By Morticia

(Yes another mini epic)
ST. Voyager

Rating. SLASH, m/m NC-17

Archive: Anywhere, just let me know, please
Disclaimer: Tom, Chak et al are Paramount‘s (lucky devils) Angel is mine (yippee!)

In this story Tom and B‘Elanna never got together (Hooray!) Chakotay and Paris‘s aggression was due to (you guessed it) Unresolved Sexual Tension! Chakotay had left a male lover back in the Maquis and can‘t get over the loss. Tom is completely besotted with Chakotay and is sure that the Commander is attracted to him too but can‘t get anywhere with him.

Tom Angst. Chakotay Angst.


Well, today is our anniversary. It‘s actually been seven days since that night in the observation lounge. Six days since I began to move my stuff into Chakotay‘s quarters. It‘s my day off today and I have spent the day rearranging the wardrobe to conceal my clothes and finding hiding holes for my vids and personal crap so they don‘t ruin the neatness he obviously values so much.

I‘ve never seen such pristine quarters as his. I feel as though I make them untidy simply by being in them.

I‘ve always hated housework. Growing up in the Paris household I was always taught that a messy room meant a messy mind. In the Academy I was always forced to be neat as a pin and in prison... well the less said about that the better. Suffice it to say I have developed an urge to relax and be a bit of a slob since I‘ve been on Voyager.

Everything is different now. I am determined to make so little impact on Chakotay‘s quarters that he never finds my messiness an excuse for finding fault with our relationship. He is really sweet about it, saying the more possessions I bring, the more ‚homely‘ his quarters will feel but I know he doesn‘t really mean it so I‘m being really careful not to be too obtrusive.

Am I happy?

I must be. I‘ve never felt so loved, so valued, in my whole life.

Is it everything I expected?

It‘s more and less at the same time. Chakotay has taken me into his home and his life. He really seems to care about me but he isn‘t, well, isn‘t as demonstrative as I had hoped.

So okay, what I really mean is that it‘s not the fuck-fest I had envisaged.

He is so damned careful not to hurt me that we‘ve only actually ‚done-it‘ twice this whole week. I mean, sure I‘m sore but if it doesn‘t bother me, I don‘t see why he has such a problem with it. Isn‘t that what regenerators are for?

But that‘s okay. I guess it‘s nice really that he is so concerned.

Just sooooo damned frustrating.

He doesn‘t ever want to go out. I think that he can‘t bear to share me or waste any of the time we have together. Every evening we just sit here together and stare at the stars and talk, really talk and he smiles and laughs at my jokes and holds me in his arms as though I am somehow precious to him, as though I really matter. It‘s an unusual feeling for me and it feels so good.

I‘ve never had this kind of closeness before so I guess I can‘t appreciate it properly. There‘s this part of me that can‘t help feeling a little confused. I mean, how can he be so damned controlled with his passions if he feels so much for me?

Every night I throw my arms around him when he finally escapes home and as he holds me I feel my whole body go rigid with desire, but all he does in response is kiss me and let go.

I am so stunned and rejected at that moment that I cannot even speak to him. We just eat silently together until food and wine have relaxed us both into a better mood and then finally we snuggle together and simply talk for hours about little things, like an old married couple.

It‘s great, but it‘s kind of terrible too. It‘s my fault, I guess. To me passion means going for what you want and damn the consequences. I know I shouldn‘t judge his reticence by my standards. That I don‘t even know the name of the morals be judges himself by. But still....

And sometimes I catch him just staring into nothing and I know, I just know, that it is not me he is thinking of. And it hurts. It hurts so damned much I just want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Make him see that I am there. Flesh and blood. Loving him so much I could die.

But then he shakes himself and he turns those brown soft eyes on me and smiles so lovingly that I am confused and ashamed of my doubts.

Because I know in that moment that he does love me.

Doesn‘t he?


Tom is off work today and I am hoping he will finally take the opportunity to bring more of his possessions and make my quarters into his home.

I don‘t know why it bothers me so much that he is so distrustful of me, of our relationship, that he seems so unable to commit himself. It‘s been a week now but you‘d never know it. Apart from his presence, there is no clue in my quarters that he has moved in.

He is careful to hide his clothes away out of sight, obviously in case of visitors. He will not leave his vids and pads on display. He has never once suggested that we go out as a couple. He just wants us to hide in my quarters every evening.

Perhaps he is ashamed of loving me.

I can understand that. I am so much older than him and his Senior Officer to boot. Perhaps he is worried about negative reactions, about being called my toy boy, about being accused of using sex with me as a tool to further his career.

Then again, it may simply be that he regrets his choice.

Considering how much I have accidentally hurt him on the two occasions we have made love, it would be no wonder if he turned away from me completely.

I can‘t explain to him, without somehow making it worse, that I am so used to sharing my passion with someone so much physically stronger than him, that I have lost the ability to judge what is acceptable in the height of passion.

He is so responsive, so eager at the time, so desperate to please me, that my good intentions fly out of the window and it is not until I see the bruises on his pale skin and the raw redness of his ass, that I realise how much I have damaged him.

He never complains but I know he is now frightened of my touch because when he hugs me and I respond too enthusiastically, I feel him involuntarily stiffening in my arms and it is enough to completely unman me.

He then won‘t talk to me for hours. As though afraid of voicing his fear he simply eats his dinner and watches me warily.

It is not until we sit back together on the couch and finally relax that I feel I can put my arms around him without his fearing my touch. Then we avoid talking of his pain and just talk of inconsequential things.

Increasingly I find myself drifting away and remembering how good it used to be with Angel and wishing so much that I didn‘t have to be so careful with Tom.

Strangely, I am finding that the more time I spend with Tom, the surer I am that I really could love him if he would only let me.

But if I love him, shouldn‘t I care enough for him to accept that he needs a gentler love than mine.

That he deserves better.

Doesn‘t he?