Summer Solstice Sorrows


By Britta

"I should sacrifice you to the sun god, Tom." Chakotay straddled his naked lover and frowned as menacingly as he could without meaning it.
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"You don't have a sun god, Chakotay," Tom replied dully.
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Chakotay shifted position, his erection making itself known to Tom's belly. "Maybe not, but my people observe this day with worship and attention to family, community, and the sun which sustains us. We celebrate joyously for the most part, but there are also rituals you can perform to make up for your lack of attention to any and/or all of the above." He leaned down and touched noses with Tom, who shut his eyes quickly, but not before Chakotay caught a glimpse of uncertainty.
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"Uh, Chakotay? I know we missed a couple of holidays, like Flag Day and Juneteenth..."
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"We also missed Father's Day, if I recall rightly," Chakotay said.
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"Yeah, well, we both have reasons for that one," Tom snapped.
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Chakotay scowled and rose; Tom not making a move to stop him. He then disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door as he thought back over the last several days.

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Tom knew he was being a shit, but he couldn't help the feelings that overwhelmed him at times. First there were the military holidays, then the nationalistic ones, and to top it off, Father's Day, at least in his part of the universe. He rolled onto his side and wondered how the hell he was supposed to feel sexual in the face of all the reminders of childhood, and childish failings.
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Fuck. Chakotay deserved better from him; he realized his comment about Father's Day was a low blow. Just because he didn't want to recollect every substandard gift he'd given his father--according to his Dad's reactions to them--didn't mean Chakotay needed to be reminded that he couldn't give his father anything at all.
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Tom curled into a ball on the bed and thought about that. Both he and Chakotay had issues with their fathers, the only difference being that he, at least, had a snowball's chance in hell to do something about it since his father was still living. All Chakotay could do was remember how it had been between Kolopak and himself.
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Feeling supremely selfish, Tom got off the bed and knocked on the bathroom door.
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"Come in."
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The voice sounded subdued and a little nasal, as if the steam in the room was congesting its owner. Tom moved inside carefully, nearly blind in the thick billows of white vapor, and closed the door behind him. He spied Chakotay in the bathtub, squeezing a sponge over his head so that the water ran down his face and neck. Tom wondered if it was a form of camouflage to mask the tears he may have caused.
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"Hey, can I jump in there with you?" he asked.
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Chakotay replied neutrally, "If you want."
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Tom climbed into the tub and sat between Chakotay's legs. He waited for Chakotay to pull him back to rest against his chest, but that didn't happen. He sat forward, uncomfortable with just about everything, then thought the hell with it, and dropped backwards trusting Chakotay to catch him.
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He landed hard against his lover, his neck connecting with a fist which was squashed back against Chakotay. The man squawked in surprise, "Tom!"

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Chakotay removed his hand and flexed his fingers as water sloshed everywhere. Grabbing the sponge that floated in the water, he loosed its load over Tom's face and waited for a reaction. He didn't get one. Tom lay against his chest silently and apparently calm, yet Chakotay could feel the tension in his lover's body. It seemed as if Tom was concentrating very hard on something that took his thoughts far away.
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He didn't feel too great himself, what with all his pent up lust that Tom couldn't seem to respond to lately. Sighing with resignation, he figured there must more going in that blond head than he'd bargained for. Slowly, he began to wash Tom's face.
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Keeping his motions as gentle and nonsexual as he could, he moved the sponge down to Tom's neck. He rested his chin on Tom's shoulder and watched, nearly mesmerized by his hands' actions as they brought a lather to the wavy hairs on Tom's chest. His thoughts wandered back to the first time he'd played on that field, getting a hair caught in his teeth and....
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Tom's voice took him by surprise, jerking him back to reality. "You don't know what Juneteenth is, do you?"
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Chakotay kept washing, sliding lower and lower with each pass of the sponge. "No. I don't. Tell me about it."
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"Juneteenth celebrates the freedom of over 250,000 U.S. slaves in June of 1865. They were officially free over two years earlier, but it took federal troops to make it happen in Galveston, Texas."
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"I see. That would be a holiday worth celebrating. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" Chakotay kept his voice low even as his hands moved to cup Tom's genitals tenderly. Gods, just touching Tom turned on him so much. He let go of the sponge and it floated down around their feet.
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The water was still warm and soap was everywhere. Under the guise of cleanliness, Chakotay stroked Tom, hoping for a twitch, a vibration, anything that could be called arousal. He was so close to coming, just hearing Tom's voice might send him over the edge.
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Tom hissed and relaxed, then said softly, "We're in the middle of Forgiveness Week."
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Chakotay could feel when Tom stopped thinking, because when he did, his cock hardened in Chakotay's hand. Sensing victory just around the corner, Chakotay replied, "We are?"
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"Yeah." Tom began to breathe faster and squirm under Chakotay's firm grasp.
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"What do you want me to do, Tom?" Chakotay kissed his lover's throat, feeling his own hard dick slide against the soap-slicked skin of Tom's back. Gods, it felt good, if only he could rub a little harder...and then miraculously, Tom obliged him.
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Tom moved his hips up and down in the cooling water, twisted his head to look at Chakotay and panted, "You could forgive me for not being there for you lately, and for what I said earlier."
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Chakotay pumped Tom's erection until it swelled even more in his hand, then kissed Tom hard as their orgasms hit. Moments later, he wrapped his arms around Tom and murmured, "Consider it done."
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Now if only Tom could forgive his father.

THE END

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E-mail me at Britta