The Game
By Morticia

Part 4/?

As Tom passed the command chairs at warp speed and dived onto his
chair with scant seconds to spare, Kathryn's words about Tom
sashaying his ass made Chakotay shift uncomfortably on his seat as
his long-neglected cock made a futile attempt to attract his

Spirits, surely Tom's uniform had never been *that* tight before, he
asked himself.

It had been bad enough last night when Tom had spent the whole of
their second date accidentally dropping his chess pieces on the floor
and then having to bend over and pick them up.

Tom had explained that chess made him nervous because of the way the
Admiral had always turned it into a blood-sport. His face had been so
white, and his fingers so trembling, every time that he made a move,
that not only had Chakotay concluded that Tom genuinely couldn't help
dropping his pieces, and the consequent sex show that resulted, but
that he would never suggest chess as a pastime again.

Chakotay knew that Tom lived almost his whole off-duty life in those
damned jeans that were so tight he could only imagine Tom pouring
himself into them, so he had tried just to enjoy the view and not let
them distract him *too* much.

For Tom to arrive on the bridge in a uniform that nearly cut the
crack of his ass in two, however, was almost too much to cope with.

He figured Tom was sending him a message and as much as his head
wanted to ignore the signal, his cock wasn't feeling so restrained.
Tonight he would at least kiss Tom goodnight, he decided abruptly,
and prayed that one taste of those honeyed lips wouldn't rip away his
self-control. He had spent the last two nights in the shower after
Tom had left, re-acquainting himself with mother thumb and her four
agile daughters.

Tom shifted uncomfortably on his seat. Shit, his ass felt like it was
going to split in half. After he had left Chakotay's quarters in
disgust, he had gone to Harry's place. Harry had been so
understanding, not to mention accommodating, that Tom had spent the
night, waking far too late to get back to his own quarters unseen to
change before shift.

Too canny to risk using Harry's replicator for a uniform, he had
borrowed one of Harry's, trusting that his high-ankle black boots
would conceal the shortness of the pants legs. It had never occurred
to him that Harry's ass was so damned small though. Tight, yes,
small, no.

He hadn't been able to even fasten them without discarding his boxers
first, so the seam was biting into his ass. Shit, Harry would
probably never wash them again once he had given them back, he
figured. Knowing Harry, he'd keep them as some kind of trophy.

He sat, and shuffled, and prayed for lunch-time so that he could
finally get back to his own quarters and change.


"Thanks, Haz," he said, emerging naked from his bedroom with the
pants in one hand while the other hand rubbed antiseptic cream into
the sore red skin of his ass.

With typical Paris luck, they had encountered a large asteroid field
mid-morning and as Chief Pilot he had been forced to man his post
until they were safely clear. He hadn't managed to remove his sore
ass from the helm until gone 1800.

"Oh, don't bother," Harry squeaked as Tom headed for the refresher
with the pants. "I'll sort that out later."

Tom sighed and handed over the pants. Just as he had suspected, Harry
obviously wanted to keep them. Probably was jealous of them for
getting that close to his ass, which was something Harry himself had
never accomplished.

"Owch, that *does* look sore, Tom," Harry gasped, as Tom bent over to
retrieve his boots from where he had kicked them off in his panic to
get the pants off. "Since I'm kind of responsible, I probably ought
to help you with that cream, Tom," Harry added with a sly smile.

Tom shook his head firmly. Hell, it wouldn't hurt him to throw Harry
a bone, he figured, but he was determined that tonight was the night
with Chakotay, whether the big man was ready or not. Maybe he could
ask Chakotay to rub his ass for him.

It would certainly help to break the ice.


Since it was their third date, and chess had been ruled out as an
activity, Chakotay decided to spend a large portion of his replicator
credits on some quality holodec time.

He had taken advantage of his position, and Kathryn's romantic
nature, to book a four-hour time slot. Knowing Tom's preference for
all things French, he had programmed an exclusive restaurant on the
craggy Normandy shoreline, complete with a panoramic view of an
atmospheric storm that caused the waves to crash against the sea wall
and send their spray against the windows.

The contrast of the warm fire and good food inside, with the raging
storm outside, gave an ambience that reminded him oddly of Tom
himself. The pilot was equally wild on the surface, yet surprisingly
warm and welcoming underneath. In a way, by highlighting his
appreciation of the beauty of the untamed sea, he hoped to portray
his intention to accept Tom as he was, rather than try to mold him
into a more generally acceptable persona.

There was beauty in diversity, strength in uniqueness, and something
precious about Tom's need for independence. Chakotay didn't want to
tame Tom, he just wanted to be allowed to adore him for what he
already was.


"Shit," Tom muttered under his breath, shuffling on his chair, and
pushing his fork listlessly around his plate, destroying the complex
pattern of culinary delight that had cost Chakotay a week's worth of

Chakotay swallowed miserably. Although Tom had *seemed* to appreciate
the program when they first entered, he had spent the last hour
looking increasingly uncomfortable.

"If you want, we can change the program, Tom," he offered, inwardly
flinching at the cost to his rapidly depleting rations but desperate
to put the smile back on Tom's face.

Tom gave him a brave smile.

"Sorry, Chak. It's not the program. The program's great. Thank you."

"Then what's wrong? Is it me? Have I upset you somehow? What have I
done?" Chakotay asked.

Since Tom could hardly reply "You haven't fucked me yet," without
sounding like a slut, he moved swiftly to plan B.

"It's, ummm, it's personal Chak, nothing to do with you, honest," he
whispered miserably.

Chakotay leaned over, took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's, ummm, it's too embarrassing to talk about," Tom replied, the
intense blue of his eyes deepened by the hot flush that spread across
his cheeks.

"Please tell me," Chakotay asked, beginning to feel decidedly

"It's kind of medical, that's all," Tom said, trying to shrug

Chakotay surged to his feet.

"That's it, we're going to Sickbay," he announced firmly.

Poor Tom was obviously unwell but hadn't wanted to break the date
with him. The realisation warmed his heart, but enough was enough. If
Tom was ill, he needed a Doctor, not a romantic dinner.

"I can't," Tom wailed in horror. "It's too embarrassing, I'd never be
able to look the Doc in the face again."

"I don't understand, Tom. What could possibly be too embarrassing for
you to see the Doctor about?" Chakotay demanded.

In a near whisper, Tom reluctantly confessed,

"It's my ass."

"Your *what?*"

"My ass," Tom sniffed miserably.

"What's wrong with your ass, Tom?"

Tom flushed again.

"It's a bit raw. I don't wear underwear," he saw Chakotay color a
little and grinned inwardly, "and something went wrong with my
replicator this morning. My uniform came out too small."

"I noticed," Chakotay managed to reply before the memory of Tom's ass
tightly sheathed in black, caused him to lose his voice.

"Anyway," Tom resumed doggedly, "the seam of the pants rubbed me and
I couldn't reach the spot with my personal regenerator, and I
couldn't possibly go to Sickbay, and it's not something you can
exactly ask someone for help with, is it?"

"No, I guess not," Chakotay choked.

"I mean it's not like I'm in a relationship, is it? Shit, I didn't
mean to say it like that, I mean we *are* in a kind of relationship,
at least I hope we are, `cos I do want us to be, but we aren't in
*that* kind of relationship yet, so I couldn't ask you, only I
couldn't ask anyone else, either, cos you might find out and take it
the wrong way, and oh hell, I just don't know what to do," Tom
gasped, finally running out of breath.

Chakotay took a deep breath as he pondered Tom's panicked monologue.
Tom was right, he *would* take it the wrong way if Tom dropped his
pants in front of someone else, whatever the reason. Hell, no one was
looking at Tom's ass except him, he decided.

"Come on," he said firmly, rising to his feet again and offering Tom
his hand.

"We going to Sick bay?" Tom asked miserably.

"No, we're going back to my quarters. I've got a regenerator, and if
that doesn't do the trick, there's a few old remedies in my med-kit
that will sort the problem," he said kindly.

"I'm SO embarrassed," Tom whispered as they left the holodec and
limped towards Chakotay's quarters.

Chakotay hauled him to a halt, pulled him in for a hug and then
placed a chaste kiss on Tom's forehead.

"Don't be," he chided softly. "You're special to me, Tom Paris. There
isn't an inch of your body that isn't special to me because it is
part of you. I promise I won't act any differently than if I was
applying the regenerator to your arm or leg," he promised.


Harry listened in growing disbelief.

"And he meant it?" he demanded.

"Yeah. The guy is fucking unbelievable, Haz," Tom spat.

"I'm lying on his bed, my pants round my ankles, my ass in the air,
and he's running his fingers up and down my crack with this thick gel
on his hands, and I'm so fucking turned on that my ass is practically
winking at him, and he just fucking gets up, tells me to be careful
about wearing tight trousers for a couple of days, pulls me to my
feet and helps me to get dressed again."

"Didn't you say anything to him?" Harry asked.

"What the fuck was I supposed to say, Haz? Shit the guy had just
poked his finger up my asshole just in case I needed any medicine
there too, and when I moaned my head off to let him know how good it
felt, the bastard just apologised for hurting me."

"Shit Tom, he *has* got ice in his veins," Harry stated in disbelief,
grasping his hands tightly to stop them trembling. Oh shit, if only
Tom had let *him* put the medicine on, he thought. *He* wouldn't have
wasted the opportunity. What the fuck was wrong with Chakotay, anyway?

"You wanna stay tonight, Tom?" he offered, figuring the best way to
break Tom out of his self-pity would be to let him fuck him through
the mattress. If he couldn't touch Tom's ass, the second best thing
was always to offer his own.

"Nah, thanks Haz, but I'm tired. I'm going to have an early night,"
Tom said miserably.

As Tom left his quarters, Harry's heart lurched.

Fuck. There *was* nothing wrong with Chakotay after all. The bastard
had obviously sussed Tom out and was stringing him along. Tom had
turned down Harry's ass, and that was serious, that meant Tom *was*
falling for Chakotay big time.

On the other hand, as clever as Chakotay was being, his campaign was
doomed to failure, because eventually he would claim Tom's ass and
would then finally fall under the pilot's spell.

And as soon as it happened, Tom would lose interest in him.

Leopards didn't change their spots.


"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh TOM!" Chakotay screamed, his hand
sliding up and down his cock, greased by the same gel that his
fingers had applied to Tom's reddened ass.

It had been no wonder the pilot had been unable to eat his dinner.
The crack of his ass had been raw. Chakotay had tried so hard to be
professional, knowing that taking advantage of Tom's injury would be
tantamount to abuse, yet he hadn't been able to resist snaking his
well-greased pinky finger into Tom's rosy pucker to supposedly apply
medicine there too.

Tom's moan of discomfort had shocked him to his senses, and ashamed
of himself, he had rapidly finished the treatment, had dressed Tom
and sent him home before he lost control of himself again.

It was probably just as abusive to be doing this though, even if the
pilot was unaware that he was jerking off in his shower, deliberately
using the same gel to recapture the feeling of Tom's flesh beneath
his fingers.

Hell, as soon as Tom was feeling better, he was going to make a real
move on him, he decided. Now he had seen what Tom's tight jeans
barely concealed, he wasn't going to be able to rest until he had
worshipped Tom's ass as it had been designed to be worshipped.

From the inside.