Going Too Far By Morticia C/P Set six months after "A Patter of Little Feet". Rating: R Warnings: The Mort is back! "Going Too Far" "I've been thinking, Chak," Tom said brightly. Chakotay closed his eyes and cringed a little under the duvet. Oblivious to his lover's reaction, Tom stared thoughtfully at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. The candles were spluttering down into misshapen puddles on the dining table, but their dying orange flames were still casting a romantic haze through the open bedroom door, causing the walls to ripple with a myriad of flickering shapes. "You still awake?" Tom demanded, as Chakotay's silence finally registered with him. Chakotay contemplated faking a snore, then sighed in resignation. Best to get it over and done with, he decided. "Yeah, honey. What have you been thinking?" he asked, trying to match Tom's enthusiastic tone, but failing miserably. It had been a hell of a day. Voyager had inadvertently trespassed into the middle of a hotly-contested part of spacial real estate. The alien protagonists had apparently both simultaneously decided that Voyager was part of the opposite flotilla, and despite their protestations of neutrality, Voyager had been badly damaged in the skirmish before they had managed to limp to the safety of the border. As always, their close call had sparked that most instinctive of reactions to danger. Sex. Tom had been relieved from the helm a couple of hours before Chakotay had escaped the bridge and had spent the time preparing a romantic candlelit supper. It was still lying untouched on the table. Chakotay had already been stripping as he walked through the door, had propelled a barely protesting Tom into the bedroom and had proceeded to prove to them both that they had definitely, and undisputedly, survived the earlier encounter. Now, Chakotay was in that hazy, satiated state where sleep would have automatically descended, except for the decidedly uncomfortable wet spot under his left thigh. *How come the wet spot is always on my side of the bed?* he pondered morosely, as he waited for Tom's latest pearl of wisdom. He was already preparing his automatic stock answer of, "Yes, honey," when Tom's sentence knifed him in the guts. "I think I should write a will," Tom said casually. *What the fuck?* Chakotay's eyes snapped open and he swivelled onto his side to regard Tom's profile. Tom turned his head apologetically, his blue eyes almost black in the shadowy room. "I know we had a close shave today, Tom, but don't you think you're over-reacting a little?" Chakotay asked gently. Tom gave him a reassuring smile. "I *know* it sounds morbid, Chak, but hear me out, please. I mean, what if something *did* happen to me? There's all my stuff. Well not *that* much stuff, I guess, but still. And there's Christy, too. I have a responsibility to her, don't I? To make sure she's okay, I mean." Chakotay fumbled for a reply, as his heart plummeted. He really couldn't deal with this conversation right now. He was too tired, too emotionally drained. "Tom, she's not just *your* dog, she's *ours*, at least that's what you say. Come to think of it, she's always *my* dog when she misbehaves. If, and I mean *if* anything happened to you, and it's not going to anyway, but *if* it did, you know I'd look after her. "And as for your stuff, what the hell do you think I'd do with it? I mean, I mean, if anything happened to you, I'd, I'd, oh SHIT, Tom, what a fucking STUPID conversation." "Damn, Chakotay, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that Harry and I were talking after shift. He said he'd written a will and told me where he filed it, just in case, you know. Anyway, I figured it was a good idea, that's all." "It IS a good idea," Chakotay agreed reluctantly, forcing himself to deal rationally with what was, after all, a fair point. "Maybe you are right. Maybe I should write one too. I mean, I can't imagine Kathryn refusing to let either of us keep each other's property if something *did* happen, but still, Starfleet Regs are clear on the subject. In the absence of a legal spouse or a will, all personal property is put into storage until it is claimed by blood relatives." "Yeah, well, Christy wouldn't appreciate being put in a storage locker, would she?" Tom sniped. "So this is all about that damned dog?" Chakotay spat back. Tom sat up abruptly. "Damned dog? DAMNED DOG? You are fucking unbelievable, Chak. How can you talk about Christy like that?" Chakotay sighed, he hadn't meant to snap at all, let alone curse the dog. Hell, he *loved* the dog. Tom had been right about the puppy. Whenever he got back to their quarters before Tom, Christy's welcome at least went part way to filling the aching gap of Tom's absence. It was just that *nothing* would ever fill the horrific gap of Tom's permanent absence. Just the thought of it made him feel nauseous. "Sorry honey, it's just that you upset me. When you mentioned writing a will, it just made me so aware of the possibility that you *might* die. I can't bear the thought. That's all," he confessed quietly. "I'm sorry," Tom muttered contritely. "I never thought. You're right. It was a stupid idea." "No, it wasn't. You *were* right. I should have considered the legal aspects of our relationship before now. Hell, we've been together 18 months. It's time we made it legal. Forget the will, let's get married." Tom squealed in excitement. "Married? MARRIED?" "Well, it solves the Christy problem *and* the will problem, doesn't it?" Chakotay demanded. "Yeah, I guess so," Tom replied hesitantly. Fear clenched Chakotay's heart. "I mean if you *do* want to marry me, of course," he added nervously. *Fuck, what an unromantic proposal,* he berated himself. Tom chewed his lower lip pensively. "It's just such a *surprise*," he muttered. "I mean, you've never even mentioned the word before. Maybe we should sleep on it, you can ask me again in the morning if you haven't changed your mind." "Thomas Eugene Paris, I love you and I want to marry you. Now, tomorrow, forever. Nothing is going to change my mind, dammit." Tom chewed his thumbnail thoughtfully, his limpid eyes searching Chakotay's face for evidence of its sincerity. "Well," he finally mumbled. "If you're sure ..." Chakotay growled deep in his throat. Tom grinned. "S'okay, you *are* sure. Then YES, Chak, I'll marry you." "You will? You're sure?" "Of course I'm sure," Tom replied smugly. Chakotay swooped down, thrusting his tongue feverishly between Tom's welcoming lips. He could still taste himself in Tom's mouth. His groin stirred feebly at the memory of Tom's velvet embrace. Fuck, he was too tired, he reluctantly decided, and instead contented himself with wrapping Tom firmly in his arms and pulling him down to snuggle against his chest. As Tom's head nuzzled into his neck, Chakotay closed his eyes blissfully and began to drift off into sleep, smiling happily at the memory of Tom's happy smile. Tom's happy smile. Tom's SMUG smile. He shot back up in bed, suddenly wide-awake, tumbling Tom off his chest. "YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Chakotay howled. "What did I do?" Tom asked with apparent bemusement. "I'm tired, Tom, not STUPID. You played me. You fucking played me again, didn't you?" Chakotay accused furiously. He couldn't believe Tom would be so devious, so underhand, so downright despicable. Fear flooded Tom's face at Chakotay's obvious rage. "Guess I went too far, huh?" he muttered apologetically. "Too far? You obviously don't even know the meaning of the words, Tom. You are a low, disgusting, amoral, son-of-a-bitch, Tom Paris!" Chakotay snarled in disgust. Tom absorbed the words quietly, his eyes filling with tears of remorse. "Does that mean you *won't* marry me, then?" he asked cautiously. Chakotay glared at him. Tom flinched. "Guess that's a no, then," he mumbled sadly. "Nope, it just mean's you're going to be married in pink," Chakotay replied with an evil grin. "Pink?" Tom asked in bemusement. "Yeah, pink," Chakotay growled, sliding to the edge of the bed, dragging Tom backwards until he was over his lap, and raising his palm. <smack> "OWCH!" Tom yelped. "What the hell do you think you are doing, Chak?" Chakotay grinned. "I've decided it's time you learned the value of the *straight- forward* approach, honey." <smack> *The End*