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Out From Under
By Bridget Cochran

SUMMARY: Chakotay pushes Tom. Tom pushes back and there are several moments of revelation. NC-17

 Disclaimer: I own the ideas, Paramount owns the rest. Archive at will.
© 1998

 This story seemed to come out of no where from every where. I'm really in the beginning, middle and end of several stories~~just not in any one story. Then one Thursday at the Mining Co fan fic forum, Mike Holihan tried to get a story started, but people just weren't responding. I tried to write a long with Mike, but it all crashed around us--still the story thread stuck in my mind. Then I got my Flight Log from the RDM fan club with a review of Vulkon in Florida. It said you cannot ask Robert Beltran a serious question in that sort of forum and expect a serious answer. Hmmmm. There's a story everywhere.

 So--guess what? I got a whole new slash.

 Enjoy. This story won't be on my website 'til I figure out how to update it 'by hand'. AOL 4.0 is **not** very helpful.

 ***

 There was something so disgusting about sinking into mud while you were laying on your back looking up into the bowels of a screwed up shuttlecraft. The mud was cold and oozed into Tom's uniform to coat his skin. Disgusting.

 He reached for an isodide spanner from the open kit that lay on the access panel while cursing his life and the gods that landed him where he was--flat on his back, repairing a shuttle that would have been scuttled two years ago in the alpha quadrant. Now the piece of shit had been retro-fitted to an almost unrecognizable amalgam of happy horse shit. Even the 'technical' school at Auckland hadn't prepared him for this kind of patchwork.

 Tom blamed the whole thing on Chakotay. You put the son-of-a-bitch into a shuttlecraft and it turns into shit. Then the damn thing would go looking for gravimetric anomalies, magnaton flux or any manner of god damn warp core interference with the Indian in it.

 "You need a hand?"

 Oh, Mr. Wonderful. "No, thanks." Tom's eyes narrowed into the access junction. Get outta here, Chakotay, before I slug you. He kept that thought to himself. "You'll get your uniform dirty."

 "Too late." Chakotay slid up beside him on his stomach to stop with his hip touching Paris. The younger man flinched and scooted away as well as on could scoot in the suction of mud. Chakotay just followed, craning his neck to get a look up into the juncture.

 "This is shot," the Commander observed. His head was micrometers from Tom's, and the blond pulled back to avoid contact with the annoying man. Why the hell couldn't he give him a little room?

 "Yah," Tom grunted, "but I think I can get communications back up."

 "Really?"

 "It'll take awhile."

 "Let me help."

 "No, thanks."

 The silence hung heavy for a minute.

 "I **can** help, lieutenant."

 "Understood, Commander. I just wish you wouldn't."

 "It would go faster."

 Tom closed his eyes in solid frustration before heaving a huge sigh. "Commander, I'd prefer to work on this by myself"

 He could feel the breath from Chakotay's sigh on his ear. "You are a hard headed son-of-a-bitch."

 Tom's jaw worked with the effort to keep his mouth shut. He did keep his eyes shut. He felt Chakotay move closer, shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip.

"What? No snappy response?"

 Tom knew the older man was taunting him. He'd done it before. But he hadn't done it in a while.

 Why did he have to do it now, under a wrecked shuttle craft on Planet Mud? Pressed full length against him?

Well, there was one way to get rid of the Commander and his snappy patter. Tom turned to the older man and slid a muddy leg over his torso, clamping it firmly when Chakotay recoiled in surprise.

 "You want to know why I don't want you under here?" Tom said as his groin moved along Chakotay's hip bone. There was no mistaking the erection that lay between them. When Chakotay tried to pull out from under Paris, the pilot grabbed the retreating shoulders in a bruising hold.

 "Paris--"

 "Yes, Commander, that's a hard-on. And it's just for you." His lips grazed the brown cheek as the rub slowed to a sensuous massage. Tom's breath quickened when he moved one hand from the shoulder grip to slide into the red shouldered uniform to lay atop the gray turtleneck. The hand moved from collar bone to pec, stopping to palm a nipple to erection. He could feel the change in Chakotay's heart rate and breathing. A hard edged smirk tinged the young man's mouth and eyes.

 He pulled back to get a good look at Chakotay's flushed face. Dark eyes were smoldering, the skin mottled to an unforgiving burgundy. I'll be very lucky to get off the planet alive, he thought as he pushed Chakotay away, hard. The older man smacked the back of his head on the duranium underbelly of the shuttle.

 "Get out of here, Commander," Tom said over the man's grunt. "Let me finish this job."

 Tom flattened himself into the mud and raised his eyes to the job, aware that Chakotay shot eye ball lasers in his direction. He was also aware when the Commander began to elbow his way out from under the shuttle.

 Tom lowered his arms the moment he was alone. He carefully placed the spanner in the tool kit and snapped it shut, before he brought his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing his fingers across it like he could rub the last few minutes away.

 Now he was screwed, royally, irrevocably screwed. A dead man.

 Shit. God damn. Hell. That stone wall of hatred between him and the Commander had eroded over the years. It would be back now.

 Hell, the wall had never eroded, Tom had removed every fucking stone himself--one-by-one. Worked everyday to remove them by being the best god damn pilot, and human, he could be.

 Grabbing the tool box, he crab-walked out from under the useless shuttlecraft through the mud. He peered out from under his hiding place, wanting to locate his XO before coming out into the open. It would just be a matter of time before Chakotay beat him into a bloody mound. Tom heard Chakotay rooting around in the shuttlecraft, so he propped himself against it for the big guy to reemerge. Then he'd go and wash up, with one eye on the door, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 In a few minutes, Chakotay emerged, mud scraped off, wearing fatigues Tom remembered from Maquis days. More harassment from the powers that be: the Commander looked just right in his play clothes.

 Tom stopped his cataloging at Chakotay's eyes. Swallowing, aware he was hot with embarrassment. Pink and muddy Command Red. Christ, today was below hell.

 Chakotay pulled a tri-corder from his belt. "I'm going to look for a native food source." He turned without another word, but couldn't resist another bone chilling look.

 Okay, so he'll beat me up later, Tom thought as he pushed himself to his feet. He stood and watched as the Commander walked away. The younger man moved into the shuttle and stripped naked, picking up the portable sonic cleansing unit Chakotay left out on one of the benches. He knocked off most of the mud crust before he switched the device on and gave himself the once over. He pulled out a sweatshirt and workout pants--loose clothes. Something old to bleed in.

 He put his muddy boots back on, grimacing at how ridiculous they looked, but he wasn't getting his other shoes messed up. He shrugged, it was a look--not a good look--but a look.

 The late afternoon outside was gray and gloomy--rain was coming on. First time in actual atmosphere in months and it turns out to be a mud factory. He walked around outside the dead hull, going no where, wondering how cold it would get. Fairly cold judging by the temperature drop in the last ten minutes.

 Rainy and cold. De-lightful, Tom thought, as he moved to sit in the open rear hatch. No chance of sleeping in the great outdoors now.

 Now he'd get to spend a night in close quarters with a man to whom Tom had given a whole new reason to hate. His stomach was churning, his knuckles were white as they gripped the floor of the craft. He wanted nothing more than this trip, this day, this wait for Chakotay's return to be over. This waiting was a razor that scraped his nerves.

 Christ, what an asshole he was, letting the son-of-a-bitch get to him. He had been so careful, stayed away from Chakotay since he'd been on Voyager. Chased women. Enjoyed the womenÖlet them take him home with them. Everything he could do to stay away from the big guy.

 He did everything he could to keep the secret. The secret that he wanted Chakotay.

 Great, stone-faced Maquis warrior. Tom worked so hard to rise from the scum the man first thought he was, to give some honor to his life. He wanted to prove himself to Chakotay, prove he was a man worthy of the big guy's trust.

 And he blew it all, the years of work, in one split-second fit of temper. Tom let his head drop as he contemplated his folly.

 He heard the suck of feet that signaled Chakotay's return, but didn't move. His muscles tightened, defensive, ready for the beating. No sense in fighting it.

 But Chakotay dropped the tricorder beside him on the deck and sat down to remove his muddy boots. "The only thing the tricorder says is edible is moss," Chakotay said, "I'm not eating moss."

 He left his boots in the hatchway and moved further into the shuttle, while Tom remembered to breathe. Bastard. He was letting Tom turn on a spit. Bastard.

 His temperature was rising. That all consuming, red hot fuse that fucker could always light. Tom pulled off his own shoes, slow, deliberate moves as he tried to keep control of himself, knowing all the while that he probably couldn't control his temper much longer.

 He crawled back into the shuttlecraft and ordered the hatch closed against the dampening air. Tom rolled to his feet before slouching onto a bench. All this tension was getting to him and he rubbed his forehead with the heal of his hands.

 "See what rations we have while I scan subspace for a signal from Voyager."

 "Like you're gonna find anything," Tom moved to the ration locker and broke out a bar for the Commander. "They're 36 hours away at Warp 6." He tossed it onto the console before slamming himself into the empty pilot's seat. Chakotay barely caught the thing as it slid off the console. When he did catch it, he whipped the offending ration bar at Tom's head.

 "Ow," Tom yelled as it smacked into his temple and launched at Chakotay, fists flailing. But the bigger man grasped the wrists in a bone cracking grip. With a simultaneous jerk of both wrists, Tom was knocked off balance and fell onto Chakotay .

 "Is this what you want, Paris? To piss me off?" When Tom made no answer, Chakotay jerked him closer. "Huh? You want to pick a fight?"

 Tom couldn't move, couldn't breath.

 "Will that make you feel better? Would it help you atone for your **sins** if I beat you unconscious?"

 For a moment the only sound was the rasping of their breath. Tom struggled to pull away but the older man was stronger and had the advantage of being fully grounded in his chair.

 "That's not going to happen," the man whispered, as one wrist was released and a hand moved up the hem of his sweatshirt to touch his skin.

 Tom tried to pull away, but the wrist was still held by bruising brown fingers. "I'm not going to beat you, I'm going to touch you." The insinuating hand burned where it touched.

 "Don't," Tom breathed. This was hopeless. Chakotay was torturing him, tormenting him wholly and totally.

 "Donít what--stop?" Chakotay moved the fingers around to the small of his back and lower, into the elastic of his pants noticing Tom hadn't bothered with briefs--hadn't wanted to have to clean blood out of them, sometimes the 'fresher had a problem getting blood out of things. When the solid fingers moved across one tense butt cheek to stroke into the cleft, Tom found the strength to wrench away from Chakotay's grip. He staggered to the back of the shuttle to one of the hard benches.

 God almighty, if he was screwed up before, it was nothing to what he felt now. He was hard, fuck-raging hard. He moved his hand to his prick. So the Commander wasn't going to beat him--right now. But why was he tormenting him?

 The man turned in his seat to face him. An inscrutable face and opaque eyes dissected Tom with a lethal power. Tom moved his hand off his erection.

 Oh, he was good, this silent Indian, turning Tom into a moron just by looking at him. Well, the strong silent one had the power now. Tom had given it to him, handed it to him--the power to push the rest of his life into a vacuum. Now what was the Commander going to do?

 They sat staring at each other for some time, each aware of the rain pouring down onto the craft; and, they were aware of the hot-cold air between them.

 "So you're not going to beat me up tonight?" Tom ventured at last.

 "I doubt it."

 Blue eyes narrowed at the tone. "Care to explain what just happened."

"Didn't think you were that stupid," Chakotay mused.

 The pale jaw tensed as Tom fought to rein in his temper. "Something funny?"

 Chakotay flicked his dark eyes toward Tom. "Do you see me laughing? Smiling?"

 No. But Tom didn't get it. Chakotay wasn't beating him into the deck, yet he was still taunting him. And he had touched him, intimately.

 "Cut the crap, Commander," Tom said. "You're confusing me."

 Now a smile did creep into Chakotay's eyes, but his face didn't crack. "You're confused? You didn't seem confused an hour ago."

 Tom laid out on the bench and flung an arm over his face. "You were crowding me, pushing. I just pushed back."

 "Very effectively, too."

 That tone again. Tom raised his arm enough to look out from under it. "You gonna stop mocking me and tell me what the deal is?"

 A brow arched and Tom dropped his arm back over his eyes. He wasn't going to get a straight answer from the guy, so why bother? Tom was aware he was still under scrutiny, but he was way past caring. Let him look.

 But the cool hand sniggling under his sweatshirt nearly sent him through the bulkhead. "I thought I told you to stop."

 "I'm not listening," Chakotay said as he splayed his fingers across the flat stomach.

 "Then you better start talking." Tom wouldn't be talking very soon--his heart rate had accelerated with the next heart beat. His color was already beginning to deepen. One arm stayed flung over his eyes, his other lay still at his side, hand fisted.

"You're beautiful."

 Sure, he was. "Keep talking."

 The hand began to rub small, slow circles on the tense abs. "You're so easy to get riled. Then your eyes darken, your ears get pink--you flush up to your hair."

 Tom sighed. If this was Chakotay's punishment for his earlier indiscretion, it was perfect. Low, evil, and the best way to torture him: with something he wanted but couldn't have. The capable fingers strummed the rim of his navel. Tom let out a breath that had a definite rattle. "You're not telling me anything."

 "Don't know the words."

 "Right."

 Fingernails grazed across the soft fuzz, moving up under the sweatshirt. "It's the truth. I wanted you from day one; arrogant assholes have always been my weakness."

 Tom's fuse was lit again. "I swear to god, if you make another remark like that I'm gonna drop you where you are." The younger man knew he could do it, would do it.

 "Spirits, I've been hiding behind flippancy for years, Paris." He thumbed a nipple as he spoke. "It kept me safe and sane."

 Tom huffed. "Sure it has." He gave an involuntary twitch when the nipple was given a quick pinch.

 "You're a little flip yourself, Skippy," Chakotay breathed.

 Chakotay never saw the hand that grabbed him by the neck, but he had to feel the fingers close on his Adam's apple. Gurgling sounds were all he was capable of, both his hands reflexively grasped the younger man's wrist. But it did no good, Tom was now beyond pissed.

 "Okay, bastard," Tom's anger was palpable. And this hold, perfected in prison, was designed to stop someone, anyone, from fucking with him. "Let's take it from the top: what's going on?"

 He gurgled some more. It was the only sound that made it through his glottal stop. Pressure eased--only slightly. "I love you."

 The grip tightened. But only for a moment before Tom pushed him away. Chakotay sprawled on the floor.

 "Will I ever get a straight answer out of you?"

 "That **was** the truth," Chakotay's words barely had voice. Fingers massaged his throat, aware that the pressure he applied was not relief.

 "Fuck you," Tom bit out.

 They stared at each other--the war silent for a minute. "How could I tell youíre the truth?" the older man asked, his voice not a whisper by choice. "We didn't meet or part under good circumstances. There was no indication advances would be welcome. There's no indication now." He rubbed his throat. "I kept my mouth shut."

 Tom's face twisted, "Kept your mouth shut? You were on my ass more than you were off of it." Then it untwisted. "Oh. I get it. Hiding in plain sight."

 Chakotay nodded. It was easier than trying to force sound through his neck. They sat in silence before Tom flung himself back onto the bench, arm again over his eyes, the other hand nestling under his shirt to rub his stomach, trying to create the sensation of other fingers--the cool ones that had warmed in contact with his skin. He didn't flinch this time when he felt the hand rest beside his on his belly. Tom let out a long sigh. "If you're serious, show me."

 Chakotay's hand stilled, and, after a beat, pressed onto the flesh of Tom's gut. It tingled on Tom's belly as it rifled through the blond fuzz in an unerring arrow for the waist band of his pants to the erection that waited there for his touch.

 The only reaction to the touch of hand on penis was the hissing intake of breath as the shaft was circled. Yet, the hard flesh was immediately forsaken for the soft, pliable sac beneath. Both their breathing changed--accelerated--as the scrotum was gently manipulated. Chakotay pulled the flesh up into contact with the underside of the bobbing cock, running a thumb along the top of the shaft.

 The fingers of his other hand made slow, seductive progress through his hair, separating the soft strands as if they were spun silk, moving to rest on the arm that still lay flung over the upper part of the pilot's face.

 The very tip of Chakotay's tongue on his jaw was a complete surprise to Tom, and his penis leapt under the stroking thumb. The tongue became bolder, making broad strong strokes against the scratch of a day's stubble. Letting out a groan of frustration and denied arousal, Tom grabbed Chakotay by the hair and twisted himself into an awkward, suctioning kiss that sent the big guy back and landed them both on the floor of the shuttlecraft.

 The hand was caught between the two, now trapped between himself and Tom; Chakotay lost grip of the testicles and penis, but his hand was not idle, breaking loose of the entrapment, moving around to clutch the soft, hard flesh of Tom's backside. The other hand traveled over the muscled back, pushing the shirt up until Tom yanked it over his head.

 Tom returned his mouth to Chakotay's face, kissing anywhere his mouth would touch. He wanted to suck the son-of-a-bitch in whole, and, to that end, began exploring the opening of the man's trousers, sighing when the grab fabric sighed. The years of wasted time infuriated Tom as he exposed the hot evidence of arousal to air and manipulation. He held onto it like the controls of an anchient video game, thumbing the slippery button at the top.

 He fastened his mouth on Chakotay's to swallow the intensely arousing sounds that came from the man. It fed him now--like the dreams of these sounds had fed him for so long.

 Past waiting, past reason. Tom pulled his mouth away, and without preamble or sound, moved to taste the erection he had freed.

"Oh," was all the Commander uttered, making Tom smile around the stick in him mouth. Concentrating effort on the steel velvet, the young man began by just savoring the resilient flesh in his mouth. He applied experimental pressure with his teeth until Chakotay began to move his legs against each other. Tom began to slowly draw himself up and down on the shaft. Swirling tongue traced ridge and vein, tip to root as Chakotay slid shaking fingers through the bristling hair.

"That's it. Good," Chakotay rasped, still unable to fully access his larynx. Mewling and gasping under the righteousness of Tom's possession. The hands stilled on his head, pulled him in closer, holding Tom trapped.

 Tom felt the balls nestled under his chin tighten, the prick seemed to swell larger for a moment before he was bombarded with salty, sweet come that shot down his throat. He tried to swallow every drop, sighing when he took one last swipe of his tongue on the diminishing curl of skin. He rested his head on the big man's belly.

 A square thumb swiped his cheek, removing some of the dribble that lay there. Tom watched Chakotay lick the leftovers off the pad and shivered as he watched the slow, sensual movements. His eyes darkened as he moved to latch Chakotay in another tongue-duel. He crawled up on top of the man and began to rub his sturdy erection insistently on Chakotay's groin. Tom wriggled as he worked his pants over his butt and down his legs.

 "Great way to get rid of your pants," Chakotay whispered.

 "Uh-huh," Tom agreed as he savored the feel of the rough woven fabric of Chakotay's pants on his ready erection. He hunched over, riding up on the man beneath him. His forehead dropped to Chakotay's shoulder as he built on an anchient rhythm that led the way to his release.

 "Fuck me," Chakotay hissed, tilting his lips to Tom's ear.

 "No can do." Tom was surprised he could still speak.

 "What?"

 "No lube."

 "Doesn't matter."

 "Bullshit. I'm not going to explain to the Doc why we needed to use the regenerator in the onboard medkit." Tom began a gentle pounding of his forehead on Chakotay's shoulder.

 "Huh," Chakotay relented, allowing his arms to trail down the sweat dewed back to knead the butt muscles to the rhythm of the man rubbing himself off on top of him. The tempo built, the strain began. Tom grunted, arched and began to spasm as he hit release, emptying himself all over the front of Chakotay's pants in three quick jerks.

Momentarily lifeless, Tom let his head stay on the solid shoulder. "This feels a little gross," he sighed after a minute.

 "More that a little," Chakotay agreed.

 Tom rolled away to root in his duffel. He produced a pair of white skivvies and began to dab at the goo still laying on Chakotay's pants. The older man had not moved from his position flat on his back.

 "So you **had** underwear?" he wondered idly.

 Tom flicked a frown up to the relaxed face, "Why wouldn't I?"

 "To torment me."

 Tom worked quietly for a few moments. "I didn't want to get blood on them."

 Chakotay's hand on the wrist stopped the cleaning motion. "I wouldn't beat you up for making a pass."

 Tom threw the hand off. "I wasn't so sure. You can be a hardass sometimes."

 "Sometimes?" Chakotay resolutely returned his hand to rub the pilot's forearm.

 Tossing the soiled underwear toward his duffel, Tom picked his workout pants. Before he put them on, he studied Chakotay for a long moment and leaned forward for a quick kiss. "You love me, huh?"

 The older man accepted the kiss on a proffered cheek. "Uh-huh."

 "I'm gonna trust you to mean it," he slid into his pants and sweatshirt. The damp chill of the planet seeping into the shuttlecraft. He turned and opened a storage bin below one of the benches and hauled out a half dozen blankets and a couple of pillows. He rolled Chakotay over to lay a blanket out. Smacking the man with a pillow, Tom pulled a couple of blankets up over them. Using Chakotay as his pillow, he settled down for the night. The Commander called for an alarm and the lights.

 As the two men, as different as night and day, lay together getting used to the sound of each other's breath, and the rain cascading on the shuttle.

 "You gonna remember my name in the morning?" Tom whispered, hoping Chakotay understood what he wasn't saying, what he needed to know about the morning after.

 "I suppose so," Chakotay kissed the top of Tom's head. With a sniff he added, "The first thing I want to do is get you into a water shower."

 Tom sighed. Ask a crooked question, get a crooked answer. "The first thing I'm gonna do is replicate a gallon of lube." He paused. "The second thing I want to do is use it."
 

The End

 Like it? Tell me at bjcochran@aol.com