The Game By Morticia Part 1/? Overall Rating: NC-17 "May I?" Chakotay looked up in surprise at the familiar yet completely unexpected drawl. He managed only a confused nod as Tom Paris placed his drink on the table, drew out the seat opposite, turned it around so that the back was facing the table and then straddled it. Chakotay's eyes were inexorably drawn over the table ledge to the gap between the chair's back and seat. He swallowed dryly. "That doesn't look very comfortable," he murmured, trying not to stare at the way Tom's crotch seemed to be straining against the whitened denim. "What doesn't?" Tom asked innocently. Chakotay coughed and stared into his drink before adopting his professional face. "Chairs were designed to be sat on, not straddled like a horse," he said, wondering whether there was any blood circulation in Tom's legs. He had seen how tightly Tom's jeans caressed his ass when he had been playing pool. Which was admittedly one of the reasons he had dawdled in Sandrine's himself. Tom Paris's ass deserved nomination as one of the official wonders of the planet Earth, in his opinion. Forget the Taj Mahal and the Hanging Gardens, Chakotay had long since decided that perfection resided somewhere inside Tom Paris's perpetually over-tight pants. Sometimes, when the call of duty gave him perspective, Chakotay contemplated taking Tom aside and explaining exactly *why* it wasn't healthy for a man to wear such tight, restrictive clothing. But then, as now, he would contemplate life on Voyager without Tom's nightly floor show and would sigh in defeat. Tom folded his arms over the chair back, leant his chin over his cupped hands and sucked thoughtfully on his straw. Swallowing as convulsively as if it was himself drinking, Chakotay's eyes were pinned by the way Tom's sensuous mouth pursed around the straw. When Tom's eyes closed blissfully, Chakotay shuddered in reaction. How the hell could Tom turn something as innocent as a glass of orange juice into an almost sexual experience? Speaking of which, what *was* Tom doing with a glass of orange instead of his usual beer? "That's a change for you, isn't it?" Chakotay tried to ask casually, although he winced at the way his own usually low tones squeaked alarmingly as Tom gave a deep moan of satisfaction, releasing the straw and licking at his lips with a satisfied purr. "Well, it's good to have a change sometimes, isn't it?" Tom replied. "Don't *you* ever get bored of the same old, same old, Commander?" "Cha-," cough, "Chakotay." "What?" "We're off duty, Tom. Call me Chakotay," he snapped, flushing furiously at the way his voice had almost broken again. What the hell was Tom trying to do to him? "Chakotay," Tom purred. "It's a nice name. Don't think I ever told you that, did I?" Chakotay rubbed his eyes tiredly. He couldn't deal with this right now. Maybe the pilot got some kick out of flirting with him like this, but even the wonderful view wasn't worth the price to his soul. "Your *friends* are waiting for you, Ensign," he snapped, gesturing towards the pool table. Tom's eyes flicked disinterestedly to watch Harry and the Delaney Twins who were still at the pool table where he had abandoned them. He gave a dismissive shrug. "Like I said, Chakotay," and again he drawled the name so that it emerged like warm treacle through his pursed lips, "I'm fed up with the same old, same old." Chakotay felt his cock stiffen and batter eagerly at the material of his own pants. He threw his shoulders back angrily and jerked to his feet. "It's late. If you don't mind, I'm going to retire now," he hissed angrily. He was furious that he was letting Tom's harmless flirting affect him so badly. Only it hurt too damn much. He should never have come here to watch Tom play. It had been the third week in a row that he had spent Friday night nursing a solitary beer in Sandrine's and trying not to be transparent about the reason for his presence. Obviously Tom had seen through him and had decided to come over and taunt him. "What if I say I *do* mind?" Tom asked softly. It wasn't so much Tom's words that stopped Chakotay from storming away, as the hesitant tone of his voice. Chakotay turned to see something that he would have placed odds against ever seeing on Tom's cocky face; a genuine blush beneath eyes that were suddenly uncertain, their clear blue muddied by swirling currents of self- doubt. As though the question had suddenly dried his mouth, Tom's tongue snaked along his lips until they glistened in the low flickering bar lights. Chakotay felt an unpleasant ache in his stomach as he forced himself to joke lightly. "What exactly *is* in that orange juice, Tom?" To his surprise, Tom ducked his head and played nervously with the straw. "Oh, just a double-measure of regret, I guess," he whispered. Chakotay felt his knees weaken and he sat down again abruptly. "What's wrong, Tom?" he asked solicitously. Damn, here he had been letting his own subconscious interpret Tom's behaviour as flirting, when evidently the pilot had been approaching him professionally. "Are you still having nightmares? I know you had a hard time in the brig, and your demotion must have been a serious blow to your self- esteem, but you *are* a valued member of this crew. Beating yourself up about what happened isn't going to help matters." "You just don't get it, do you?" Tom said bitterly. "Don't get what, Tom?" "Forget it, I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have come over. Just go to bed, Commander. Like you said, it's late, I'm tired, and I just made a fool of myself, that's all." "Made a fool of yourself how?" Chakotay asked in genuine puzzlement. Tom flushed. "Look I said forget it, alright?" he spat, beginning to rise from his chair. Chakotay's hand flew out and encircled Tom's wrist, trapping him in place. "Not alright, Tom," he insisted. "Oh shit," Tom cursed miserably. "Tell me." Tom's head jerked up and his eyes flashed furiously over his red- stained cheekbones. "I made a mistake, okay? I fucked up. I thought, I thought, oh fuck, what the hell does it matter what I thought? You obviously aren't interested in me that way. My mistake, okay? Just forget about it." Chakotay gave a stunned gasp before he forced his voice to remain relatively calm as he answered. "What made you think I *was* interested in you, Tom?" he asked carefully. "You've been watching me, haven't you?" Tom snapped back defensively. "I mean what was I supposed to think when every time I turned around I found your eyes on my ass?" "I - " "No, don't bother saying it, Commander. I realise now that it was my own imagination. I just saw what I wanted to see, obviously. I mean why the hell would you want anything to do with a loser like me? Shit, I should have realised that the only thing you wanted to do with my ass was kick it," Tom said bitterly. "Tom, I - " "Please let me go, Commander," Tom begged, twisting his wrist against Chakotay's firm grasp, his eyes suspiciously bright. "I'm only letting you go on one condition, Tom," Chakotay replied softly, his face unreadable. "What condition," Tom asked, flinching. "That you have dinner with me tomorrow night," Chakotay replied. It seemed to take a few moments for Chakotay's words to sink in, then the misery on Tom's face was chased away by dawning hope. "You, you mean like a, a date kind of dinner?" he asked nervously. "Yes, a date kind of dinner," Chakotay confirmed, his own heart soaring. A tear dripped from one of Tom's glistening eyes, but the smile on his face was radiant. "I'd like that," he said with shy simplicity. Chakotay released Tom's wrist and stood up. "2030, my quarters. Don't be late, Ensign." Tom grinned. "No, Sir, Commander, Sir," Tom replied with a cocky mock-salute. "Do you want me to bring anything?" he added more seriously. Chakotay paused, reached down and ran the tip of his index finger gently under one of Tom's tear-filled eyes. Then, bringing his wet finger to his own lips, he sucked on the salt-taste with the same display of sensuous pleasure that Tom had with his orange juice. "Ummm," he purred. "Just dessert, I think." Tom's eyes widened in shock as Chakotay gave him a wink, turned and prowled out of the bar. He was still sitting in stunned contemplation of how sexy Chakotay's finger sucking had been when Harry slid into the seat vacated by the Commander. "Well?" he demanded. Tom's expression transformed into a triumphant smirk. It was answer enough for Harry. "Shit, you really went ahead with it?" "I told you I would," Tom drawled carelessly. "You're playing with fire, Tom. I've seen the way he looks at you. This isn't just a casual thing for him. He'll kill you if he finds out." "Why the hell will he ever find out, Harry? He wants my ass, I want my rank back. It's business, that's all. Once I've got what I wanted, I'll let him down nicely. Hell, I can probably get him to finish with me instead. Cleaner that way." Harry bit his lower lip. "I don't think it's going to be that easy, Tom. The Commander doesn't take relationships lightly. You're biting off more than you can chew here." "Look, I've kept my nose clean for months and the Captain hasn't even suggested that I will *ever* get my rank back. I know how these things work, Harry. So either I sleep with *her* or I sleep with him. Either way, I end up getting that pip back on my shoulder, and given the choice, I reckon Chakotay is probably the better fuck." Harry's mouth gaped. "I can't believe you said that, Tom, and I really don't see why the hell it matters anyway. You're still Chief Pilot, you kept your Lieutenant's quarters, nothing's changed at all except your title. Are you sure you aren't just using this as an excuse to do something that you subconsciously want to do anyway?" "Get real, Harry," Tom scoffed. "It's just a game. It's like poker, that's all. Whoever bluffs the best, wins the pot." Harry just shrugged and hid his worry behind a reluctant smile. Just as he had seen Chakotay checking out Tom's ass, he hadn't failed to notice Tom's evident fascination with the Commander. He had a horrible feeling that the only person who would end up really hurt at the end of this "game" was Tom. TBC