The Winner


By Britta

Tom Paris, cocksucker again.
*
Well, at least this time it had been by his own choice. He knew how much Chakotay wanted him, wanted to lay his hands all over his body. Refusing the older man made him feel as if he were in charge of his own sexual destiny, but it was a hollow victory, as his own arousal still needed to be dealt with.
*
Why he was turned on by touching Chakotay he didn't want to think about. All he knew was that he'd jacked off more times than he could count after tormenting his CO in one way or another; and not always sexually. A part of his heart wondered what it would be like to allow the Indian to have his way, for once.
*
He shrugged off that dangerous thought and let himself into his cabin, quickly discarding his clothes. Stepping into the shower, he lathered up and proceeded to beat off while indulging in forbidden fantasies.

=====

Chakotay stepped out of his pants and frowned as he removed the rest of his clothes. The parlor game he kept playing with Tom left his soul in an uneasy state this time. It was becoming a sickness and he wasn't sure he wanted to participate any longer.
*
It had begun as a control issue, and he'd lost again and again, letting Paris name the tune they would dance to, but now he was tired of it. The need for this equalization tactic had gone the way of their earlier murderous impulses, and, although the lust and anger were still apparent and obvious to each of them, some of those feelings were muted now.
*
A measure of mutual respect had surfaced over the years they'd been forced to work together and Chakotay wondered if that was why Tom's salvoes over the last several months hadn't contained the heated negativity he'd come to expect. As he got ready for bed, he vowed to put a stop to their game, by winning, the next time he had the opportunity to do so.

=====

I want to suck his cock until he's hard enough to fuck me.
*
Tom Paris rolled around in his bed and wondered where that thought came from. He knew immediately to whom it referred, but he didn't want to face the facts. It had been weeks since he'd last sparred with Chakotay, and won--as usual.
*
Still, this interval between hands of their game had been different. In the normal course of their daily activities, he hadn't had much of an opportunity to stand near the ex-rebel Captain and silently gloat like he usually did. It appeared that Chakotay was avoiding him.
*
Whenever they were off duty at the same time, Chakotay was nowhere to be found. Tom had looked for him, unconsciously, or so he told himself. But, the man had become invisible. Tom had to admit that he didn't like this change in their routine. Not seeing Chakotay in safe, familiar surroundings such as the resort or Sandrine's, where there was a buffer of other people, made him nervous.
*
What if he were to meet up with Chakotay in a deserted part of the ship, would Chakotay hurt him, or try to even their sexual score? As the days passed, Tom became more and more sensitized to Chakotay when he did see him, which was mostly when they were both on duty.
*
His mind would drift back to all their previous encounters when he least wanted it to; images of what they'd done springing forth to unsettle him. Recently, on several occasions the Captain had caught him when he wasn't paying attention. Being snapped at in front of the Bridge crew didn't make him feel any better, especially since it only seemed to happen when Chakotay was there.
*
Tom decided it was time to make another bet. He needed to get his hands, and other parts of his body, on or in the other man soon.

=====

Chakotay lay in bed after an intense meditation session where the issue of what to do about Tom Paris would not be solved. His mind was filled with the memories of all he'd allowed, and agreed to over the past few years, and now he wondered why he'd done it.
*
Why had he let Tom touch him, over and over? Chakotay acknowledged that he had not let any other member of the crew do the same. He rolled onto his side and snorted. Well, there was no other member of the crew, his crew or hers, that affected him the way Tom did. Damn. Part of him still wanted to kill Paris, yet, this game of theirs seemed to mitigate his anger. It was as if every time Tom brought him off, whether he asked to fuck, used his hand or his mouth, it somehow took more than just the juice out of the Commander.
*
Was Paris aware of it as well? Did he know what he was doing?
*
Chakotay punched his pillow into a lump and sighed as he realized how long it had been since Tom won their last bet. Part of him wanted to let go of the game and see what else could happen, but his dick had other ideas. It missed Tom's attention.
*
He thought about the pilot's behavior of late, and his own as well. The Captain was not happy with either of them. Luckily for him, she didn't bitch at him in public as she did Paris.
*
His hand moved to his cock as his mind replayed their last encounter. As usual, he imagined what it would be like to touch the blond. He wanted to feel that light skin under his fingertips, wanted to taste each and every freckle. His fist gripped his erection and he closed his eyes as he pumped away, picturing Tom lying in his arms, allowing him to feed his senses.
*
The imaginary scent, texture, and taste of Tom's body was the stuff wet dreams were made of, and yet, what Chakotay wanted most was the liberty to kiss the man and turn him from sex object into lover.
*
When his lips parted in a dream of meeting the other's, a wordless cry escaped him, and he shot his load all over his hand.

=====

Tom planned and plotted even as he waited for the time to be right. He tried to be patient, but it was difficult. Chakotay wasn't playing fair, wasn't allowing him the pleasure he used to get by silently lording his victory over the older man. It pissed him off and made him careless.
*
Harry came to him one evening in the mess hall. The young man slapped his dinner tray down beside Tom's and demanded in a low voice, "What the fuck is your problem lately?"
*
Paris peered up at his best friend and smoothly moved into total denial mode. "My problem? I don't have one. What are you talking about?" He shoved the food, if it could be called that, around his plate, smiled ingenuously, and said, "Why don't you join me?"
*
Kim glared at him and plopped into the nearest chair. Taking a bite of something unrecognizable, he chewed slowly, then swallowed and inquired seriously, "What's wrong with you? Don't lie to me either. I've seen the Captain getting on your case and I've been watching you screw up in small ways time and again over the last few weeks."
*
Tom took a slug of his water and pushed his tray aside. Harry the stubborn had arrived and would not let go of the subject. Shit. How the hell could he explain without giving anything away? He gazed at his best buddy and stalled for time.
*
Watching his friend choke down the Talaxian's offering of an entree for their evening meal, he finished his drink and set the glass aside. The decision made, he spoke up in a voice promising secrets, "Have you noticed that the only time I get bitched at is when Chakotay's nearby?"
*
Harry sucked down a huge amount of water, then peered at Tom with eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
*
Trying to deflect his friend's imagination, he made up his mind to play out one of the scenarios he'd prepared years ago, just in case this sort of thing happened. "I mean, the Captain only calls me on the carpet when he's around."
*
"So?"
*
"So, she wants to keep us at each other's throats. She doesn't like us, Harry." Ensign or not, Kim wasn't stupid and Tom worried that he wouldn't buy this explanation.
*
"Uh huh. So that's what bugging you." Harry finished his meal and sat back, waiting to be told more lies.
*
Tom wondered how good an actor Harry really was, but he couldn't tell. He gazed into those dark-brown eyes and couldn't see a thing. Fuck. He really didn't want Harry to find out what was on his mind. He also had to wonder why he could see clear through to Chakotay's soul when he looked into his dark-brown eyes, and yet he came up empty when he gazed into Harry's.
*
What was the difference between them? How could someone he loved be so opaque? How could someone he hated be so transparent? Why didn't he lust after the one he loved? And above all, he had to wonder if he still hated the one he wanted.
*
Harry sat there, looking at him while his thoughts went round and round as if he were riding a carousel. Tom felt dizzy in a way, yet he still wanted to catch the brass Chakotay. The only problem was, how could he do it without falling off the horse and losing himself completely?

THE END OF "THE WINNER"

Comments? Suggestions?
E-mail me at Britta

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The Loser