself up to this man, to be possessed
completely by him, to be a *part* of him --- "Gods!" he gasped, as
Chakotay wrapped a firm, dark hand around his erection and pulled
him in for a deep, soul-searing kiss. Tom felt his knees buckle; he
would have collapsed but for Chakotay's arms around him, supporting
him. And that was it, right there, wasn't it ... Chakotay was always
there, supporting him, like no one else ever had; no wonder Tom was
in love with him.
Oh shit, there's that word again, flyboy; that's twice, and you're in real
trouble now ... Tom pushed the thought away and concentrated instead
on the kiss that was tearing his soul apart, needing to share in it more
fully, to give back a little of the pleasure he was feeling.
Minutes later, they were back on the bed, and Tom wasn't sure how
they'd gotten there, but he didn't have enough rationality left to think
about it. Oh, he was tired, he was *so* tired, but Chakotay was
moving all over him, mouth and hands, tongue and fingers; physical
sensations were flooding his system and he could barely breathe. He
couldn't understand how Chakotay could have any energy left for this
after that workout earlier in the night, but then again, his own body
seemed to be responding just fine, and he really ought not to have any
energy left either. And gods, it was so good, Chakotay knew exactly
how and where to touch him, how to kiss him and draw pleasure out
from every pore of his body.
He heard himself moan, loudly. He couldn't help it, could never help
it with Chakotay, he was always sobbing and begging by the time they
were finished; they way he lost control was almost embarrassing,
except Chakotay never seemed to mind, and Tom was usually able to
bring him to the same totally unrestrained state, too.
Chakotay was working his way down Tom's body with deliberate care
and speed, not leaving a centimeter of his body untouched, but still
following a determined path downward. Tom knew where he was
going, and gods, he wanted it so badly; he was begging for it, "Please,
please, oh gods, *please*," and Chakotay was laughing deep in his
throat, taking his own sweet time, torturing him and loving it.
Then, finally, thank god, *finally*, Chakotay shifted downwards and
engulfed him with his mouth, and, oh shit, it was so perfect, Tom had
to gasp from the feel of it. Tom was grasping fiercely at the sheets,
reminding himself not to pull Chakotay's hair, and moaning with
every exhale. A subtle shift of position, and Chakotay went down on
him completely, taking him entirely in his mouth, and Tom heard
himself curse, "Oh fuck!" in involuntary response. Tom had been
sucked off by plenty of women; some of them, Megan and Sue
included, could take him in pretty far, and they'd even swallow, but
none of them, *none* of them, could take him in this deep, and it
drove him completely wild, every time.
Tonight was no exception; Tom heard himself cursing and pleading,
felt his body tense and relax in time with Chakotay's firm pulls, found
himself so damn close to coming, and gods, he wanted it desperately.
"Oh, gods, please, I need this, oh *please*," he was begging, and
Chakotay responded by taking a gentle finger and running it over and
around his anus, gently caressing the tight puckered opening, dipping
in just slightly, placing the slightest bit of pressure there. Tom
couldn't hold back a moan, and Chakotay took his other hand and
played gently with his balls and the base of his cock. Tom's
overloaded senses couldn't handle any more, it was too much, the
warmth and wetness and heat surrounding him, the fingers playing
lightly with him, the gentle pressure applied from the inside ... he
gasped and shuddered as the pleasure built up to intolerable levels,
then screamed as his orgasm ripped through him, washed him clean.
He came back down, slowly, so bone tired he could barely muster up
the strength to move, but there was something he had to do before he
could sleep ... he moved one hand downwards, seeking and searching,
until his fingers found Chakotay's cock, fully erect, and warm to the
touch. Chakotay hissed, startled, and said, "Tom, I did that for you.
You don't need to--"
His sentence was cut off by a gasp as Tom wrapped his fingers around
his erection and started squeezing gently. Tom spoke softly, lazily, "I
know I don't need to, Teddy, but I want to."
He grinned to himself as Chakotay automatically muttered, "Don't call
me Teddy." Tom loved this stupid nickname. It was so idiotic, so
unbelievably stupid, and it drove Chakotay crazy. But hell -- Tom was
willing to bet Chakotay had never before in his life had an idiotic
nickname, and it was *so* much fun to use it, to listen to Chakotay's
indignant protests, when Tom knew, for *sure*, that even though he'd
never admit it out loud, deep down inside, Chakotay loved it, too.
He stroked Chakotay gently, waiting for the soft moan that followed.
It was too bad he was so tired; Tom's whole body was tingling, and his
favorite thing after a blow job was to have Chakotay fuck him
senseless -- he loved the way it felt, still couldn't get over it, still
couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to stay away from men for so
many years -- unfortunately, he was *way* too tired for that, and
Chakotay was also. So it was going to have to be hands and mouth,
and that was fine, too.
Flipping over onto his stomach, he lifted himself up and onto
Chakotay's legs, gripping Chakotay's hips with his hands, lowering his
head down to take a taste of the hard sweet saltiness beneath him.
Chakotay's body, except for this one particular part of him, was totally
relaxed, a testament to his weariness, and for an instant Tom felt a
little bit guilty. Hell, it was probably 0500, they had to get up in a
couple of hours, and Chakotay obviously wanted to sleep. He
increased the suction slightly, and Chakotay groaned, and shifted
beneath him, and Tom felt less guilty. Tired or not, the man was
obviously enjoying this.
Tom settled down to business. They both were really too exhausted for
anything long and drawn out, but Tom knew how to make it both
quick and fulfilling. He sucked up and down, letting his tongue draw
swirling patterns on the head of Chakotay's cock, increasing the
pressure with his lips as Chakotay's breathing grew more labored. His
fingers played gently with Chakotay's balls, and with his other hand he
traced gentle patterns over the smooth flat plane of his lover's
stomach. Chakotay was gasping now, and as Tom grazed the head of
his cock with his teeth, Chakotay's body jerked and he gasped out, "Oh
spirits, please, Tom."
Tom loved this, loved to hear Chakotay moan for him and call his
name. And not just Chakotay; Tom had always loved it, with all his
lovers; he loved knowing that he was driving them crazy, that it was
his kisses and caresses making them moan. He was always extra
careful and attentive, always took the time to drive them wild, but it
was as much for him as it was for them.
Now, though, wasn't the time for slow, languorous lovemaking; it was
just too damn late at night, so he opened his mouth and opened his
throat and swallowed Chakotay whole. He knew the moan was
coming, but a thrill ran through him anyway when he heard it, so deep
and needful and just for him ... gods, how he loved this. Loved the
way Chakotay was gasping, loved the way Chakotay's hands gripped
his shoulders, so hard, loved the feel of sticky, sweaty skin beneath
him.
Chakotay was shaking, and this was the time Tom usually slowed
down, dragged it out until Chakotay was practically screaming his
need, but Tom didn't slow down now, instead he increased the pace
and pressure, sucking hard and firm and constant. Chakotay's heart
was pounding, Tom could feel the pulsing vein throbbing in his
mouth, under his tongue, and he knew the older man was close. A
little more pressure, a few more swirls with his tongue, and the fingers
on his shoulders dug in hard, a suddenly painful grip. Chakotay
groaned, loudly, desperately, and exploded into Tom's mouth. Tom
swallowed easily, loving that peculiar and particular taste that was
Chakotay's semen; when it was over, he pulled himself up and kissed
Chakotay softly, the taste of Chakotay in his mouth mixing with that
of his own in Chakotay's mouth.
"Like that, Big Man?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be
but needing to hear it anyway.
"You know I did," Chakotay murmured.
"Good," he said, peacefully, knowing that this time, he'd fall asleep
and stay asleep.
Tom was already starting to doze off when Chakotay spoke softly,
"Tom, much as I enjoy making love to you, I need more rest than this.
I can't fuck you to sleep every night at 4 in the morning. Is it staying
here that's causing the problem?"
Tom's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't tell Chakotay the truth,
but he really didn't want to lie ... in the end, his conscience won out,
narrowly, and he said, "Yeah. I don't sleep too well when I'm not in
my own quarters. It's nothing personal, Chakotay."
"I didn't think it was," Chakotay said softly, but his voice betrayed the
lie. He was hurt.
Tom raised himself up on one elbow, and ran a finger gently over
Chakotay's face, tracing the pattern of the tattoo. "You have to believe
me, Big Man. You asked me to stay, so I'm staying. You just have to
give me a little time to adjust."
"Seems like you're always asking me for time," Chakotay said softly,
and the hurt was even more clear in his eyes. "Tom, I don't want to
force you into something you're not ready for. The way you've been
talking lately, though, I can't help but wonder if this relationship is
really what you want. I know you enjoy the sex, but your three months
are almost up. I need there to be more to us than this. If that's not what
you want ..." Chakotay trailed off sadly.
Oh shit. Look at his face. Gods, the man is miserable. You're
fucking up again, flyboy. Damn. Tom took a deep breath. "It's what I
want, Chakotay. *You're* what I want. It's just that --" Tom paused,
frustrated at his inability to put his feelings into words. "Look,
Chakotay, how old were you the first time you ever fucked a girl?" He
paused, realizing he'd made a perhaps unwarranted assumption. "It
*was* a girl, the first time, wasn't it?"
Chakotay looked at him, startled at the rather abrupt change of subject.
Tom kept his gaze insistent, though, and finally Chakotay sighed and
answered, "Yes. It was a girl. Boys came later. If you really need to
know, I was twenty the first time. I was a bit of a late bloomer."
Tom laughed briefly, then said, "I was fifteen." Chakotay looked at
him, a little shocked, and Tom continued, "It was the summer before I
started high school. My sisters were away for the summer, taking a
tour of Europe and Asia before they went off to school. My parents
dragged me around to a lot of parties. Starfleet parties, embassy
parties, all that crap. There was this one bash that was thrown by
Admiral Robertson at his new place in Charleston. Big mansion, must
have been 500 years old at least. Redecorated and refurbished, of
course. Becca Robertson and I were the only people there under 30."
Tom shifted position and kept going, "Becca took me on a tour of the
house. She hated it. All her friends were back in San Francisco. She
was seventeen, with red hair down to the middle of her back, and eyes
as green as I'd ever seen. Gorgeous." His eyes lost focus a little as he
remembered, "When we got to her room, she shut the door. Said she
wanted to keep the noise of the party out, it was giving her a headache.
I was two years younger than her, but tall for my age. Taller than her.
We sat and talked for a while, then she asked me if I'd ever had sex."
Tom chuckled. "I wasn't sure what she wanted to hear, but I said no.
So then she asked if I wanted to try it with her, and I figured, why
not?"
"So you just --"
"Yeah. She stripped off her clothes, all business, and I undressed too,
and she pulled me down on the bed and taught me how to fuck."
"It doesn't sound very romantic," Chakotay said, for lack of anything
else to say.
"It wasn't," Tom said dryly. "Oh, don't get me wrong. It was a hell of
a lot of fun. I'd never even seen a girl naked before that night, and
there I was in bed with one. When it was over, and we'd showered,
and were getting ready to go back to the party, I felt kind of awkward
... I wasn't sure what to do, you know? No one ever talked about the
afterwards part of sex. So I tried to give her a kiss." He shook his
head once. "She pushed me away."
"Why?"
"Good question. I asked her. She said she didn't want me to get the
wrong idea. I was just a kid, she wasn't interested in me
romantically." As Chakotay's mouth opened to ask the obvious
question, Tom said, "I know. So why did she sleep with me? I asked
her that, too. She said, and I quote, 'You're so cute, Tom. Who
wouldn't want to fuck you?'"
"Oh."
"Yeah." Tom sighed. "You have to understand, Chakotay; that's what
it's been like ever since. A string of women, and all of them just like
Becca. It's been a lot of fun, but it's never been serious." Chakotay
opened his mouth to interrupt, but Tom kept going. "I know, not all
women are like that. I'm sure *most* of them aren't like that. I just
seem to end up with the wrong ones. It's probably my own fault. I
must be emitting some sort of 'not-to-be-taken-seriously' signal."
Chakotay chuckled. "Well, the way you jump ship after sex surely
isn't helping matters any."
"I guess not. Look, Chakotay, I know you think I'm in love with you --
and maybe I am, I don't really know -- but this whole thing is scaring
the shit out of me."
Chakotay took a deep breath, calming himself. Tom could see him
choosing his words carefully before he spoke. "Tom. I'm not like
Becca Robertson. I won't deny that there's a strong physical
component to the attraction I feel for you, but there's more to it than
that. There's *always* been more to it than that. I love you."
Tom shifted uncomfortably. "I thought I asked you not to tell me
that."
"You did. I don't understand why. It shouldn't bother you; if
anything, you should be happy to hear it. I don't say things like that
lightly. Spirits, Tom, I *love* you, and I am not going to wake up one
morning and tell you that I've had enough of looking at your pretty
face; so long, thanks for the good times, see you on the bridge."
Tom was silent.
Chakotay said, seriously, "You have to have a little bit of faith in me."
"I want to," Tom said. "It's hard. I get so nervous ... "
"Why?"
Such a short little word, encompassing such a big question. Tom
knew he had no real hope of answering it, not this morning, not on a
scant three hours sleep. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he really *knew*
the answer, just knew that the thought of taking this relationship one
step further sent him into a state of utter panic. Past experience with
women was part of it, true, but there was something more to it, some
other fear that he knew he'd never be able to articulate. He sighed,
and forced a yawn, exaggerating it slightly. "I'm half-asleep, Teddy,
and we have to be up pretty soon. I don't want to talk about this now.
I've got a few days left. Let's leave it until then, o.k.?"
"Tom--"
"*Please*, Chakotay." He didn't have to feign the urgency in his
voice, nor the weariness.
Chakotay breathed in and out a few times before answering.
"Whatever you want, Tom. But we *will* have this talk. Soon."
"Yes, sir," Tom said.
"Oh, and Tom?"
Tom made his voice whiny. "I'm so *tired*, Big Man."
"So go to sleep. I just wanted to warn you. If you call me Teddy again
I'm throwing you in the brig for insubordination."
"Then I'll have to call you Commander Teddy, won't I? So I won't be
insubordinate."
Chakotay sighed with exasperation, but Tom could feel the smile on
his lips, even though he couldn't see it. He smiled, a matching grin of
his own, and, spooning up contentedly next to Chakotay, fell asleep.
*****
The End.
Well, folks, I hope you forgive me for this little interruption in the
narrative. I just had an uncontrollable urge to write a bit from Tom's
POV. Next installment will bring us back to Chak's POV, and he and
Tom will finally have "the talk"! (I think; that's my plan, at any rate.)
Also, many thanks to all of you who took the time to write after
reading "Plush Toy". Lots of great feedback ... it was truly inspiring
(hence the speed with which I wrote this story!).