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. In fact just lots of angst but quite a lot of humour and no nastiness. Am I really writing this or have aliens possessed my body?


It is almost 18.20 when my door chime sounds. I have changed into casual clothes; prepared the bath which I promised Tom and have poured us both a glass of a dry white wine that I found on my last shoreleave. It sparkles in the lights of my Quarters with the same honeyed tone as Tom‘s red gold hair.

As I let Tom in, with a welcoming kiss and soft "Hello", I am aware of his eyes darting fearfully to mine as he regards my expression suspiciously.

I realise that he has been deliberately late, simply to gauge my reaction. I guess after our many arguments on the bridge during the Jonas incident; he has learnt that I am a stickler for punctuality. He‘s obviously deliberately testing me. Checking out whether I am the same hard taskmaster in my personal life. Wondering whether I will bring him into line.

To be honest, I hate lateness. It is rude and inconsiderate and usually unnecessary. I have no doubt that, if I tell him this, he will not be late again.

I am sure of his current need to please me. That at this stage he is prepared to make any compromise to make this relationship work. But that is not the kind of relationship I want with him. I want him to be on time because he cannot wait to see me, not because he is afraid of my reaction to his behavior.

I may have a tendency to be dominant sexually but I need Tom to be my equal partner in all the other aspects of this relationship, not pretending to be subservient and eager to please. (And let‘s face it, I can‘t imagine him being able to keep it up for very long anyway, he‘s simply irrepressible!)

If there is any complaint that I would make of Angel it is that he never understood that I wanted him to think for himself. Despite his obvious physical and mental superiority, he was never capable of meeting me on equal terms emotionally. It was my mistake that from the beginning, instead of helping him deal with his many insecurities, I merely imposed my own beliefs on him and allowed him to mould himself to my expectations. It was my own fault that our relationship became rather mundane as a result.

I am determined not to make the same mistake with Tom. So I swallow my irritation and simply hand him his drink whilst I relieve him of his small bag. There will be plenty of time later for us to have this discussion, when he is less insecure.

His shoulders sag with a release of tension as he realises that I am not going to comment on his lateness and he accepts the wine with a shy relieved smile.

Sadly I realise from the lightness of his bag, that he has only brought enough clothes to change into. He is obviously still uncertain of the permanence of his welcome. I decide not to mention it. I‘m sure that as time goes on and he feels more comfortable with me, with us, his possessions will begin to creep into my spartan quarters and make it look more like a home.

"Your bath is getting cold" I chide him gently and lead him to the bathroom. His eyes widen appreciatively at the sight. There is only room for a shower in his own, smaller quarters.

Tom strips without hesitation. He shows absolutely no modesty about his naked form. I wonder absently whether it‘s because he‘s a Starfleet brat or because he has had such an active sex life. Don‘t misunderstand me, there is no jealousy in my thinking of him with his countless former partners. Or at least not much.

For a moment his beauty transfixes me. His long coltish limbs and pale perfect skin are such a wonderful contrast to my own dark, dense musculature. Although his frame is athletic and strong he is far too thin for my peace of mind. He has an air of delicacy to him, like a fragile porcelain doll. I am struck anew by my fierce desire to protect him.

I hold his drink for him as he slips carefully into the water and as the warmth pervades his muscles I can actually see the tension draining from him. I hand him back his drink and he takes a long sip of the golden liquid, sighs blissfully and only then does he languidly turn his lapis-lazuli gaze at me.

"Wow, you can‘t believe how good this feels" he purrs

"No, to be honest, I can‘t" I reply significantly.

He digests this for a moment as my meaning sinks in.

"So you‘ve never, um, never been a bottom?"


I watch this thought roll around in his head.

"Don‘t you want to?"

"No. Never." I am careful to pitch my reply to the exact correct tone of gentle firmness.

He considers my answer briefly before gifting me with a sunny smile

"Good, ‚cos I don‘t ever want to be a top, anyway." He laughs and that understood we both grin at each other. I sit down on the toilet seat and watch him luxuriate as we chat. We sit talking like this for a long time, feeling each other out, defining the parameters of our relationship. It feels comfortable and good to be able to talk like this.

The water is cooling so Tom starts to wash himself. I climb down and kneel beside the bath and taking a handful of soap begin to lather his back for him. He leans forwards to give me better access and I run my hands over the tight muscles of his shoulders, stopping to knead all the knots of tension that I find.

Tom begins to moan with pleasure at my ministrations so I let my right hand sneak around his torso to rub the nipples that are standing proud from his wet chest.

"Ohhh, yes!" he sighs, letting his eyes close and his head fall backwards.

Supporting the weight of his neck with my left hand, I let my right hand slide slowly down his chest, pausing to play briefly with his navel before following a damp golden trail of hair under the water until I find his cock.

It is already hard and eager for me. Closing my fingers gently I begin to slide up and down its length. Once, twice, a third time and he stiffens, squeals and comes.

He looks at me sheepishly, embarrassed yet again by my instantaneous effect on his body. I am tempted to joke that he has no more control over his cock than his motor-mouth but I doubt our relationship is strong enough yet for him to take my joke the right way. So I simply kiss the tip of his nose and then take his hands to help him up out of the water.

As I slowly rub him dry with a thick towel, he glides sensuously against me. Just the friction of the fabric on his bare skin is enough to rekindle his libido. He is so sensitive to my touch, so responsive, so absolutely fuckable that I have to force myself to remember the state of his battered ass.

Opening my bathroom cabinet I begin to search for my medical regenerator.

"Bend over, Tom" I say absently and it is only as I see how firmly he has braced his hands against the toilet seat that I realise he has misinterpreted my intention.

Oddly, for a moment I am angry with him. Outraged that he thinks so little of me to think I would take him again whilst he is so sore. I have to force myself to remember that he is currently so desperate to make this relationship work that he would probably take a space walk without a suit if I told him to.

Sorrow dampens my anger. Sadness that this beautiful, brilliant young man is so unaware of his own desirability. He hasn‘t figured yet that now I have finally given in, I would cut my own hand off rather than let him back out of my life.

Until we get home, my conscience whispers.

Shaking my head to clear that unwelcome thought, I begin to run the regenerator between his ass-cheeks. His low moan of understanding is an odd mixture of disappointment and relief. When I have finally finished, I give him a gentle slap on the ass, put down the regenerator and pick up a toweling robe that I wrap around him. He follows me sedately into the living room, a little confused at my failure to take advantage of his willingness, and I gesture him to the couch whilst I walk to the replicator.

"What would you like to eat?"

"Um...tomato soup, hot and plain"

"Don‘t you ever get tired of that?" I laugh

"‘s what I like. When I decide I like something I like it forever" he replies, pointedly flashing his eyes at me and I catch the hidden meaning well enough.

"Good" I reply significantly and for a moment I see happy tears welling in his eyes before he blinks furiously and accepts the tray I hand him.

After we‘ve finished eating and I have cleared up the refuse, I ask the computer to play a selection of my favourite music collections whilst Tom simply snuggles up sleepily in my arms. The bath combined with the tension of the last few days, not to mention the marathon sex last night, has turned his body into pure satisfied mush. I sit contentedly, stroking his back soothingly until his breath finally deepens into light snores.

And it is at that moment I‘m ashamed to say, when Tom has finally trusted me enough to fall asleep. When he has allowed himself to be so trusting, so very vulnerable to me, that I find myself looking out of the window at the passing stars and thinking nostalgically about Angel.