By Morticia

Disclaimer: They belong to paramount, not me, and I'm too poor to sue anyway

Part 3
Pilot's Personal Log, "The Thunderbird," : Day 6.
I just read yesterday's entry and decided that I shouldn't wait to add an update. God forbid that anything should happen to me and anyone going through my effects thought that there was anything wrong between me and Cha.

I mean, I kind of over-reacted, I think. It was our first 'proper' fight and I obviously read too much into the situation. Everything is fine again now.

Well, not exactly fine, but so much better that I have learned two things since yesterday. Firstly, Chakotay and I really need to learn to talk to each other. It's all very well being so hot for each other that we can't keep our fingers to ourselves, but I am definitely going to have to stop relying on sex to pull us through difficulties.

Not that it isn't an exceedingly pleasant way to resolve an argument!

Secondly, we have to learn to separate personal problems from professional ones.

In Starfleet it is relatively easy. You have ranks and roles to define your workplace relationships. Once you put that uniform on in the morning, your mind snaps into a mode of professionalism that forces you to act appropriately and leave personal issues behind. On the Thunderbird, it isn't that easy.

The minute I arrive on the bridge each morning, I damn well know whether Sue and Harry had wild fantastic sex the night before or had a fight. The air of either ecstatic satisfaction or brooding anger hangs in palpable waves over their heads. I assume that the same is true of Chakotay and I.

Of course, with us it is worse. Not worse as in, our problems are more important, but worse because everyone is so damned protective of me.

They can't help it, I guess. There's something about this fucking wheelchair that seems to overshadow everyone's perception of me. No matter how well I cope with it myself, no one else can separate me from my paralysis. They see me as vulnerable and in need of protection.

It's sweet.

It also pisses the hell out of me.

So, anyway, when Chakotay and I argue, he gets the emotional rap. Not because everyone else thinks I am right and he is wrong, but because he is apparently supposed to pander to me like the invalid that I am.

Well, fuck that.

So from now on, we are going to keep our personal arguments just that. Personal.

Besides, everything is better today. We actually have a job. It isn't much of a job, and to be honest we only got it because we are so desperate that we are cheap, and let's face it, the Ferengi are never ones to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It hurt Chakotay's pride to accept the commission, I think. He turned positively pale when he agreed to Quark's miserly terms. On the other hand, a job is a job and we need to swallow our pride and just do it. Eventually we will gain a reputation for honesty and reliability and then more doors will open to us.

As for Trabor, well Chakotay has agreed to give him a chance, at least. He said that as long as the engineer stays sober and out of his hair, he will give him the opportunity to prove himself to us.

And Jem has already begun to re-route the bridge command terminals so that we can access all operations from any station. Of course, Chakotay has got the Doc double checking all the work, with such blatant rudeness that I personally would have told him to get stuffed by now. But Jem just ducks his head and takes it, only his black eyes revealing a bottomless pit of despair and lost pride. He lets himself be constantly second-guessed by a hologram who only had engineering sub-routines downloaded the day before.

I love the Doc really, but his air of superiority sometimes drives me to the brink of madness. It is insufferable in my opinion. Yet, Chakotay is right too. We can't afford to become another Moulinaue.

On a much brighter note, which is the real reason for this log entry, we slept together again last night and it was good. Better even, perhaps, for the release of our pent up tension.

So despite what I said earlier, maybe using sex to pull ourselves through difficulties isn't such a bad thing. When words aren't enough, when apologies and recriminations stick in our throats and make communication impossible, still our bodies dance to their own tune. Flesh on flesh we connect and become one body, one soul, and all other issues become insignificant next to the power of our need for each other.

I feel alive from his touch. It is electrifying to me. I breathe with his breath, see with his eyes, walk with his legs. It is awesome and shattering and yet so painfully wonderful that life without him is impossible. In those moments of intimacy, there is nowhere that I end and he begins. We overlap and merge, our thoughts, bodies and desires becoming one.

Perhaps, in time, we will learn to carry that connection out of the bedroom and into the rest of our lives.


Captain's Personal Log, "The Thunderbird," : Day 6.


Last night I made my peace with Tom.

It wasn't until I arrived in our room and saw the flicker of nervous hope in his face, saw with sadness the flickering shadows of fear in his usually brilliant eyes, that my decision to put the Trabor situation well and truly behind us coalesced.

So I put the problem to bed, by putting Tom well and truly to bed.

"I'm sorry," I told him as I entered the room. Not sorry for the stance I had taken but bitterly sorry for his pain.

"I'm sorry too," he agreed and reached out his arms in invitation.

That was all the encouragement I needed. I swept him out of his chair and carried him into the bedroom. He just relaxed in my arms, agreeing to my intentions simply by his silence.

I laid him on the bed then stripped myself quickly and turned back to look at him. His face was flushed, his eyes almost as black as Trabor's as he teased his lower lip with his teeth. He had unfastened his shirt and it had fallen open to reveal his pale chest, each rib still clearly defined beneath his rosy nipples.

Guilt struck me afresh as I again realised just how underweight he was. He looked more boy than man without the camouflage of his clothing.

"What have you eaten today," I asked quietly, and his blush deepened from lust to embarrassment as his forehead furrowed and his eyes avoided mine.

He couldn't answer, because the answer was probably nothing, I realised. For some reason Tom always reacted to stress with self-starvation. Instead of making an issue of it, and thereby causing him even MORE stress, I simply made a note to talk to Neelix and the Doctor about the situation. Although I had no intention of behaving so childishly again as to deliberately ignore Tom, there would inevitably be times when I would be absent from the ship.

I would have to set up a safety net for Tom, whereby people checked among themselves whether he had eaten and thereby ensured that he couldn't avoid the issue.

Evidently realising from my silence that I wasn't going to push for an answer at this moment, Tom relaxed and regained his earlier expression of complete wanton need. His fingers began to fumble with his waistband and a prominent, tell-tale bulge was tenting the fabric over his groin.

My own cock pulsed in sympathy, its swollen head reaching eagerly as I stepped forward and replaced Tom's hands with my own.

"Let me," I whispered huskily and he arched his hips to help me slide the trousers down his thin legs.

I froze for a moment, amazed anew at the beautiful sight beneath me. There is nothing in this life that can sing poetry in my soul like the vision of Tom, naked and needy beneath me.

I couldn't resist bending my mouth to his elegant cock and licking its length from the soft blond curls of his pubic hair down to the weeping head. I flicked my tongue into his slit, tasting the sweet saltiness of his essence and I shivered with pleasure as the taste exploded on my tongue like nectar.

His fingers crept through my hair pleadingly, encouraging me to continue, as though there was any way that I could have stopped. I swallowed him, my throat opening in welcome to his thick presence and he groaned and bucked as my hot mouth caressed his length. I tickled his balls and perineum as I bobbed my head up and down his cock, listening to his moaning gasps and then, with a small scream, he came in my mouth and I licked and savored each drop until his now limp organ dropped in exhaustion onto his thighs.

Tom's head had collapsed back on the pillow, haloed by his blond hair, the tension drained from his features and replaced by a look of such peace and contentment that I actually forgot my own unsatisfied erection, content simply to have brought him such pleasure.

Yet, typically, Tom was not yet satisfied.

"Take me, Cha," he whispered as I crawled up the bed and nuzzled into his neck, nibbling on the damp tendrils of hair that curled under his ears. His hair was still barbarously short, but he had stopped cutting it since our escape to Dorvan together. Perhaps he finally understood that I loved him with long hair because it was one of my personal tastes, not because of any resemblance to Angel. I hoped that he would continue to let it grow, but it was his choice, and not one that I felt the right to interfere with.

"It's okay, babe. You're too tired," I replied softly. "Just let me hold you."

His eyes snapped open and suddenly he didn't look tired at all.

"That wasn't an offer," he replied sharply. "It was an order. You have a duty as my husband to fulfill ALL of my conjugal rights. So do me."

I looked at him in complete surprise and my astonishment must have been evident because his stern mask slipped and his mouth began to twitch as he fought to hide a grin.

"Conjugal rights, huh?" I growled with mock fierceness as I reached down and ran an experimental finger down his flaccid cock. It reared back to life so quickly that I snatched back my finger in shock.

"Afraid the trouser snake is gonna bite you, Cha?" Tom sniggered.

"I keep forgetting how young you are, Tom," I confessed, still stunned at Tom's unfailing ability to be brought back instantly to arousal.

"Nah," he replied playfully, "it's all the energy that should be going to my legs, getting redirected to my dick instead."

"Really? Maybe that's why some people describe it as a third leg," I leered back, still uncomfortable with the easy way in which Tom made light of his paralysis but determined to follow his lead.

"So you gonna do me, big man?" he challenged me, his eyes glinting wickedly.

I pretended to consider the proposal until he finally lost his patience and slapped me lightly on the side of my engorged cock.

"You gonna do something with that or just keep waving it in my face?" he spat. Before I could reply, his other hand slapped a tube of lube into my hands.

"You do it," I replied breathlessly, offering the lube back.

His eyes darkened significantly as he popped the valve and coated his fingers with the clear gel before gently massaging my cock. The minute his greased fingers slid up my flesh, I felt my balls tighten and I froze, desperately fighting my body's need to erupt. Seeing my struggle, he calmed his movements, his fingers becoming feather-light as he coated my erection.

Trembling, I took some of the lube on my fingers and searched for his entrance. As soon as my fingers touched his sphincter, I felt the muscle relax and open welcomingly. I froze again, so overwhelmed by his body's instinctive reaction to me that I nearly came just from the realisation.

I knew that there was no way that I could hold back my orgasm any longer and I looked at him helplessly.

"Just do it," he growled.

"You're not ready," I nearly sobbed.

"I'm ALWAYS ready for you, Cha," he urged me sincerely.

I met his eyes, desperate to believe him, and although I knew that I was risking damage to him, I couldn't resist the need in his eyes. I threw his legs over my shoulders and entered him in one smooth, brutal thrust.

He cried out in pain, yet his voice denied his own discomfort.

"Oh GOD, yeah, that's it, fuck me Cha, fuck me hard," he demanded.

And although it sounds brutal in the light of day, at that moment nothing but a fierce, hard animalistic coupling could satisfy either of us.

There was no finesse in my movements, no gentleness, no consideration, just a violent battering of his insides with my hungry cock, my thrusts punctuated by my own ragged groans and Tom's gasping sobs, until with a roar I made one last vicious thrust, until my balls were almost buried in his ass with my dick, and I shot my load deep into his bowels as his own cum splattered my chest and his ravaged insides clenched and milked me dry.

Like I said, it was brutal. Yet it was beautiful too. A mutual animal need that we both experienced together.

"Oh God, that was fantastic," Tom gasped finally. "Though I don't think I'm gonna be so happy tomorrow when I sit in my chair," he added with a wry grin.

"How about I call the Doc to give you a couple of stitches?" I replied, as I rose to find a wash-cloth and a dermal regenerator.

"Bastard!" Tom laughed, throwing the lube at me. He continued to giggle as I repaired the tiny tears in his rectum.

"What?" I asked him.

"I was just imagining the Doc's face if I asked HIM to do this," he laughed back.

"I'm sorry I was so rough," I began to apologise.

"Don't," he hissed, real anger in his voice. I looked at him in surprise.

"Don't ever apologise for loving me, Cha. I needed this tonight, so did you. It was wonderful, consensual and nothing to be sorry about," he stated firmly.

"It was beautiful, " I confessed sheepishly. "your trust in me is the most wonderful thing in my universe. And yes, sometimes I doubt my own instincts, sometimes I doubt yours. But you are right, we both needed this tonight."

"Hold me?" he begged, and I climbed back into the bed and gathered him in my arms, his head nestled against my chest.

It was only then that I mentioned Trabor, as we both still lay stunned by the beauty of our joining.

"He can stay," I said gruffly and I felt Tom's whole body soften into blissful relaxation against my own. His happiness at my decision was so obvious that I regretted the necessity to add my conditions.

"If I ever as much as suspect that he has been drinking, then he's off the ship. No trials, no passionate defenses or excuses. One chance only and if he blows it, he's gone," I stated firmly.

For a moment, Tom stiffened and I could hear him draw a ragged breath in preparation for his rejoinder. I already knew what he was going to say, that I was playing God again, that I had no right to keep laying down the law in such a fashion.

Yet, to my surprise, he released the breath again and molded back into my side, and the only word he uttered was "Okay."

His unexpected agreement warmed me, fanning the flame of love I held for him to a new level.  It appeared that we were both learning compromise, finding those places where we clashed and finding a way to blur the sharp edges so that our desires and needs could seamlessly merge.

I was suddenly glad that the argument had occurred between us. Despite the unpleasantness of the last 24 hours, we had faced a crisis, resolved it and moved on, both more secure in each other's love.  It was a lesson to me to face future crises head on, battle through them to a mutual agreement and thus let the roots of our relationship spread and strengthen.

We had both made the previous mistake of avoiding confrontation and our inability to talk had nearly destroyed us.  This time our relationship was for keeps. We were married and that meant forever. It was unrealistic to imagine that we would never argue. All we could do was turn each row into an opportunity to learn more about each other and thus strengthen our commitment.

And of course, the make up sex was always the best part.