The Lounge Lizard


by Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Artwork (c) 2001 by Voyeur. All Rights Reserved.

Illustration of The Lounge Lizard

Paris had to admit (privately to himself and deny it if ever asked) that this hologram bar had some definite advantages over his own creation, Sandrine’s. More popular with the rest of the crew, too. And the main reason was currently pounding the keys of the piano right now, dressed in a glittering sky-blue dress jacket:
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"Well it's only a paper moon,
Sailing under a cardboard sky,
But it wouldn't be make-believe,
If you believed in me."

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Paris grunted in partial annoyance, partial amusement. It was doing him, now. Ensign Dobbs had really done it. Setting up a casino lounge was a good idea (especially when the slot machines worked with ration points and Dobbs was the “house” that got the percentage), but this lounge lizard was what kept dragging them back even when they learned not to hit the slots. Not to drink or even to listen to the music, but for that door to open just one more time. And while you waited, maybe putting a single ration point on the line on the slot machine would be worthwhile just this once...and then just one more, to see if the machine was ready to hit yet....
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The door opened and every eye turned to see who it was. Ensign Kim. And then to the piano player, who shifted tunes in mid-note:
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“Well, you can take this job and shove it!
I ain’t working here no more!”

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“You’ve got that right.” Kim muttered. Then, “Hey, Tom!”
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“Come on over, buddy, the drink’s on me.” Paris said. He let Kim take the glass of synthehol and belt it back, feel it settle in his stomach before he spoke. “Rough shift on Klimsakka, huh?”
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“God, you’d better believe it!” Kim said feelingly. “I’m now personna non grata down there.”
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“Along with more than half the crew.” Paris agreed. “At least. Drink up, you’ll feel better in a moment.”
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“If the Klims would only let us take tranquilizer doses before beaming down....” Kim was off and running; Paris kept his face regular and made sympathetic noises. After all, he’d heard it all before...often.
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It wasn’t the Klims’ fault. Though possessing a rich mental and emotional culture, they had nothing physical beyond that of brute animals (lacking even hands). They communicated by giving off a constant subsonic vibration, which tied them together telepathically. They could also read human minds, and so knew that the Voyager crew weren’t out to harm them, and they had basically thrown their planet open to the Voyager crew, giving the crew free reign to take what they wanted from their Class M planet and its myriad supplies of very-edible, human-friendly, downright-tasty vegetation without repayment of any sort. After all, the climate was temperate (to them, that is, it was rather hot to humans), the food was plentiful (they were herbivorous and ate the very grass that grew everywhere) and water as well, which flowed in streams and rivers and lakes in abundance. No, they needed nothing from humans, just take what you wish, we don’t care, that summed up their feelings.
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But this also meant that the human crew had to go down on the planet and wrest from the very soil and plant and animal life everything that was needed. This would have been difficult enough, but the Klims’ subsonic vibration, which permeated the entire planet like a single, unending note, resonated in the human ears on a distinctly subconscious level, the psychic equivalent of itching powder.
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And since the Klims read minds on a constant and automatic level, they experienced human emotions, all of them, in a sort of ten-fold manner. Tranquilizer doses caused a human’s mental waves to send the Klims into a sort of stupor, and the anger of an untranquilized human was nearly as bad; anger was picked up by the Klims, who would automatically rebroadcast it telepathically all over their world and so it would resonate asymptotically for hours and leave the Klims with a quite permanent and unreasoning hatred of that person ever afterwards. They were nice about it, but they also didn’t want that person on their planet any longer.
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So the crew of Voyager was in the near-impossible position of beaming down to collect useful but raw supplies by dint of sheer physical labor, without any help from medications, suffering what was the sonic equivalent of itching powder in their clothing, and when there attempt to keep calm no matter what little vicissitudes occurred and no matter how much the subsonics exaggerated their emotions, for if they ever got actually angry, Janeway’s only choice was to immediately bring the offending crewman back up to Voyager and ship someone else down to take his place. Trouble is, after three weeks of this, she was quite simply running out of crewmen!
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“Take B’Elanna for example.” Paris continued with the calm coolness of a man who had never experienced the sonic vibrations. “She must have set the record for the shortest time on Klimsakka. How long did she last, five seconds?”
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“Four.” Harry grinned. “I was there when someone bumped her elbow right after transit. I knew she had a temper, but I never knew she was that high-strung. She has a lot more mental control over her emotions than we give her credit for.”
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“And I was here when she walked in earlier today.” Paris grinned. “She arrived to the tune of ‘Pistol Packing Mamma.’ She was still angry at being thrown off the planet. Like it was an experience everyone hasn’t been enjoying lately.” Paris agreed. “Another drink?”
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“Thanks.” Kim nodded. “Actually, I came here hoping for a friendly ear to bend. Thanks for listening.”
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“The upshot of that lounge lizard,” Paris nodded to the black-haired man with a glittering sky-blue coat, “is that you don’t really have to tell anyone your problems. He lets everyone know the minute you walk in.”
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The real genius of Ensign Dobb’s work, he had designed the lounge-lizard hologram to “play something appropriate” for everyone who came in the door. While he denied it, he must have given instructions for the computer to tap recent events in the person’s life from the ship’s log, which were supposed to be confidential, and even to analyze stress tones in a person’s voice or mannerisms.
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Of course, all the lounge lizard did with all this personal information was select a song that expressed that person’s current mood and situation, and as Ensign Dobbs pointed out with angelic innocence, nobody had to come into the holodeck while his program was running, they were getting a holodeck experience for free, after all. And as with Harry Kim, it was a real timesaver; you could count on sympathy from your friends the minute the lounge lizard crooned out your woes. Which made the lounge, and thus the slot machines, even more desirable. Yep, it was a touch of real genius; while Paris didn’t run such scams any longer, he had to admit that Ensign Dobbs had him outgunned all the way around.
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Ensign Kim looked over at the slots. “You know, I think I’ll give those things another whirl in a little bit. My luck is bound to change. I mean, I always have some bad luck and then some good luck, and with just being kicked off an entire planet, I’m due for a change, don’t you think?”
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Paris watched as Kim’s eyes wandered over the machines longingly. Yep, Ensign Dobbs had him thoroughly outclassed. Kim used to be his pigeon....
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“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jo-leeeeene!
I’m begging of you please don’t take my man!
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jo-leeeeene!
Please don’t take him just because you can!”

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“Ah, shit!” Paris said, polished off his drink and got up. He didn’t mind the lounge lizard’s emotive antics between visitor entrances usually (after all, nobody could tell just who the lounge lizard was singing about at such times), but that was just too much! Some emotions should be private!
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He turned and nearly bumped into Chakotay. “Ah, Paris, just the man I was looking for.” he said.
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“Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.” Paris said, grinned.
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Chakotay smiled back, they had been sharing this ship long enough to reach an understanding. A good thing, because it had been pretty grotty at first. “You haven’t been down on the planet yet, have you?”
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“No-o-o-o.” Paris said carefully.
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“Good. We’re on the last few shipments, and we’re running out of people the Klims haven’t eighty-sixed from their world. Come with me and we’ll pull a shift. The Captain thinks if we put a lot of people on the job, we might finish gathering the supplies without having to send down the Doctor to finish up. So everyone is tapped for duty, including you and me.”
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“How about sending the Doctor with Tuvok and Seven of Nine? Better them than me.” Paris said.
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Chakotay looked at him, frowned slightly. “If you’re refusing the job....”
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“No, no!” Paris said quickly. “Just not looking forward to it.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think Chakotay was about to lose his temper! At him, naturally, damn it! Well, Chakotay had to beam down to the planet from time to time to check on things, it must be wearing on him after all these weeks.
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“Join the club. And join me in the Transporter Room in fifteen minutes. Ah, Lieutenant Gruder, there you are.”
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“Run, Doris!” Paris jocularly called out. “Save yourself while you still can!” Then the grin evaporated from his face as he contemplated the hours ahead. “Oh, God!” he said as it sunk in. Itching powder and blistered hands, toiling in hot weather while sweat poured off of him....
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“Your turn on the planet at last, huh, Tom?” Kim said sympathetically.
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Paris just glared at him.
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Kim laughed and raised his glass. “You’re right, Tom! I’m feeling better already!”
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“Who’s sorry, now! Who’s sorry, now!” warbled the lounge lizard.
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“Ah, shut up!” snarled Paris at the lounge lizard as he passed by him, leaving the holodeck to people who didn’t have anything else to do.
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* * * * *
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Two hours later, Paris lifted up onto his knees, pressed his hands into the small of his back and groaned, looked around at the broad field they were working quite alone. Only a “cool tent”, a pocket of air-conditioned comfort for their breaks, broke the monotony of this land. “Uhhhh! I’m dying here.” he complained. The mound of turnip-looking roots he had been grubbing out was annoyingly small. And their orders were to get as many as they could, for these ugly looking roots cooked up into a flavorful delight in Neelix’s hands, they had to get some full, undamaged plants, too, to raise in the hydroponics chambers.
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Chakotay looked up from his own section. “We still have half a hectare to go.” He pointed out. They were alone in the field, accompanied only by a tent-looking structure they got to use far too rarely for their breaks.
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“Yeah. This field must be twice the size of any of the others. Nice going, volunteering us for it.” he griped as he resumed. He hating rooting in the soil like a farmer, why couldn’t he have been put to work in the detail working that impromptu mine rich in copper and silver ores, instead of this semi-arid plain? To top it off, he was sweating like a son-of-a-bitch! He and Chakotay had both doffed their jackets long before, and Paris was seriously considering removing the rest of his clothing if it got any damned hotter here! Work naked!
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Chakotay looked over with annoyance, his broad shoulders making him look rather bull-like in his four-footed posture, and said, “I had hoped that we could set a good example for the rest of the crew.” he said, scowling.
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“So we get the worst scavenging job I’ve ever been on.” Paris grumped.
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“Look, Paris, I’ve had enough of your lip today!” Chakotay grunted. “Why can’t you ever just take an order from me and have done with it? Do you always have to argue with me?”
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“Do you always have to look at me when you have a dirty job to do?” Paris retorted.
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“I don’t do that.”
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“Then name one order you’ve given me other than ship course-changes that wasn’t a shit detail?” Paris challenged.
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A palpable silence. “I could think of one if I had to.”
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“But you can think of plenty that weren’t, right?”
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“Just button your lip, Paris.” Chakotay said, rising to his own knees. “And grub for the yamma-roots.”
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“Another shit detail.” Paris said, bending back down to the task of digging up another damned plant to whack off its roots and throw it onto the pile. “You’re really batting a thousand, Chakotay, just like you always do.” He said, crawling over to the next plant. They were too damned close together to bother getting up, he’d been crawling around this field on all fours. And it was hot, over 30 degrees Celsius, and the air was unsatisfying to his laboring lungs, and if he had to swat another insect away from buzzing or whining in his ears, he was going to fucking scream! And that subsonic, he could almost...almost!...hear it rather than feel it, it was shaking his entire body, making him itch, making him burn, making him sweat....
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He bumped Chakotay, they’d aimed at the same plant. “Hey, work your own stretch.” he challenged.
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“This is my part.” Chakotay snapped at him. They were face-to-face, eyes to eyes, both on all fours. It made Paris feel feral, animal, he was a dog defending his territory.
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“This is mine!”
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“Mine!” Chakotay’s lip curled up in a snarl.
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Paris didn’t quite remember lunging, he just knew that he was suddenly flinging himself toward Chakotay, that Chakotay turned and rolled and he was on top of Chakotay, then underneath.
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“Stop it, stop it!” Chakotay gasped out, restraining Paris’ flailing fists, blocking instead of punching.
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“What?” Paris panted.
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“Mustn’t fight.” Chakotay said. “Let’s take a break.”
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“Only been twenty minutes since the last one.” Paris pointed out. “The plan was ten minutes every hour.” But he was getting to his feet and looking at the cool tent.
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“We need one now.”
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“Yeah.” Paris ran to the cool tent, zippered it open, and lunged into the tent. Inside, it was a cool 15 degrees Celsius, Paris felt the heat being sucked from his body, and it felt great, great! He closed his eyes in immediate and utter bliss.
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“Move over.” Chakotay came in, pushing Paris aside, and Paris stumbled, turned at him, angry still and now this bastard who had dragged him down to this hell-planet was shoving him!
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“Watch it.”
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“You watch it.” Chakotay said. “You were blocking the door.”
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“Arrr!” growled Paris as he flung himself at Chakotay again, and they fell together onto the padded mattress on the floor. Yet as they landed, he was the one who came to his senses. “Mustn’t fight.” he said to Chakotay, his arms around that too-warm body, his nose filled with the smell of man, salty, hot, like a racehorse after a race. His chest couldn’t seem to pull in enough air, and he felt stuck to Chakotay, literally stuck to him, like a fly on flypaper, fastened fast.
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“Yeah.” Chakotay said to him, his breath washing over Paris’ face, sweet-smelling, but warm, very warm and wet. “Got to remember, it’s just this planet. We’re not really mad at each other.”
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“Yeah.” Paris looked down at Chakotay, the way the sweat was beaded and dotted on his forehead. “You’re hot and sweaty.” Paris observed.
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“So are you.” Chakotay said. “Get off of me.” But his voice was curiously soft and smooth. He licked his lips, and they shone with a luster of their own.
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“Why?” Paris whispered and then his lips reached themselves down and met with Chakotay’s. There was no question of seduction, no words or gestures were needed. He was kissing Chakotay because that was what there was to do. He wondered vaguely if the Klims were exercising mind control. It didn’t feel like it, this just felt...right. If you can’t fight a man, what else is there, to ease the tension and exercise the body and form the bond that a fight can bring you, the bond of matching strength for strength, wrestling and taking the measure of the other? The answer was singular...and obvious. That was why he was kissing Chakotay.
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And being kissed. It was odd, there was passion in that kiss but no real regard for the other person, no tenderness. It was like sheer raw rut was all that was present, he didn’t need to be gentle, or considerate, get it in and get off, now, now! Use this big, brown body, use him hard, who cares if he squeals in pain as you shove it in!
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And the hands that were on his back...they were taking him in the same way. Touching him not to stimulate his body, but because that was just what Chakotay wanted to do, his pleasure was secondary, ephemeral and unimportant...except what he made important by doing himself! It wasn’t cooperation that their bodies were engaged in, each was striving only for his own joys, but the end result was about the same.
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Paris tugged that sweat-drenched shirt from Chakotay’s body, it ripped as he pulled at it, shit, who cares about that, rip it on off of him! Then the soaking wet cotton clung to Chakotay’s body like a second skin, but peeled from him like a snake’s skin goes, then his head was popping through the neckband like a cork from a bottle, and then the arms sidled it on off and Paris threw the damp mess away from them.
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He started to remove his own top but Chakotay said, “No, wait!”
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“What?” Paris gasped, frozen.
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“Leave it on.”
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“All of it?” Paris was puzzled.
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“Just the top part.” And Chakotay’s hands caught Paris’ waistband and opened the fly and fished inside, found Paris’ glory and power there, clutched it in blinding electric light of ignited passion.
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“Guh!” Paris groaned as his cock was encircled, engulfed, wrung out by Chakotay’s fist, precome pouring out of him and filling the cooling air with steamy hot salty promises, and Paris had to stand up, wrench his cock free from Chakotay, kick off his boots with the toes of his other foot one by one, help Chakotay with his, Chakotay still lying there, his broad chest heaving up and down like the swells of some primeval oceanic soup and its load of potential life. Paris felt his trousers fall to his ankles as he wrestled with Chakotay’s boots and then his socks and his pants, skinning the man naked, totally naked, and then with his own uniform only pushed down and not off, he climbed back into those hot arms, hot, too hot, it was making him dizzy, ready to faint!
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He felt Chakotay’s hands on his cock like a faraway dream, the sensations lost in the maelstrom that pounded in his senses and coursed through his veins, he could only ride out the waves, wait for the tempest to abate, and then find his bearings and plot a course of action.
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His whole world was Chakotay’s face, he realized he was down on all fours, that Chakotay’s legs were around his waist, that his hands were... “Oh, God!” He heaved as the moist sphincter clutched and suckled at his glans. “God, I’m...no...no lubrication....” He gasped out.
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“I don’t care.” Chakotay dismissed it and that was it, and Paris felt himself swallowed up whole. Jeez, what a sensation, he couldn’t control his own body, he was a passenger in this trolley of lust, feeling everything but not driving it, he could only ride it on out and see where the next stop was.
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He put his hands in the bends of Chakotay’s knees, pinning the legs back, and his body moved as it wanted to; Paris looked down into eyes that gleamed with satisfaction and slitted in passion, closed in ecstasy, opened again in gratitude.
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“Yeah, come on, give it to me hard!” Chakotay grunted. “Come on, harder, harder!”
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“You got it.” Paris said and now with some degree of control, began to buck his hips into Chakotay’s willing body, his cock swam in a warmly moist channel that clutched and milked at him, damn, that turned him on! He felt his climax climbing up his spine like a monkey on a tree branch and he groaned, “Ah, ah, not yet, damn, damn!” The monkey would not be contained, Paris felt his cock seem to swell up to ten times its size, all of the size was screaming in need, a tower of impending explosion, he grunted in frustration, hold it back, hold it back, no, not yet, no, no, NO, “HUH-GUH, HHHHH!” Paris growled in sheer frustration, shit, damn, not yet, God, no, uh, uh, shit, his sperm boiled out of him and churned up a frothy mixture in Chakotay’s bowels, too damned quick, he would have loved to fuck Chakotay for a while, make the man scream over and over again and instead, he was coming like an overeager teenager!
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“God, uh, gah, damn it!” Paris snarled. “Too damned soon! Guh!” The air was cool but still didn’t have the power to reach his oxygen-starved lungs, he could only fall onto his side and off from Chakotay, while sweat borne not from heat but from climax broke out anew on his face and hands and legs, he felt clammy and cold and unsatisfied. “Shit!” He snarled from lying on his back, turned onto his side away from Chakotay, closed his eyes and just wished this whole fucking mission was over with.
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He didn’t identify the sounds he heard, they didn’t seem to mean anything, a grumbling and an expectoration of something liquid. Then he felt it and the sounds translated, Chakotay had lubed up his cock with his spit and was about to ram it inside of his butt! “Uh, uh, gah!” He gasped out, all he could say before suddenly his world was being stretched out around a baseball bat shoved up his ass! “GUH, UH, GAH!” He groaned.
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“Shut up, it’s your turn now.” snarled Chakotay, he wasn’t being gentle, not at all, shit, Paris thought, what had he invited here, showing his ass to the frustrated Indian after humping his butt. Tell him to get it out, get it out!
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Then...astonishment. Somewhere inside of him, that large baseball bat was the finger that was flipping a toggle-switch inside of him...and that big cock suddenly felt just the right size!
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“You got something to say to me, Lieutenant.” Chakotay panted in his ear, his lips a scant inch away from them.
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“Yeah.” Paris groaned. “Do it some more!”
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“Like this?” Chakotay bobbed his buttocks back and forth and that toggle-switch turned out to have two settings, both meaning “on full!”
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“Yeah, shit, yeah!” Paris grunted. “Fuck, I’ve been missing out on this. Give it to me, stud, harder, faster, yeah, yeah!”
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Chakotay began to fuck his ass and Paris bit on the knuckle of his index finger and just moaned at the feeling, this new, totally new and incredible feeling. God, he was being fucked, he had another man’s cock up his ass, and it was great, just great! Shit, he’d already had most of the free women on the ship, he could now work through the men. Start with Harry, yeah, use the door code he wasn’t supposed to know, walk in on Harry late one night, the young ensign asleep with a pounding erection, yank off the covers and wake him up by plunging that turgid pud right into his ass! Then work around the ship, all the men, alphabetical order, maybe....
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Chakotay rolled Paris onto his stomach and face and the thrusts got harder and Paris groaned. Maybe he didn’t need all the men. Quality was better than quantity, after all, and this was feeling just great!
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Chakotay was fucking him hard, Paris felt the big dong getting hotter by the moment, and knew that he was about to get a heavy load of jizz right in his ass. Oh, shit, the thought of that, of having a hot, heavy, stingingly salty load of jism bubbling in his ass! He was going to come again, again! “Oh, oh, God, fuck me, Chakotay, fuck me!”
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“Uh, uh, huh, hah, hah, uh, guh!” Chakotay panted. “Uh-uh-guh-ggh-gh-huh-gunnnhhh!”
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There it was, there it was! Heavy splats of hot come was hitting his innards, that was it, he had a man’s come in his ass and... “Uh, uh, oh, GAHHH!” Paris gasped and felt his cock bravely jetting a new load, weaker by an entire order of magnitude than before, it still worked its magic on his dick, he felt a tingling that raced through his body like a thousand sparks of fire and which settled on his body and pulsed there, sparking in unison before becoming so many glowing coals that cooled slowly into black warmth, which lingered and waited, dying slowly away.
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Chakotay nearly fell on him, but rolled off instead to lie beside him. Paris raised onto his elbows, looked over at the pleasure-wracked face, beaten to a pulp by the passions that wrenched it from within a moment before, making it softer, slack, almost numb-looking.
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Then Chakotay looked over at Paris. “Are you all right?” he asked Paris.
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“More than all right.” Paris assured him. “Damn, that was good!”
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Chakotay grinned, relief and pleasure at the praise. “You weren’t half-bad yourself.” he said.
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“Half-bad?” Paris pretended to be astonished. “Get me out of this farm cum sauna we’re in and I’ll show you a few tricks you haven’t seen before.”
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“Deal.” Chakotay said. “You ready to tackle the outside again?”
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“Yeah.” Paris said. “Bet I can pull more of those yamma-roots than you can before the next break.”
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“Bet what?”
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“Winner fucks the loser.”
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“Okay, you’re on.” Chakotay said, checked his chronometer. “It’s now 1530 hours, we break next at 1630.”
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“Assuming we don’t kill each other first.” Paris said as he pulled up his pants and fastened them. “The subsonic signal....” He paused. “You know, I don’t feel the signal right now.”
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“Me, either.” Chakotay said. “Maybe they’re asleep or something. Let’s get the job done while we still can.”
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Paris stepped out into the hot afternoon. Even the heat didn’t seem so bad right now. And it didn’t bother him for nearly a half hour, either, and when it did, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t live with.
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He and Chakotay had somehow beaten Klimsakka. They could stay here as long as they needed to.
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* * * * *
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“Stress reduction techniques.” was all Paris would tell Kim when he got back aboard ship and had a badly needed shower.
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“I don’t believe that.” scoffed Kim. “Lots of people tried meditation, it didn’t help them.”
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“They didn’t do it right.” Paris assured him. “There’s Chakotay.” Kim said. “I’ll ask him.”
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“Let’s do.” Paris agreed. “Hey, Chakotay, tell Kim here how we managed to stay on Klimsakka longer than anyone else.”
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Chakotay’s face went opaque. “We simply figured out a way to cope with it.” he said.
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“That tells me nothing.” Kim said. “Come on, Tom, I’ll buy you a drink. You too, sir, if you’d like.”
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“Never turn down a free drink.” Paris said, taking Chakotay’s arm in what looked like a friendly gesture.
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Chakotay let Kim get ahead of them and whispered. “You sure you want to let people know what happened down there? I thought we agreed to keep it a secret.”
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“Hey, how are they going to find out?” Paris said as he followed Kim through the door.
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And the sound hit him.
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“What would the people say?
What would the people do?
What would people think
if they knew I was here with you?
Making lo-o-ove, making love!
Making lo-o-ove, making love!”

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“Shit.” Paris said as the sea of faces regarded him, holding Chakotay’s arm. All he could do was wait it all out, deal with it later.
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“I don’t care what they say,
I don’t care what they do,
I don’t care what they think about,
All I ever really want is yo-o-ou!
Making lo-o-ove, making love!
Making lo-o-ove, making love!”

THE END
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E-mail me at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM