Warning: the following story contains homoerotic references and sexual content. If you are under 18 and NOT of legal age, please stop reading. If you are above 18 and of LEGAL age, continue reading. Furthermore, if you are easily offended by male and male sexual/romantic relationships, I recommend you STOP now.
Disclaimer: Chakotay, Paris and Janeway are trademarks of Paramount Pictures. This story is only a product of my imagination. All rights belong to THEM. I am NOT making any profit out of this story. Only the satisfaction of my readers matters.
Summary: a short story on Kathryn Janeway’s point of view: she actually had a relationship with Tom Paris (insert dramatic music). First-person narrative. Dark story ( I think).
Pairings: C/P, J/P
I guess I shouldn’t be recording this down on my personal log.
Yet, my heart feels so *heavy* ...I want to cry, weep. There is this *great* need in me that screams for satisfaction, for answers.
But I think I will continue living with *this* pain, *this* torture.
* * * *
You came into my life like a sudden bolt from the blue, you know.
Blue-eyed, blonde, tall. Handsome. Very handsome.
I was so stunned to see you, Owen’s son, a good-looking cocky young man. I could still remember the glimmer of arrogance in your eyes when I told you about your parole.
Then Voyager got dragged into the Delta Quadrant and I could still recall the shock on your face.
Do you know that I long to hold you in my arms?
* * * *
I did not know *how* our ...encounter started.
I could still recall the time you came into my office. We talked, we laughed, we talked about Academy life. You saw the pic of me and Molly Malone. You saw Mark and you had that knowing look in your sapphire-blue eyes.
They drew me into your world. They bore a lot of pain, hurt and anger.
You stood up to go back to the Bridge but I stopped you. Our hands brushed. Once. Twice.
I felt the electric jolt coursing through my body like plasma fire.
* * * *
You have a lot of admirers, you know.
All the girls watch you as you walk across the Messhall. Even the men observe you with an intensity.
It was hard to maintain my composure when you were around. I could see your back facing me as you sat at the CONN.
I wanted so much to touch you.
* * * *
We kissed in my quarters. Do you remember that?
The kiss proceeded quickly to our cloths being removed. No, more like ripped. Our desires were too rampant to control any longer.
We explored each other with our tongues, tasting our bodies. Every stroke, every caress, every touch.
Your moist mouth on my nipples, wetting them with the tip of your tongue. Your hand between my legs. Your fingers dipping into my most private part. Dipping in and sliding into me.
I welcomed it. Loved it. Desired it.
You played with me until I cried out. Stop, Tom. Stop.
You didn’t. Instead, you spread my legs wide. You were no longer helmsman, subordinate. You were in control, thrusting into me with a primal rhythm.
At last, when we both climaxed, you cried out my name: Kathryn.
I experienced a fierce rush of tenderness as I gathered you into my arms. I could feel your ragged panting near my ears as you slowly returned to normal breathing.
* * * *
We met often after our first night together.
In daytime, during our Shift, we were Captain and Pilot.
In nighttime, offshift and out of our uniforms, we were lovers.
I was so happy. Contented. I thought that I had someone I could rely on, cherish. Being lost in the Delta Quadrant wasn’t what I wanted. I thought of you as my companion, my lover who knew my deepest secrets.
* * * *
But you changed.
You became less communicative, more isolated. I sensed your gradual withdrawal from me. My body cried out for intimacy.
I could try meeting you in the Messhall. But you always disappeared. Busy, you claimed. Busy with the Delta Flyer. Busy with the slipstream velocity project. Busy with pool. Busy. Busy. Busy.
* * * *
One night, I found myself woken up from my bed. Yes, the empty bed, so lifeless without your body next to me.
I could hear thumps and muffled poundings on my wall. The sounds came from Commander Chakotay’s quarters.
At first, I grinned ruefully. At least, Chakotay had someone.
As I listened more intently, I could pick up distinctive sounds. Moans. Cried. Gasps.
Sounds of passionate lovemaking.
Yet I sat up, frozen. A wave of cold water crashed over me, shocking me. I could recognise some of the sounds.
I had heard them before.
* * * *
I was mad.
No. I was raging mad. Furious. Betrayed.
You were *sleeping* with him? Why him? Why Chakotay? Was he any good at all?
*You sleep with men?*
Then why did you sleep with me?
* * * *
I put on my best Captain facade when I saw you the next day. I pretended to smile benignly, even though there was a pit of fire in my stomach.
I decided to confront you. In my own territory, in my office.
You walked in from the door, your expression wary.
"Have a seat, Mr Paris." I said, smiling, steepling my hands on my desk.
You sat, watching me with trepidation.
"Tell me, Mr Paris." I began slowly. " Do you see me as a source of relief?"
You looked at me startled.
"Am I only a source of relief for you? To soothe your bisexuality?"
"Captain ...Kathryn...what do you mean?" You whispered, your face flushed.
"Look, I heard you. Last night. You were in Commander Chakotay’s room. You were rather *loud*." My voice was cold.
Your facade crumbled. Immediately, your face became saddened. I lost half of my anger when I saw you sitting there, trying *hard* not to look directly at me.
"Yes. You heard me. I was in Chak’s room."
Chak. He called Chakotay ‘Chak’.
"Then what am I to you, Tom? Relief aid? "
"You are not ...Kathryn, please."
"Don’t call me Kathryn anymore. " I said.
You stood up, slowly. "I am really *sorry*, Kath ...Captain. The reason I had been avoiding you is that I am having a relationship with Chakotay. All the while I was with you, Chakotay was wooing me, courting me. I wanted to tell you but he stopped me. Now ...I love him and I love you too."
I could feel the tears rise up in my eyes. Oh God ...
"I am sorry ...But I have made my decision. I am going with Chakotay."
I closed my eyes. "Go."
"Leave. Go. Go away. You are dismissed." I whispered. "Go, Mr Paris, the meeting is over."
I could hear your bootheels scrap the carpet as you turned to leave. I could feel your eyes on me.
* * * *
Now as I sit next to my personal computer, I can hear you.
You are moaning in pleasure.
On *his* bed.
I wish it to stop.
I want to seek relief.
But I can’t find it.