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.

by Margaret Berger (
Copyright 1997

(Voyager, C/P, NC-17, ½)
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."


"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 ... "


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.?"


"*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!).