PERFECT KNOWLEDGE, A Star Trek:  Voyager slash story by Ruth
Devero
Rated NC-17
Part two


     *Honeymoon?*  "Honeymoon?" asked Chakotay.
     "Yes.  Didn't we--"  Paris looked down at his hand,
fingered Chakotay's ring finger.  "--didn't we get married?"
     "Not that I remember."
     A second later, he regretted that facetious answer, as hurt
disbelief washed over Paris's face.  But he didn't get a chance to
apologize, because just then the door opened, and Siilne came in
with tea.
     Chakotay was out of the bed and halfway across the room
before thought even settled in.  *Well, shit, stupid:  you're
supposed to be MARRIED to him*.
     She looked at him, smiled at Paris, who pulled the veil to
his shoulders and smiled back uncertainly.  Siilne took Paris's
face in her hands, examined his eyes.  She opened her mouth wide
and peered inside Paris's when he copied her.  Paris rolled his
eyes at Chakotay, who was sheepishly sidling back to the bedside
and trying not to look guilty.
     "Drink this."  She handed the tea to Paris, who sniffed at
it, grimaced, sipped at it, grimaced again, and tried to hand it
back.  She just gave him The Stare.  Transfixed, Paris took a gulp
and then choked and made the "bad taste" face, looking to Chakotay
for help.  His look of mock pleading stabbed Chakoty to the soul. 
Paris was taking refuge from his hurt in being a smartass.  Shit.
     "All of it."
     So Paris drank all of it under her unwavering eye.  Again
she examined his eyes, peered down his throat.  Seemed satisfied.
     She looked pointedly at the empty bed beside Paris, then
looked pointedly at Chakotay.  "You should be more comfort to your
spouse."
     He hesitated.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could
Paris's sudden jerk of surprise.  Siilne's Stare gave no quarter. 
Chakotay sat down on the bed beside Paris and put his arm around
him, drawing him close.  *Happy now?*
     Apparently she was, because she left.
     There was silence for about two heartbeats.
     "Okay," Paris said lightly, "I'M not confused."
     He wasn't moving away, either.
     "What do you remember?" Chakotay asked.
     "Wa'uuta dying.  A bunch of us were taken in to see her. 
She--she died."  His face paled.  "Then--then somebody gave us
something to drink.  I don't remember ... much after that."  But
from the sudden flush in his face, Chakotay realized that Paris
was remembering quite a lot.
     "You almost had a second career," Chakotay said.
     "As ..."
     "A prostitute."
     Paris blinked.  Then, "Well, I've always been pretty
popular," he said with a smirk.
     *I'll just bet*, thought Chakotay.
     "Prostitute?" Paris went on.  "For ..."
     "Wa'uuta."
     "Ewwww."  He frowned.  "But she's--she's--"
     Chakotay took a deep breath.  "All the others died with
her," he said as gently as he could.
     Paris stared at him.  Then,
     "Oh, god," he said in a strangled voice; and he stumbled
from the bed and staggered into the bathroom.
     Chakotay listened with sympathy to the sounds of retching. 
He gave Paris a minute, sidled in to find him coughing into the
toilet.  Chakotay got him some water; then grabbed Paris when he
tried to rise.  Held onto him as he rinsed his mouth:  the water
in the glass slopped in Paris's shaking hand.
     "All dead," Paris whispered.  He set the glass on the
counter near the sink, knocked it over grabbing the edge of the
counter.  "Oh, god.  All of them dead.  Mygod.  Twenty-two people. 
Mygod."  Something new seemed to strike him.  "I--I almost died. 
Mygod, I almost died."  He fell to his knees and was sick again,
throwing up the water.
     Chakotay held his head and rubbed the back of his neck,
trying to soothe him and trying to pretend not to be there, all at
the same time.
     "Oh, god.  Oh, god."  Paris was shaking hard.  "Oh, god. 
Oh, god.  Oh, god."
     Chakotay got him up, held onto him.
     "Oh, god," Paris was murmuring.  "My god."  Chakotay pulled
him close and rubbed his back.
     They stayed there for a minute; and then Chakotay got him
another glass of water.  Chakoty felt unsteady, himself.
     He helped Paris stagger out of the bathroom and sat him on
the edge of the bed, wrapping him in the first thing he could
find.  It was the damned veil.
     Paris was still shaking, paler than Chakotay had ever seen
him.  Chakotay settled next to him, arm behind Paris, giving him
something to lean on.
     "I didn't--" Paris said shakily, "I didn't mean that 'you
owe me a life' thing LITERALLY."
     "Well, I didn't think Janeway would approve of her chief
helmsman starting a new career whoring in somebody else's
afterlife."
     Paris laughed at this:  a thin, shaky sound that made
Chakotay unreasonably pleased to hear.
     "How did you get me out?" Paris asked.  Thank the spirits
the shaking was subsiding.
     "Well, that's kind of the funny part.  The Chaauree think
we're--"  Word.  WORD.  Had to be another word; but only one
came to mind.  "--married."
     Paris grinned at him.  "Why, Commander, this is so sudden! 
I didn't know you cared for me that way."
     Ignore it.  Though something in him warmed to see Paris's
smartass, coming back pretty strong.  "Since you and I 
are--ah--spouses, I could claim you."
     "So they think we're married."
     "Yes.  And--and I think it's best if the Chaauree don't
find out any different.  We have to stick around here for a couple
more days."
     "Okay, loveykins."
     Oh, yeah?  "Don't call me 'loveykins,'" Chakotay said,
deadpan.
     "Babycakes?"
     "No.  Not 'babycakes,' either."  Shit, look at that smile.
     "Loverbuns?"
     "'LOVERBUNS?'  How the hell do you come up with something
like 'loverbuns'?"  But he was grinning.
     "Observation," Paris said, glancing pointedly at Chakotay's
ass.  His grin was mischievous and lascivious.
     Chakotay laughed.  His arm curved to fit Paris's waist.
     "How did you ... claim me?"  Paris wasn't moving away from
him.
     Chakotay felt his spine straighten.  "I just--  Well, I had
to, um, go to the funeral and--uh--pick you from the others.  It
was harder than it sounds," he said to Paris's mocking look.  "You
were all wearing those veils."
     "Then, how--how did you know it was me?"
     "I just ... KNEW."  Chakoty looked away from the startlement
in Paris's eyes, then looked again; and felt his heart race at the
speculation also there.
     They were silent for a minute.  Paris stared thoughtfully
at the floor.  Chakotay watched his face.  Damn, he looked so
tired.  Chakotay's arm tightened around Paris.
     "Well, sweetiecakes," Paris said finally, "can a guy get
some breakfast around here?"
     As usual, Siilne was there almost before the words were out
of his mouth, with a tray of food.  Her lips tightened when she
saw Paris's condition; she looked a "humph" at Chakotay.
     Who felt like an awkward boob as Siilne got a wet washcloth
to wipe Paris's face and fetched another glass of water for him to
drink and straightened the bed and patted him into place on it,
with the blanket over his lap.
     Then she settled on the edge of the bed and smiled at
Paris, who smiled warily back.  And she fed him herself some bowl
of cooked grain, spoonful by spoonful, encouraging him with
smiles.  It was, Chakotay thought, a pretty blatant demonstration
of what HE apparently was supposed to be doing.
     He ate his own damned grain by his own damned self, with
his own damned spoon.
     And then defiantly snuggled right up to Paris while he
drank his tea.
     Paris's shoulders started shaking; the instant Siilne had
left the room, he started to laugh.  "Mygod, you should've seen
your face!" he spluttered; and Chakotay found himself grinning.
     "Apparently I'm a pretty lousy husband," Chakotay remarked
and was stupidly heartened by Paris's laughter.  He watched him
fondly.  "You want a shower?" he asked.
     "Sure!"
     So Paris went in and had a shower.  And Chakotay tried not
to hang around the door of the bathroom and tried not to be too
far away, in case--  Well, Paris was still pretty wobbly.
     But getting steadier.  "Hey!" he said around the edge of
the shower door, "wash my back?" and kissed the air a couple times
at Chakotay, before disappearing into the spray.
     Smartass.  But Chakotay remembered the sleepy delight on
Paris's face that morning, the kiss--thorough, tender--and the
hurt disbelief; and something cut through him like a knife.  Paris
had--Paris had wanted something, and Chakotay was too much of a
coward to find out what it was.
     His own shower next.  "These clothes are filthy," he said
with a grimace.
     "I can--" Paris began.
     "YOU rest," Chakotay ordered.  "I'll wash them."  After his
shower.  He dropped them onto the bedroom floor.
     And emerged from his shower to find them gone and Paris
swaddled in a blanket.
     "She took 'em!" Paris said before Chakotay could open his
mouth.  "She came in and took 'em.  I couldn't stop her; she just
took 'em."
     Typical.
     Typical, too, that Paris had used all the damned towels. 
Chakotay dried himself with something too tiny to tie around his
waist, grimaced at the clammy towels that WERE big enough to wear. 
Damned annoying man.
     Chakotay strategically positioned his towel-in-training and
stomped into the bedroom.  "Give me something," he ordered.
     Paris cast about helplessly, then tossed something at him. 
Chakotay let it drop at his feet; it was the damned veil.
     "There ISN'T anything else!" Paris protested.
     Typical.  Chakotay picked up the fucking thing and wrapped
up in it.  He knew he looked as stupid as he felt.  He let his
glare describe to Paris just what would happen to him if he
laughed.
     Paris made a face Chakotay had never seen before, blinked
hard.  Looked out the window.  Blinked some more.  Took a couple
deep breaths.  Looked sidelong at Chakotay.  "Red actually looks
pretty good on you," he said.  He seemed to mean it.
     Chakotay went over and sat in the chair beside the window. 
The maze had been removed; the canopy was being taken down. 
Chaauree were greeting each other in the square; at the tavern,
Raabio--in a new suit--was waving his arms in storytelling.
     "So, now what?" Paris asked.
     "So, now--"  Chakotay ran the possibilities through his
head.  He was NOT about to tell the man about the two-day orgy to
come.  "So, now, they, ah, close the ... ah ... grave; and--and
then tonight there's some sort of feast."
     "Do we have to be there?"
     Something in Paris's voice made Chakotay look at him. 
Paris was sitting against the headboard, pulling the blanket tight
around him; he was a shade paler than usual.
     Chakotay stood, tried to make his movement toward the bed
look like a serene saunter.  "I'm--I'm afraid we do," he said,
sitting down on the bed.  "We're--we're probably the--um--the star
... mourners."
     He looked uneasily at Paris, who looked like a man staring
into an abyss.
     "I don't have any clothes," Paris said flatly.
     "We'll get you some."  The palace should be open by now.
     But Paris didn't relax.  Chakotay reached, started at
Paris's angry flail away from him.
     "Don't touch me."  He stared within himself for a short
while.  Then, "How many days has it been?"
     "Four."  He saw Paris blink at the surprise of four days
gone.  "What do you remember?"
     "Drums."  Paris's mouth twisted.  "And singing.  And
somebody washing me for about five hours, and ... you.  I remember
you.  I kept seeing you.  You were sitting by a hole--"  Chakotay
looked at him sharply.  "--and, you were sitting--"  Paris looked
around the room, and recognition dawned in his eyes.  "--you were
sitting HERE  On the floor."  He frowned and shook his head.  "I
felt like I was, I don't know, LOST, or something; but you kept
finding me.  And then they'd give me--they kept giving me stuff to
drink.  Kept telling me I should make myself ready, because I was
going to be--be with the one I love."
     *The kiss at the grave*.  Cold stole into Chakotay's
belly, warred with the heat in his face.  *Paris's delight at
seeing him*.  He didn't know where to look.
     Paris was staring into space, his face as red as the veil. 
"Oops," he said in a strangled voice.
     Chakotay's brain stumbled over this new information like
an ensign over an algorithm.  Fuck.  And they were going to have
to pretend--  "I'm sorry," he said.
     "'Sorry,'" Paris said conversationally, "seems to be the
name of just about everybody I know."  He closed his eyes.  His
mouth was tight with pain.
     "Did you really see me?" Chakotay asked after a long silence. 
"I kept seeing YOU," he said when Paris didn't answer.  "I was--I
was meditating.  I kept seeing you in my visions."
     Paris was looking at him.  "You looked upset."
     "Did I?  You looked pretty serene."
     "Well, *I* thought I was--"  Paris's mouth twisted.
     Well, shit.
     "She said I belong to you," Paris said.
     "Wa'uuta?  Did you see her?"  Just fucking ignore that
other part.
     "Last night?" asked Paris.  "Yeah.  She--she was HERE."  He
indicated the bedside.  "Said she was going to miss my exotic
hands.  She was pretty good-looking when she was younger.  A guy
could do worse."
     "She was celibate," Chakotay confided, warmed when Paris
gaped at him:  gossip always did perk the boy up.  "The whole time
she was daumna, she was celibate."  A long time, too.  "I think
you were supposed to be her reward for all those years of doing
without," he added slyly.
     Paris grinned, and Chakotay felt a glow inside him.  Just
doing his duty as a Commander:  raising morale.  *Of COURSE*,
his brain told him condescendingly.
     "Well," Paris said with a leer, "a guy could do worse.  I
mean, a WOMAN," he amended hastily.  "A WOMAN could do worse."
     Chakotay flushed, glanced at him.  "A GUY could do worse,
too, you know," he said lightly; and felt his breath catch
at the startled speculation in Paris's eyes.
     *That was a damned stupid thing to say*, Chakotay's
brain scolded, later.  An exhausted Paris had stretched out for a
nap, and Chakotay watched him from the chair beside the window. 
*And malicious*.  Because, if Paris really WAS ...
attracted--Chakotay wasn't even going to THINK the word "love"; it
had to be some sort of twisted ATTRACTION, because what the hell
would Paris be in LOVE for?--ATTRACTED, it wasn't fair to tease
him about it.  Especially since Chakotay had no intention of
acting on that attraction.  "*You belong to him*."  She'd said it
to both of them.  "*You belong to*--"  No intention at all of
action on any sick attraction Paris might have.
     Because, at heart, they loathed each other.  That damned
grass ring Paris gave him in the vision didn't mean any damned
thing, because they really despised each other.  *You kept
finding me*.  Hated each other, in fact.  Well--well, maybe not
HATED.  But, certainly they weren't in love.  Paris was like
some damned sexual butterfly, flitting from beauty to beauty; and
he'd sure never seemed interested in CHAKOTAY.  Who was really not
interested in HIM.  Not at all.  No, Chakotay was saving it for a
certain fascinating Starfleet captain, who was--
     He caught himself.  Who was pretty damned uninterested, to
be honest about it.  After their sojourn on that Edenic planet,
that had been pretty much it for their growing attraction, for
their delicate flirtation.  Back on the ship, and back to business
as usual.  STARFLEET business as usual.  His jaw tightened against
the pain.  *You declared yourself*, he thought, *and
she did nothing*.  And WOULD do nothing.
     He leaned back in the chair, and he watched Paris sleep. 
*You belong to*--  He belonged to--  He belonged to--
     He wasn't certain who he belonged to.  But surely not to
Paris.

                         ++++

     Chakotay woke with a start.  The sun was low in the sky. 
Beside him, Paris was still sleeping.  Chakotay straightened,
stifled a groan.  *You are far too old to sleep against
headboards*, he scolded himself.  But he hadn't wanted to
completely stretch out on the bed, where Paris was too likely to
snuggle against him.  He stretched, trying not to disturb Paris. 
Late.  Better--
     Chakotay blinked at the clothing on the chair beside the
window.  Great.  Just great.
     He shook Paris's shoulder.  "We have to--ah--get ready,"
he said to Paris's sleepy protest; and he saw the jaw tense.  "We
have clothes," Chakotay went on.
     Paris looked.  "THAT," he said, "is not my Starfleet
uniform."
     "Not mine, either," said Chakotay.  "Apparently we're
honorary Chaauree tonight."
     "Beats what I had on the LAST time they saw me," Paris said.
     And didn't look that bad, either.  The clingy, ankle-length
robe suited Paris; its mandarin collar looked good on him.  A gray
so dark it was almost black--which maybe wasn't his color--but it
was a rich fabric with a lushly textured weave; and with the loose
trousers and short black boots, it made him look like some exotic
prince.  Chakotay caught Paris looking away suddenly, face
flushed, and thought, *Maybe you don't look so shabby
yourself*.  Sleeves were too short, but he sort of liked the feel
of the soft, clingy fabric.  Deep brown, with iridescent stitching
at the seams.  Sort of liked that, too.
     "We don't have to stay long," Chakotay said.  "Just make
an appearance."  Get the hell out before the orgy starts.
     Going down stairs in ankle-length skirts had unexpected
pitfalls, but they made it, and nothing much got broken in the
process.  Siilne and the new daumna met them.  "That looks better
on you than it does on me," the daumna said to Chakotay.
     "Thanks for the loan."
     The daumna's eyes went to Paris.  "I can see why my aunt
chose you," he said; and Chakotay saw Paris's shoulders tense.
     The smile Paris plastered onto his face was palpably false. 
He put his arm around Chakotay's waist; Chakotay tried not to
tense up.  "You can see why I had ... other plans."  Paris's voice
was thin.
     The daumna inclined his head.  "Your love will pass into
legend," he said.  There was something wistful in his voice.
     Siilne's husband wandered in, then, and they left.  Paris's
grip tightened.  Chakotay placed his hand on Paris's, linked their
fingers.  They could get through this.
     The square was filled with--  Chakotay blinked.  --with
chairs and rug-covered benches.  All sizes, all kinds.  All empty.

Scattered around piles of sticks waiting to be lit.
     Siilne walked with her husband; the daumna fell back to
walk beside Chakotay.
     "Did my aunt visit you last night?" he asked.
     "Yes."
     "Did she ... say anything?"
     Er.  "She ... spoke of our relationship."  He squeezed
Paris's hand.  "Did she ... visit you?"
     The daumna laughed.  "Yes.  I knew she would.  And she was
very much herself.  She looked at me, and she said, 'I gave these
stiff-necked people forty-five years of peace.  Don't ruin it.'" 
He smiled.  "She always did know how to motivate people."
     The walk to the grave was mercifully short.  Chakotay tried
to hang back, but when the Chaauree saw that The Man Who'd Claimed
His Spouse was on the outskirts of the crowd, he and Paris were
gently ushered forward until they stood at the edge of the mound,
mounded over except for a hole at the base.
     Paris made a small choking sound.  Chakotay drew him close. 
From the murmur behind them, he knew that the Chaauree saw this as
some romantic act; but he felt Paris leaning into him, shaking. 
Chakotay's arms tightened.  They could get through this.
     And, they did get through it:  through the chanting,
through the head priest kneeling to speak through the hole in the
grave to those lying silent below, through the muffled sobs that
rose from the crowd when branches were fitted across it and earth
packed on, and their connection with the eleventh daumna was
severed.
     For a heartbeat, nothing happened.  In the bleak silence,
Chakotay felt that something good had ended forever.
     Then, the chanting built again, hopeful words woven with
the sound of the drums.  The head priest started back to the
village, chanting words about the lush hills, the sweet water of
the rivers, the delight of children.  And they followed him, back
to the life of the village.
     Paris and Chakotay trailed behind.  Chakotay's arm wrapped
itself around Paris's waist.  Paris fiercely gripped Chakotay's
shoulders.  Along the way, Chaauree left the crowd and settled
beside campfires, calling to each other, offering food and drink
to all comers.  A few times, someone saw Chakotay and Paris and
ran to them with glasses and a flask of wuaash.  *Shit*, Chakotay
thought, the first time it happened:  politeness was going to get
them both completely sloshed.  But the ritual seemed to be that
someone splashed a few sips into each glass, someone toasted life
or love or peace or the beauty of Chaau, everyone drank a sip, and
the rest was dribbled onto the ground so that Chaau could share
the toast.
     "Waste of good brew," Paris said.
     *Not so wasteful*, Chakotay thought.  It was a charming
gesture from people who deeply loved their world.  "You'll get
your share," he said to Paris.
     By the time they reached the square, the small fires had
been lighted, and Chaauree had settled into the chairs, calling to
each other, passing food, passing drinks.
     Siilne met them with glasses and wuaash.  "To love," she
said, looking into Chakotay's eyes; and her smile grew impish as
they drank the toast.
     She presided over a largeish gathering that included all the
guests at the inn and residents of several houses scattered
throughout the village.  Paris and Chakotay were settled on a
bench against the wall of the building--next to the inn's
door--and, seeing the mischievous glow in Siilne's eyes, Chakotay
knew she'd planned a clear path between them and the bed.  From
the grins around the fire, the plans were obvious.  An oblivious
Paris slid closer to him; and Chakotay felt his own face burning,
which broadened the crowd's grins.
     Food was handed around:  cold dishes apparently prepared in
advance.  Despite the wuaash, it was a surprisingly dignified
gathering.  People told stories, teased each other about old
incidents.  Chakotay listened to the cheerful rumble of voices,
looked at the firelight playing over the faces in gatherings all
around the square, watched children play some complex game of tag
around the clustered families.  The new daumna wandered from fire
to fire.  Here and there a couple embraced.  A man closed his eyes
blissfully as another stroked his neck.  Two young women broke
from a kiss to blush at some good-natured ribbing.  At Siilne's
fire, Saachna beamed down at the woman he'd loved for fifty-two
years and murmured something in her ear that made her kiss him
hard.  Siilne's husband touched her cheek.
     More food was handed around.  More wuaash was poured. 
Paris was looking at everyone around the fire, over the glass of
wuaash he'd been nursing since they sat down.  They were supposed
to be married; Chakotay slid an arm around Paris's shoulders. 
*There*.  Paris tensed slightly, then relaxed.  Wistfulness
slid across his face; his mouth took a bitter cast.  His fingers
tightened on the glass.
     Chakotay's heart twisted inside him.  Well, they could get
out of here pretty damned soon, and then they could stop
pretending.  Across the fire, two young men--newly betrothed--held
hands and whispered to each other.  Chakotay accepted a glass of
tea--damned bitter stuff, he discovered too late.  He
surreptitiously poured the rest onto the ground.  Paris gagged
when he drank his, but manfully got it all down.  Shit, what a
strong stomach.
     More food.  Berries in small bowls.
     "These can be only given, never taken," Siilne warned him.
     *Given, never*--  His face heated as he realized what she was
saying.  He took a berry, slid it into Paris's surprised mouth. 
Paris caught on immediately and fed him in turn, to the crowd's
delight.  Sweet berry, with a pleasant spiciness.  Paris evidently
saw the pleasure on Chakotay's face:  Chakotay was hard put to
make sure Paris got his fair share of the berries.  Which seemed
to be the point:  around the fire, couples laughingly tried to
ensure that the beloved got the most berries.  Huulthe gleefully
stuffed his spouse's mouth while dextrously avoiding the berry he
was offering; then triumphantly ate it once the bowl was empty. 
And licked the other man's fingers.  And then licked the other
man's mouth.
     Heat built in Chakotay's groin.  A young woman pressed her
spouse against the back of his chair and kissed him lingeringly,
her hands busy inside his robe.  Siilne's husband tangled his
fingers in her hair.  Chakotay found himself wondering what was in
the tea.
     Chakotay's eye was caught by Siilne, who glanced at Paris
before looking back.  Her gaze melted into The Stare.  His breath
caught.  Damn.  He probably should kiss Paris and get it over
with.  The flash of apprehension across Paris's face when he realized
what was going to happen was like the cut of a knife.  But he met
Chakotay's mouth; and Chakotay dimly heard approval from the
people around them.  He tried to keep the kiss superficial.
     But when he pulled back, the heat didn't die down.  All he could
think of was the soft mouth, the touch of Paris's breath on his cheek. 
And he wanted more.  The alarm in Paris's eyes just before Chakotay
GOT more flavored the kiss with some indescribable spice.
     Nearby, Wabii's young twins were sucking their thumbs and
staring sleepily around them as she stroked their hair.  She
smiled up at her spouse and then kissed him, and roused the
children to take them home.
     A storm of heat raged inside Chakotay.  What the hell had
been in that damned tea?  Or was it the berries?  Whatever was
driving him, it wasn't going to take him further.  Siilne's
husband toyed with the top button on her robe, and she smiled.
     Paris met Chakotay's gaze with wary defiance.  Whatever the
hell was driving the heat in Chakotay's body, he could resist it. 
For Paris's sake, he had to resist it.
     His tongue met Paris's just before their lips touched.  He
could resist it:  he couldn't toy with Paris's heart.
     The pain in Paris's eyes cut him to the bone.  The world
narrowed to that mouth, soft with kissing, to that flushed face,
to those sorrowful and defiant eyes, to the sweet weight of Paris's
head in his hands.  He couldn't hurt Paris.
     The heat roared through him.  Not hurt him.
     Their mouths joined.
     The rest of that night was a blur of images and sensations: 
Paris's husky breathing in his ear, the silky feel of cloth
capturing them, the approving smiles around the fire.  The slide
of rich fabric on Paris's smooth skin.  Gleam of rosiness as each
button undone exposed more skin for Chakotay's mouth to caress.
     Paris's thighs capturing Chakotay's hips.  The roughness
of stone against Chakotay's naked shoulders.  Paris beneath him,
gasping, arching.  Clatter of a boot landing somewhere hard.
     Paris, rosy against the scarlet cloth.  Siilne leaning
against her husband.  Paris groaning into Chakotay's mouth as he
slid the waistband of Paris's trousers down over the firm curve of
his ass.
     A kiss tasting of spicy berries.  Paris's mouth on
Chakotay's throat.  His fingers on Chakotay's hardening cock.
     The priest's smile in the firelight.  Paris staring avidly
down into Chakotay's eyes as they rode each other, rode.
     The gleam of moonlight and firelight on Paris's shoulders
as the robe slipped from them.
     Paris's hands hard on him, fiercely gripping as--
     Paris's cock hot under Chakotay's cheek.
     Someone whimpering, "YES YES YES."
     --as pleasure overtook them both and all thought burned out
completely.

                         ++++

     Chakotay woke to silky fabric around him and warm breath
regular on his neck and thought, *Huh?*  He eased himself up
and looked around him and thought, *Shit*.
     Naked.  He was naked; so was Paris, curled up beside him
under the scarlet veil.  And from the state of both of them--and,
to be truthful, from the relaxed hum of every muscle in Chakotay's
body--they'd had quite a night.  Bits and pieces of that night
flashed through his mind:  the sweet heat of Paris's cock seemed
an integral part of each and every moment.  Chakotay rubbed his
face with his hands.  Damn it.  He hadn't been going to do this. 
Damn whatever the hell they put in that tea.
     He looked around for clothes, saw none.  Great.
     Chakotay eased out of bed and into the bathroom.  Looked
himself over in the mirror as he washed his hands after peeing. 
Bruises.  Love bites.  And damned well-kissed look in his eyes,
underlain with a hint of smug satisfaction.  *Oh, just shut
up*.
     Paris was awake when Chakotay re-entered the room.  He sat
up, smiled contentedly.  Chakotay's heart turned over.
     "I--" he started; when the door opened, and Siilne entered. 
*Shit*.  He sprang for the bed, leaped under the blanket a
laughing Paris held ready for him.  Why the damned woman never
seemed to knock....
     He tried to yank the blanket up to his chin, trying also
to ignore the slide of Paris's warm, naked skin against his.  Shit
and hell and damn.
     Siilne smiled approvingly at them and set the tray down
beside the bed.  And, to Chakotay's horror, began to straighten
the bed, with them in it.
     "Um," he said, "where are our clothes?"
     "They're downstairs," she said.  "Some are out in the
square."
     Oh fuckit, they had--  The blood draining from his face
passed the blood rising to heat it.  And, they'd done it with an
audience.
     She leaned over and patted him on the cheek.  "You make
good souls for us," she said with satisfaction.
     Chakotay buried his face in his hands.  One of the
difficulties of being an adult was knowing that it wasn't really
possible to die of embarrassment, no matter how much you wanted
to.  Not even if a grandmotherly type was tucking you in bed with
a lover, after informing you that you'd scattered your clothes and
his before an admiring public.
     He looked up to see her surveying them with satisfaction: 
tucked naked under the blanket, with the damned scarlet veil over
that.  "Make us good souls," she said with a smile; and she left.
     Paris was silent for a moment.  "Make SOULS?" he
asked.
     "The Chaauree believe that--that when people have sex after
... the funeral, they're making new souls to be born in the
village."
     "Huh."  Then, "They DO know that we're two guys, right?"
     Well, if they didn't before, they'd probably gotten a
glimpse last night....  "Yeah.  They know.  The souls will be born
to the Chaauree."
     "Huh."
     The touch of Paris's skin on his was like a slow fire
building.
     "We've probably made enough souls for them," Chakotay said.
     "Oh, yeah.  Probably."
     A heartbeat.  The musk of that body was intoxicating.
     "How many souls would you say we made last night?"  Paris's
voice was breathy.
     "Oh, about fifty, sixty."
     Amusement enlivened Paris's face.  Chakotay's breathing
stumbled at the sight of that ripe mouth.
     "So, we've probably done our share," Paris murmured.
     "Oh, yeah."
     "Don't need to make any more."
     "No."
     "Don't actually even ... WANT to make ... any more."
     "Definitely."
     "Because we're actually not ... a couple."
     "Nope."
     Their mouths closed the last centimeter of distance. 
*You shouldn't be doing this*, Chakotay's conscience warned
him.
     Paris's mouth opened under his; and Paris's hand found his
cock; and Chakotay's conscience threw up its hands in surrender.
     It was gentler than what he remembered of the night before: 
Paris's wet mouth languidly caressed his throat; Paris's hand
slowly stroked Chakotay's cock.  Chakotay's hands found the places
on the hard body that had elicited pleasure last night; felt
warmth flood him at Paris's groans now.  He rolled onto his back
and pulled Paris over him.
     His hand cupped Paris's ass; his finger teased the opening. 
Paris bucked against him, whimpered.  Chakotay tangled his fingers
in the hair on Paris's head, drew it back so he could kiss the
strong throat.  Paris's hands were frantic on Chakotay's cock.
     Chakotay looked deep into the unfocused blue eyes, fucking
Paris with his finger, while their hips bucked against each other.
Cock slid against iron-hard cock, against their sweat-slick
bellies, against Paris's firm grip.
     Their hips rocked, sped up.  Paris's breath came in soft
grunts.  He grasped the headboard with his free hand and rode
faster.
     Chakotay lost himself first, felt the white-hot pleasure
overtake him.  Heard Paris wailing over him, arching in his arms.
     A heartbeat, and Paris collapsed on top of him and then
rolled off.  Chakotay felt the heat radiating from his body, a few
centimeters away.
     A slowing of breath.  "Now, would you say we were stupid,
blind, or just pathetic?"  Paris's voice was lazy and warm with
laughter.
     What they were was not happening again, if Chakotay could
overcome that damned whatever-it-was from the tea.  Even though
every cell in his body seemed to be humming contentedly to itself.
     "I think it's the tea from last night thinking for us,"
Chakotay said lightly.
     Paris looked at him.  "Is that what you think?  You think
it's that?"
     "What else could it be?"
     "Well, there's my considerable charm."
     Chakotay tried to ignore the speed-up in his heart at that
sated smile.  He leaned close.  "Nobody's THAT charming."
     "And there's my considerable skill."
     Chakotay caught his breath.  "I don't seem to remember any
special finesse," he lied; *except you were enjoying it so
fucking much*, his brain informed him, *that you'd've come at
the mere THOUGHT of him touching you.  Come hard, too*.
     "Well," Paris said with an obvious attempt at lightness,
"there's the fact that I've wanted to drag you into bed since that
first insult on you tossed at me as a Maquis."  His chin looked
rock-solid with defiance.
     Blink.  Chakotay's mouth dried.  "All that long ago?"  His
voice sounded thin.
     Silence.  Paris was looking at him.  Then,
     "I'd like to think the feeling could be mutual."  His whole
body seemed to be clenched.
     "It--" Chakotay said.  "I--"  He looked into the fierce
eyes and couldn't lie.  "You've ... never actually been ... my
choice."
     The blue eyes went blank with hurt.  "Then you'll want to
take your hand off my ass."  The voice was hard as duranium. 
"Won't you?  COMMANDER?"
     Chakotay jerked back, felt himself blush.  Shit:  he'd been
fondling Paris during that entire rejection speech.  *Very smooth
move, Commander*.
     Paris lurched off the bed and into the bathroom.  Chakotay
started after him, jumped back as the door slammed.  *I thought
you only made WOMEN mad enough to slam a door in your face*.
     He stood there a minute.  Listened to the water running
inside.  *Blockhead, blockhead, blockhead*, his brain was
telling him.  Fuck, his life had been so simple.  He loved
Janeway and despised Paris and pitied Suder and liked Kim and
tolerated Tuvok and--and--well, whatever the HELL that was he felt
for Seska.  So simple.
     Chakotay's mouth twisted wryly.  Simple.  Simple always
seemed to have hidden complications:  psychotic Suder saving the
ship, Tuvok and Seska turning out to be spies.  And, Janeway: 
*well, you're not really going anywhere with Janeway, are
you?*  And ... and Paris:
     "Look," Chakotay said in a hurry when the door opened. 
"I'm just not used to thinking about us as ... well, as US."
     Something like a smile flashed across Paris's face and
vanished.  "'US,'" he said.
     *You're not going to make this easy, are you?*  And,
why should he?  "Yes, US.  There never was actually supposed
to be an 'us' to think about."
     "Because I'm just Paris-the-whore, aren't I?"  He searched
Chakotay's face, and his mouth tightened at what he saw there. 
"Selling my skills to anybody who pays for them.  I'll pilot for
anybody who pays my bar tab.  Fuck anybody I think I owe.  And I
owe you."
     "That's not it--" Chakotay began.
     "That's ALWAYS been it, Commander.  You made that pretty
damned clear the first time we saw each other again on
*Voyager*.  How much was I getting this time?  Isn't that what you
wanted to know?"
     "That was then."  Chakotay met the glare.  "Things have
changed."
     "Not so much."
     "YES 'so much.'"  He drew a deep breath.  "YOU'VE changed. 
Or maybe I've just--just let myself see what was underneath."
     Paris's look was wary.  "You did drop the 'Psycho-Commander'
routine pretty quickly."
     "Too tiring to maintain."
     They stared into each other's eyes for a long minute.
     "I'm sorry," Chakotay said; and Paris blinked in apparent
surprise.
     "For what?"
     "For--shit, for so MANY things."  He put out a hand.  Paris
moved out of reach.  "For what I said when we met again.  For--for
not noticing ... what you really are."  He stepped toward Paris,
who backed away, warily.  "For this morning."
     Paris's head rocked back at that.
     "I know what it cost you to ... admit what you did
yesterday."  Chakotay moved close; Paris let him.  "I--I didn't
mean what we did last night to get out of hand.  I was only going
to kiss you once and--"  He was well within the field of that warm
body; the temperature seemed to be rising.  "--and get us the hell
out of the orgy."  He let a smile touch his eyes, saw the
answering smile dawn in Paris's.  "I think it was that damned
tea," he said helplessly.
     The blue eyes went cold.  "It wasn't the fucking tea,"
Paris said quietly.  "Last night, it wasn't the fucking tea. 
*I* drank more of the damned stuff than you did.  I felt fine.  I
had control of my libido.  YOU lunged for ME."
     Chakotay blinked at him.  Not the tea--
     "You lunged for me," Paris went on, "and you didn't want
to hear 'no'; and then my CLOTHES started coming off--" 
Color mounted to his cheeks; his breathing was unsteady.  "--in
front of everybody."  Chakotay's mouth dried.  "And, then--then I
didn't WANT to say 'no.' You had me stripped and weak-kneed
before we even got to the stairs.  It's a wonder we even made it
to bed."  Paris's eyes filled with pain.  "And, mygod Chakotay,
you had a look in your eyes a man in love DREAMS of seeing.  And
what you said....  Chakotay, you took me to bed, and you gave me
pleasure, and you whispered about love; and it wasn't ... the
damned ... TEA!"
     He tried to get away then; Chakotay caught him in his arms. 
Paris struck out, trapped.  Chakotay let him back the few
centimeters to the wall.  Fenced him in with his shaking arms.  He
had to think.  He had to make sure Paris couldn't leave him.  Not
the tea.
     They stood there like that, not looking at each other. 
Chakotay was aware of every shaking breath, of the hard thump of
Paris's heart.  Of the harder thump of his own.  That it wasn't
the tea actually made him feel better.
     "WELL," Chakotay said finally.  He looked at Paris's
set face, felt like an awkward nitwit trapping him against the
wall like that; didn't move his arms.
     "I was afraid it wasn't the tea," Chakotay said.
     Paris glanced up at him:  a glance of wariness and hurt.
     "I just didn't expect it to be--I didn't expect it to be
love."
     Paris looked at him.
     "But I should have," Chakotay finished.  "I should have." 
He saw again the Chakoty from his vision, grinning knowingly at
him, saw again Janeway's wistful smile.  This is what they'd been
hinting at.
     "People in love usually look happier," said Paris.
     "People in love usually don't have to have somebody hit
them with a rock so they notice it."  He smiled at Paris's ghost
of a smile.  "I'm sorry, Tom.  I'm really screwing this up."
     Paris grinned at him.  "I've heard worse."  He sobered. 
"I just don't want you to decide to despise me again."
     "That won't happen."
     "How do I know that?"
     "It CAN'T happen."
     "How do I know?"
     How to persuade him?  "The day I claimed you," Chakotay said,
"I saw you as you are; and I can accept what I saw.  You're
arrogant--"  Paris's eyebrow raised.  "--and competent and a
smartass; and you've got a genius for those holoprograms that
hints that you feel things more deeply than you want to let on." 
Not that Chakotay had realized all this at the time; looking into
Paris's eyes was like looking into his own heart.  "You can annoy
me more than any ten people alive, and if you set up another
gambling pool, I'm going to bust you down to ensign."  Damn, look
at that smile.  "But a guy knows where he stands with you.  I know
I can trust you when it really counts.  You have an integrity
worth admiring.  Not everybody's sense of integrity gets them
cashiered out of Starfleet."
     Paris tensed.  "I lied about what happened."
     "You panicked."
     He saw startled realization dawn in Paris's face; but, "I
shouldn't have."
     "And I shouldn't have lost my ship.  It happens."
     Paris gave him a sly look.  "That ship was a clunker."
     "That ship was a classic."  He smiled into Paris's smile. 
"That ship needed YOU."  Joy was a beautiful thing to see
in that face.
     Paris looked at the floor.  "What about ... the crew?"
     "They're pairing off quite nicely by themselves, thank you."
     "You know what I mean.  Are you going to--to tell THEM?" 
Paris's jaw firmed, ready for the answer.
     "I don't plan to make it part of 'A Briefing with Neelix.' 
But I'm certainly not going to hide it.  Unless you'd be
embarrassed."
     Paris looked startled.  "*I* wouldn't be embarrassed."
     "It might make some trouble between you and certain crew
members."  Chakotay could list about sixty just off the top of his
head.
     "I can deal with the trouble."
     "If you punch somebody out, I'll have to throw you in the
brig."
     "That could be fun.  Conjugal visits," Paris murmured
saucily into his ear.
     "The brig's sensors are pretty thorough."
     "I've always thought an audience--"
     Chakotay leaned in close.  "NO," he whispered into Paris's
ear.  Paris's grin warmed him.
     "I'm a little worried," Chakotay said, "about what's going
to happen the first time I have to write you up."
     "What makes you think I'll need to be written up?" Paris
asked.
     "EVERYBODY gets written up.  *I* get written up."
     "You DO?"
     *Oh, shit*.  He looked sternly into Paris's delighted eyes.
     "So WRITE me up," Paris said.  "DIS-CI-PLINNNNE me," he
hissed into Chakotay's ear.
     Oh, the man was impossible.  But Chakotay couldn't stop
laughing.
     "Chakotay, what makes you think you'll HAVE to write me up? 
What makes you think I won't be the perfect little lieutenant
simply because I love and trust you?"
     Chakotay felt his heart speed up.  "DO you?"
     "Yes."  But he looked apprehensive.
     Chakotay felt breathless.  And speechless.  But something
in his eyes made Paris relax.
     "What about Janeway?" Paris asked.
     "What about her?"
     "Doesn't she--don't you...."
     "She--um.  I--  She's really not that interested.  I don't
think we really ever had that much in common."
     "Any less in common than you and I have?"
     Chakotay found himself smiling.  "You and I understand each
other," he said, in sudden realization.  "I keep having to explain
myself to her.  She's not like us.  She's--she's never failed."
     "Of course she has," said Paris.  "That's how we GOT here."
     "No.  She's never lost who she was.  She's never had to
spit out the mud and claw her way back to her feet.  We have.  You
and I have."
     "Never thought of failure as the basis of a relationship."
     "No:  it's just that ... we fit.  She and I never really
did.  She's been Starfleet all her life; never had to BE anything
but Starfleet all her life.  And I--  We stopped being able to fit
the minute I left Starfleet.  From the beginning.  She's never
been able to understand why I left, why I did what I did, why I
fought the Federation--not really understand.  You can."
     He stared into the glowing face for a long time.
     "Yeah, but are YOU going to tell her?  Because she could bust
ME right back to civilian."
     Chakotay smiled.  "I'll tell her."
     Paris gave him an impudent grin.  "Because you're the good
commander taking care of the good lieutenant?"
     "Because I'm Chakotay taking care of the man I love."  His
heart skipped a thump at the word.
     "I'm not going to let you take that word back," Paris
murmured.
     "I don't want you to."  And, he didn't.  Suddenly he felt
as if he'd broken some shell, lost a weight that had been dragging
him down for far too long.  He'd find out what that weight was
later.
     "I want to do last night again all over," Paris drawled.
     Chakotay flushed.  "Tom, I'm--I'm sorry I was so--  I'm
sorry I wouldn't let you refuse me."
     Paris was staring at him.  "Chakotay, I know how to say
'no' and make it stick.  I'm not some whimpering virgin you
dragged off to your lair.  I--uh--I wasn't the only one losing
clothes out there.  And we all looked really happy about it. 
BELIEVE me, Chakotay, that was one erotic experience.  I mean,
DAMN, Commander--once you get going, you're a major force of
nature."
     Chakotay's face felt hot enough to fuel a reactor.  "I
think calling me 'Commander' in that context is ... just not a
habit we should get into."  *Force of nature*.  He struggled
for breath.
     Paris laughed.  "I promise not to do it again."
     He looked into the merry eyes.  And then one of them must
have stepped forward, because their mouths were on each other.  It
was a long kiss, and Chakotay felt unsteady at the end of it. 
Unsteady and thoroughly happy.
     "Right about now," Chakotay said, "I'd take you to bed and
prove just how much you mean to me.  But--well, the plumbing just
isn't as young as it used to be."
     Paris smiled.  "Whose is?"  Then, a little shyly, "I like
necking in the shower."
     So they tried necking in the shower, which was pretty
damned great, what with water beading on the rosy-gold skin,
pattering down in a thousand soft touches; what with slick fingers
sliding over slick skin.
     Necking outside the shower worked, too:  mouths languid
over wet skin, tongue burnishing a strong throat.
     Necking in bed was also satisfying.  Kneeling above Paris,
kissing every centimeter of throat, of hard shoulders, kissing his
way across the chest, sucking on the neatly set ears.  Tom's mouth
on his, sucking on his lower lip.  Their tongues exploring each
other.  Husky sigh into Chakotay's ear as the wet tongue laved his
earlobe.  Smooth body on his as the wet mouth sucked its way
across his throat, the tip of the tongue skimmed circles around
his nipples.  The pretty mouth curving when he gasped.
     Chakotay caught his breath, felt his hips jerk in the way
that meant that the plumbing was about to get very interested,
indeed.
     Paris pulled back.  The blue eyes focused on his.  Paris
looked down at him for a very long time; and Chakotay's heart
skipped a dozen beats.  He wasn't sure he was forgiven.  Surely
that gaze could see into him, know that his heart was pounding,
*Don't hurt me.  Don't hurt me.  You could hurt me so much*.
     Paris studied him, then stretched out beside Chakotay, with
his head on Chakotay's shoulder.  Chakotay's hand found the
slender neck and began to stroke it gently.
     "Of all the people in my life," Paris said finally, "you're
the only one who's ever rescued me."
     *Well, you started it*, Chakotay thought; but he
didn't say it:  that wasn't what Paris meant.
     "You needed rescuing," Chakotay said.
     "I've WANTED rescuing."  And Chakotay thought, *Yes, that's
been it, hasn't it?*  Someone on Paris's side, someone saving him
from the disaster he'd made of his life.
     "You've DESERVED rescuing," Chakotay said; and he felt all
the tension suddenly melt from Paris's body.
     Paris's fingers trailed over Chakotay's inner thigh, just
missing the plumbing.  He raised up on the other elbow, smiled
down at Chakotay.  He kissed Chakotay, kissed him again, all the
while drifting his fingers in a slow lazy circle.  "Wonder how
that plumbing's coming along?" he said with a mischievous grin.
     Chakotay grinned back and let his own hands start an eager
exploration.
     Mouth on mouth, and tongue smoothing tongue; and Chakotay
drew back with a gasp and said in a shaky voice, "You never told
me what else you like."
     Paris grinned slyly at him.  "I like to be fucked," he
said.  "Hard.  By somebody who knows what he'd doing."
     "I know my way around," Chakotay said.
     "THINK so?"  Paris's eyes were unfocusing; his cock was hard
as it moved against Chakotay's belly.
     "KNOW so."  Chakotay looked down at himself.  "Kind of need a
little help jump-starting things--"
     Paris's idea of jump-starting things sent a wave of
pleasure through Chakotay so intense that he was nearly undone. 
That hot, wet mouth sucking, sucking; tongue sliding along his
hardening cock; cool breath on his balls, and teeth just skimming
receptive skin--  He bucked and dug his heels into the mattress,
reached blindly; felt both wrists trapped by an iron-strong hand. 
He groaned.
     Paris's mouth took its time.  Tip of tongue tracing the
length of Chakotay's cock, again and again; laving his balls. 
Sucking.
     And he helpless to do anything but whimper, thrust, plead. 
Paris's mouth went to the inside of Chakotay's thigh, and Chakotay
heard himself beg for--god, he had no idea what for.  Just
begging.  Fucking erotic.
     But, finally, "Please," he gasped.  "I can't-- 
PLEASE."
     And Paris's mouth found his.  Chakotay tasted his own musk.
     "So, fuck me," Paris murmured.  His cock throbbed against
Chakotay's hands.
     "We need--"
     Paris shook his head.  Sweat fell from his face.  "All I've
ever needed," he said, "was to be bent over ... by the right guy
... at the right time."
     Of their own accord, Chakotay's hands freed themselves,
grabbed Paris at the waist, put him on his knees on the bed.  He
watched the knees spread, saw the ass cant to just the right
angle.  He pushed down on the slick back, so that Paris balanced
just barely on elbows, on spread knees.  Looking pleadingly over
his shoulder at Chakotay.  Silky ass tilted in mute invitation. 
The rosy heels of Paris's feet were an oddly erotic counterpoint.
     Chakotay knelt just behind, steadied himself on the bed on
one hand.  Ran his other hand over the firm, round ass.
     Paris arched, groaned.  Sweat gleamed on his spine. 
Chakotay's fingers slid between Paris's legs and explored the hot
balls there.  "Oh, PLEASE," Paris whimpered.  The knees spread
farther apart.
     Not yet.  Chakotay languidly reached further.  His
fingertips found Paris's cock, hard as duranium.  Slickened his
thumb at the tip.  Paris cried out and thrust against nothing. 
"PLEASE."
     Almost.  Chakotay's hand went to his own cock, slicked his
fingers.  Reached around and worked them into Paris's wet mouth.
     Paris sucked avidly.  He arched, his ass bumping Chakotay's
cock.
     "PLEASE," Paris gasped when Chakotay removed his fingers. 
"PLEASE."
     "I'm going to fuck you," Chakotay murmured into Paris's
ear.  His slippery fingers worked their way into the opening. 
"I'm going to fuck you hard."
     Paris groaned and thrust against Chakotay's fingers.  He
reached back, groped blindly at Chakotay's hip, found his cock. 
Chakotay helped him to position it.
     Chakotay eased in.  Oh mygod, that hot, receptive body
opening to his thrust.  Paris, thrusting back, impaling himself
with a rough groan.
     Chakotay's hips found their own rhythm, a corkscrewing
motion that drove soft grunts from Paris.
     Damn, they were fucking, and fucking, and fucking--
Chakotay lost himself in the heat, in the bump of that ass against
his groin, in the unformed *yes* of Paris's rhythmic grunts.
     Fucking and fucking--  Chakotay fumbled at Paris's belly.
     Fuckingandfuckingand--  As the heat surged through him, he
pulled at the ready cock.  And felt Paris stiffen in orgasm, dimly
heard the long wail that doubled his own pleasure.
     Time ceased.
     Paris sagged to the bed, knees still wide.  Chakotay
slipped out of Paris's body and fell heavily on the bed just
beside him.
     They panted at each other for a minute, grinning.  Paris
was a sight worth enjoying:  sweat darkening his hair, eyes soft
with satisfaction, skin flushed and dewy.
     *"Dewy"*, Chakotay thought.  *Oh, you HAVE got it
bad*.
     "So, how was THAT?" he asked when he had breath enough.
     "I'll let you know," said Paris, "when I come back down to
earth."
     Chakotay laughed.  His hand found Paris's soft ass.  He
kneaded it thoroughly, avoiding the leaking slipperiness.  Paris's
eyes closed in pleasure.
     "Mygod, that feels great," he murmured.  "How did you 
know--  That feels fucking GREAT."
     Chakotay's heart speeded with joy.  He slid his hand up the
slippery back, tangled his fingers in Paris's hair, brought their
mouths together and kissed him lingeringly.
     They drew apart a few centimeters, stared languidly into
each other's eyes.
     Perfect.
     Paris shifted, grimaced.  "Damn," he said.  "I always end
up in the wet spot."
     They would need more towels, Chakotay realized as he
watched Paris swab himself in the bathroom.  It was an
astonishingly erotic sight.  A LOT more towels.  He cleaned
himself with the corner of this towel and watched Paris's flush of
interest.  Maybe Siilne could borrow some.  The tip of Paris's
tongue slid along his lower lip as Chakotay finished.  Maybe she
should get some from the next village, too.
     He dropped this towel on the floor and moved in on Paris,
grinned into his grin, gathered him into his arms, walked him
backward to the bed.  Stood for a minute in Paris's arms, as
Paris's mouth tenderly explored his.  Closed his eyes and breathed
musk.
     Paris drew him down to the bed.  Chakotay pulled him close. 
Their hearts thumped together.  Paris breathed softly in
Chakotay's ear.  He rested his head on Paris's shoulder.
     "I knew you'd be," Paris murmured, "just perfect."  His
hand strayed to Chakotay's relaxed cock.  "Not too big--not too
small--just right."
     "What do you mean, 'not too big'?" Chakotay growled in mock
anger.
     Paris laughed.  "I've been fucked by bigger guys.  Wasn't
nearly as good."
     "What do you MEAN, 'not too big'?" Chakoty demanded again,
raising his head.
     Paris's delighted grin made his heart skip a beat or two. 
Chakotay laughed.  Damn--this was FUN.
     "Did we actually eat breakfast?" Paris asked.  "Because I'm
starving."
     Breakfast--or lunch--or whatever the hell it was--was cold. 
They ate it anyway.  To Chakotay's surprise, the afternoon shadows
were long.
     "When's *Voyager* due back?" Paris asked.
     "Any day now."  He hoped it wouldn't be early.
     "Village is quiet."
     "Everybody's making souls."
     They grinned at each other.  Chakotay yawned.
     "We can make more souls," Paris said, "tomorrow.  We can,
can't we?"
     "It's our duty to our hosts."
     Paris drew Chakotay down and covered them in the 
blanket--and the veil.  They nestled close, found the perfect fit.
     "This is perfect," Paris said sleepily a few minutes later. 
"Eating, sleeping, fucking."  Chakotay grinned.  "Arguing." 
Chakotay laughed.
     "Yes," he said.  *Perfect*.
     He slept.

                         ++++

     Chakotay woke to silky fabric around him and warm breath
regular on his neck and thought, *Huh?*  He eased himself up
and looked around him and thought, *Oh.  Yeah*.
     Dawn was lightening the sky.  Paris's shadowy form was a
study in monotones:  dark fabric, light skin.  Something unreal. 
Chakotay watched as the shadows receded, as the monotones bled to
color.  Watched the dark fabric become scarlet, watched the pale
skin flush, saw the dark hair become golden in the touch of sun: 
a form coming alive.  He bent and kissed a cheek flushed with
sleep.
     "Mmmmm," Paris said.  He opened his eyes.  Sat up.  Looked
warily at Chakotay.
     Who kissed him firmly on the mouth.
     "Okay," Paris said afterward.  He seemed relieved. Then,
"I'm getting the bathroom first."
     Okay.  When Paris came out, he looked a lot more awake.
     Chakotay grabbed a haunch on his way to the bathroom. 
"Wait for me," he said.
     When he came out, Paris was sitting on the edge of the bed,
staring down at his hands.  He looked apprehensively at Chakotay.
     What the hell?  "What's wrong?" Chakotay asked.  What the
hell could be wrong with "Wait for me"?
     "Will we--  Is this really going to work?"
     Oh, shit.  "We'll MAKE it work," Chakotay said fiercely.  He
bent and kissed Paris, who'd also used Chakotay's toothbrush.  "We
can make it work."  Another kiss.  "We'll be patient with each
other."  A kiss.  "And faithful to each other."  He mock-glared at
Paris.  "No more Delaney sisters."  Kiss.
     "I wasn't getting anywhere with them, anyway," Paris said,
grinning.
     "No more--no more Harry Kim."  Kiss.
     "It was just the once."
     *The ONCE?  You have hidden depths, Harry*.  "No more
Neelix."  Kiss.
     "I think he has a thing for YOU."
     Laughing unbalanced him for a minute.  He pushed Paris back
onto the bed, knelt over him.  The laughing face against the
scarlet took his breath away.
     "If *Voyager* comes right now," Paris said, "I'm going
to mutiny."
     "I'll join you," Chakotay said, and kissed him hard.
     And so it began.
     The last day of soul-making; and a damned good thing, too,
because--well, because there were only so many souls a man could
make, the human body being what it is.  Not that they didn't try
for the record.  And not that Paris couldn't be kissed and
caressed into whimpering and bucking against Chakotay's 
willing-but-too-human body, into a breathtaking orgasm
strengthened when Siilne came in with lunch at just the right
moment.
     Chakotay flung himself over Paris, protecting automatically
the body limp in afterglow.  DAMN the woman.
     But she ignored his glare and smiled happily at them both
and left.
     Paris was laughing.  Chakotay turned his glare on him.  "If
you enjoy it that much," he growled, "we should just program the
holodeck."
     "Promise?"
     The man was incorrigible.  "I'LL program it," Chakotay
growled.  "With the Federation High Council."  Paris
laughed.  "With Fitzwilliger's temporal physics class."
     "Oh, now, a glimpse of THAT face would just kill things,"
Paris said with a laugh.
     Good to know that the man had SOME standards.
     Chakotay woke late that night, after the moons had risen. 
Paris snored beside him, finally sated.  Chakotay rose and walked
to the window.  Looked out into the square, where blackened
circles marked the fires that had burned there two nights ago. 
Lights dotted the buildings overlooking the square:  other
restless wakers who'd spent the day in bed.
     The palace was lit, too.  He thought about the daumna
sitting alone in the empty building, wondered if he envied those
who were indulging themselves, wondered if anyone had yet come to
swear alliegance.
     He looked over at Paris.  Chakotay had been in a similar
situation, seeking followers, waiting for warriors.  *You thought
you could spot an asset to the Maquis cause on sight*, he thought. 
*You couldn't*.  He'd missed this one, because Paris didn't fit
the mold.
     He never would.
     Chakotay could live with that.
     What he couldn't live with, he realized with a grin, was
being celibate.  Not with Paris within reach.  Not at all.
     Janeway's muffled voice broke the stillness.  He spread a
hand over his crotch, felt a flash of guilt.  *Wha--?*
     During the second hail, he realized that it was coming from
near the door, where someone had dropped their bags.  Well, at
least they had clothes now.
     He tore through the bag, caught up the commbadge on her
third hail.
     "Yes, captain."  Even in the dark he felt insubordinately
naked.
     "Did I wake you?"
     "It's--uh--it's the middle of the night here."
     "Oh, I'm so sorry.  I thought we'd gotten the time correct. 
Just wanted you to know that we'll be within range to pick you up
in about six hours.  Don't worry," she said, her voice rich with
amusement, "we'll make sure it's daylight where you are."
     He smiled, though he knew she couldn't see it.  "Thank you,
captain."
     "I trust everything went well?"
     He looked over at the bed.  "Oh, yes.  Very well."
     "Good.  Janeway out."
     "Honeymoon's over," Paris said sleepily as Chakotay tucked
the commbadge into his bag.
     "Change of venue," Chakotay corrected him, sliding into bed
beside him.
     "Mmmm."  Paris slid close.  Then, "You know, we can end it
here--"
     "Shut up," Chakotay said.  He wasn't going to have this
discussion again.
     "Yes, Commander."  Paris sounded contented.
     "I don't think 'Commander' is--um--a word we ought to be
using when we're both naked and in bed."
     "Understood, sir."  Chakotay felt Paris smile against his
shoulder.
     "What happened to 'loverbuns'?"
     Paris grabbed Chakotay's ass.  "Understood, loverbuns." 
A yawn.  "I just hope I don't screw up and say that on the bridge.
I mean, I can just about imagine Tuvok...."  He laughed as he drew
Chakotay close.
     Chakotay chuckled.  "And I'll try not to call you 'snookums.'"
     "'SNOOKUMS'?  Is that Indian for something?"
     "It's Indian for 'don't call me "loveykins" again.'"  Chakotay
felt every muscle loosening.  "WE could do the 'sir' thing," he
murmured.  "When we're alone.  Once in a while."
     Paris's body shook with sleepy laughter; he pulled Chakotay
onto him.  Chakotay nestled into Paris's shoulder.
     "Okay," Paris said.
     They slept.

                         ++++

     Morning, and, "Damn I'm glad they brought our stuff," Paris
said, smoothing the depilatory over his face.  "You've got beard
burn."
     Chakotay ran hand over his flushed skin.  "I thought it was
... rash," he said.  The perils of necking with a white guy.
     "Don't you get a beard at all?" Paris said, watching him
run the regenerator over his face.
     "Not much of one."
     "Lucky."  Then, "How much time before they get here?"
     "About an hour."
     "So, grabbing your ass in the shower probably isn't a good
idea."
     Chakotay grinned at his grin in the mirror.  "An hour would
just make us frustrated."
     Clothes were a wonderful invention.  The mere act of
putting on the uniform reminded him that he had duties other than
pleasuring Paris--duties just about as important as pleasuring
Paris.  And--well, now he had the pleasure of watching Paris,
thinking about what lay under the uniform, knowing what he would
look like when the uniform was crumpled halfway across the room.
     And there was another pleasure.  A cloud crossed Paris's
face as Chakotay attached his First Officer's bar; Chakotay
thought, *Oh, no you don't*, and strode across the room and
kissed him.  Thoroughly. Hard.
     They were both gasping when the kiss ended.  Then Paris
blushed.  Looked sly.  "In UNIFORM," he murmured.  "Now, THAT'S
kinky."
     Packing took about a nanosecond.  Chakotay's hand hesitated
as he reached for the scarlet cloth.  Taking it seemed in bad
taste; leaving it seemed in bad taste.  But, *Paris arching in
pleasure on that scarlet ground*--  He folded it carefully. 
Didn't have room in his own bag.
     Hesitantly handed it to Paris.
     Paris looked at it.  "Just as long as I'm not promising to
crawl up on your funeral pyre."
     "No.  You just--it's just that you look pretty good ... on
it."
     "So do you," Paris said huskily.  He tucked it away
carefully.
     Siilne's silent husband took the payment.  He had a sleepy,
contented look.  Apparently, a LOT of souls had been made all
through the inn.  Chakotay wondered where she was, thought sourly,
*Well, show's over; why stick around?*
     In the square, merchants were setting up their booths. 
Children were chasing each other between the frames of the booths,
squealing past the open gate of the palace.  Siilne was consulting
with the tavern-keeper.  As Chakotay watched, they both started
toward the open gate of the palace.
     Raabio, in a new suit, was holding forth for a group of
young boys, having evidently forged a new career as storyteller. 
"Four times he stopped the procession," he was saying.  "Four
times he spoke his challenge to the eleventh daumna."  Oh shit.
     "*Voyager* to Commander Chakotay," said Harry Kim's voice.
     Chakotay tapped his commbadge.  "Chakotay here."
     "'I claim him,' said Chakotay.  'I claim him for the rest
of my life.'"  Raabio's voice made Chakotay sound more heroic than
he remembered.
     "We can beam you up now, sir."
     "And he strode forward and found him.  Pulled the veil
right off the man he loved."
     "Thank you, ensign."
     "The eleventh daumna appeared before them.  'You have done
well,' she said to Chakotay.  'You have proved that your love is
true.  Take him and be happy forever.'"
     "We'll certainly TRY," Paris murmured.
     Chakotay tapped his commbadge.  "Chakotay to *Voyager*.  Two
to beam up."
     Yes, they would certainly try.
     The transport beam caught them.  The last thing he heard was
the entranced murmur from one of the boys:  "Tell it AGAIN!"


                    THE END