Disclaimer time once again! Eleventh verse same as the first . . 
everybody *sing*: 
 
I don't own these characters, (chorus) Paramount does! 
I don't own this venue, (chorus) Paramount does! 
I am making no money off of this, (chorus) Paramount does not 
either! 

This story does not involve sex between two men, yet.  But it will, 
later. If that is *not* your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read 
it! (simple, ain't it??) Feedback is *very* much appreciated, and 
always answered.  Flames will be passed around to friends and 
chuckled over.  :) 
 
No, you read it right.  Yes, I am actually doing a story that's *not* 
NC-17.  Yet.  On purpose.  Be amazed.  Tell your friends.   
<sigh>  Or course, there will be a sequel.  Isn't there always? <g> 
 
'Adversaries' by Amirin 
 
***************************************************** 
 
	Tom dodged, barely missing the kick that probably would've 
made him deaf, if it had landed on his ear.  He immediately 
retaliated; the follow-through had brought his opponent into range for 
him to use his fists.  The hook took the other man by surprise, the 
quick right almost dropped him.  Would've, if the guy had been 
human, a *real* human. 
 
	Tom studied him objectively.  Not bad looking, really, if you 
liked the type.  Strawberry-blond hair, decent blue eyes.  Good build, 
tall.  Someone might find it attractive, he mused.  At least for a 
little while, until the interior became familiar, boredom set in, and 
interest was lost. 
 
	He snorted, adjusting the mouthpiece, and brought his gloved 
fists together with a muted bang.  His opponent's eyes danced with 
malicious delight, as he moved in closer with another flying kick that 
seemed destined to take Tom's head off. 
 
	Harry and B'Elanna were on the way to the holodeck to pick up 
Paris for dinner, when they ran into Chakotay, almost literally, before 
continuing down the corridor together. 
 
	"Commander," Harry acknowledged, as B'Elanna studied her 
former Captain, knowing that look in his eyes all too well.  Paris had 
once again done something to piss the man off, royally. 
 
	Chakotay's face didn't show it, but his eyes were snapping.  
He sighed, knowing B'Elanna had immediately picked up on it, and 
some of the more volatile sparks banked themselves.

	B'Elanna's eyebrow quirked, and was met by a slight shake of 
Chakotay's head, followed by an almost imperceptible glance at 
Harry.  She nodded.  Whatever it was, he didn't want to get into it in 
front of the Ensign. Understandable, and typical of the Commander, 
not wanting to put Harry in the position of having to defend his friend. 

	They walked on quietly for a companionable moment, until they 
realized they were all heading to the same place, the holodeck. 

	Chakotay just wanted a second to give the report back to Paris, 
with instructions to leave the levity in his quarters, and stick to the 
facts, next time.  The man had a wit, but Chakotay wasn't in the mood. 

	They all entered, and halted.  There was Tom Paris kicking the 
stuffing out of . . Tom Paris.  They gaped, then flinched as a solid 
heel connected with a cheekbone, spinning the slightly more 
battered version to the ground.  He recovered quickly, bringing out 
one leg in a powerful sweep that knocked the other man's legs out 
from under him.  Even as he rolled backward, the first one was on his 
feet, and a vicious jab snapped the second Tom's head back, 
before he brought a leg straight up, the heel making contact right 
under the chin, and the first Tom was on the ground, panting and 
dazed.  The second dropped to his knees in exhaustion, spitting out 
the mouthpiece. 

	"Feel better now?" the second Paris smirked, until the first one 
shook his head to clear it, and glared at him, removing the only thing 
that had kept his teeth from getting kicked in. 

	"I don't remember programming you to be that obnoxious," 
Paris grated, wearily, using his teeth to undo the laces on his gloves, 
before flinging them aside. 

	"I'm just as cocky, obnoxious and arrogant as you are, or so 
you keep telling me," the holo-Tom shot back, with a grin, before it 
faded from his face. 

	"And I don't quite know how you've managed to create that 
look you're wearing, on your face, right now, but it disturbs me for 
some reason," he continued, quietly. 

	Tom snorted.  "It's a look I know well," he breezed out, 
sarcastically.  "It's an 'I really want to kick the living shit out of Tom 
Paris' look." 
 
	"Who'd you pick up that particular treasure from?" Tom's 
whipping boy-slash-therapist asked, gently. 
 
	"Let's just say there's a certain First Officer who'd give up a 
year's replicator rations for this program, and leave it at that, okay?" 
Tom bit off, before grabbing a towel and wiping his face with it, 
missing Chakotay's sharp inhalation, before the man turned and 
walked out the door, stonefaced. 
 
	Tom frowned at the blood on the towel, and met his holo-self's 
concerned glance. 
 
	"I didn't mean to kick you that hard," the other Tom admitted. 
 
	"I didn't program you to be merciful, don't worry about it," Tom 
shrugged it aside. 
 
	"I know, but you did program me for compassion and guilt," the 
hologram said, smiling. 
 
	"Remind me to change that, then," Tom groused, as his 
counterpart laughed.  Movement by the door caught his attention, 
and he suddenly noticed Harry and B'Elanna in the room.  He saved 
and deleted his character, then headed over to them, towel around 
his neck. 
 
	"You okay?" Harry asked him, uncertain, eyeing the split cheek, 
and numerous bruises all over his friend. 
 
	Tom waved Harry's concern off.  "Yeah, sure, I'm fine," he 
said, nonchalantly.  "Hungry, though," he added, grinning. 
 
	B'Elanna looked at him critically.  "You usually go around 
beating the crap out of yourself, or is this a new thing?" she asked. 
 
	"Nothing new," Tom answered, wryly.  "I'm always been my 
own worst enemy, B'Elanna.  And just think how many people would 
love to spend a few hours doing what I've been doing." 
 
	He walked over behind the privacy screen he'd created, and 
tossed his gear off, before taking a quick sonic shower.  He'd grab a 
real one back in his own quarters, later, he thought, getting dressed 
again in the clothes he'd worn to the holodeck. 
 
	Harry and B'Elanna made no comment at his remarks and, 
looking at one another, silently agreed not to tell him what Chakotay 
had overheard, earlier, before rapidly exiting the holodeck. 

                       <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

	Chakotay paced in his quarters for a good twenty minutes 
before he realized he still had the padd in his hand that he'd meant to 
return to Paris.  He tossed it onto a table, and sighed, sitting down on 
the couch.  Rubbing his face with his hands, he wondered how long 
Paris had been walking around thinking he hated him that much.  
Granted, the Lieutenant was not his favorite person, by any stretch of 
the imagination, but he didn't hate the man.

	He reached out to pick up the padd from the table, reading his 
own harsh words in response to Tom's report.  He leaned back into 
the sofa, banging the padd on his knee for a moment before deleting 
them, and rewriting them, stating that while he appreciated the 
humor, it had no place in an official report.  And how he'd like to hear 
the unedited, humorous version from Paris, personally, if he could 
make himself available.  How many times he should have done this 
in the past, he didn't know.  Hopefully, it wasn't too late to put things 
right.

                       <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


	Tom stood outside the Commander's door feeling 
unaccountably nervous.  He didn't really know what the hell he was 
even doing here.  Why had Chakotay wanted to see him, in person?  
The admission that the man had even *noticed* the humor he'd 
injected the report with, had been surprising enough.  The fact that 
he wanted to hear the whole story, was unbelievable.  Usually, Tom 
just got reprimanded for being inappropriate, and that was that.  
Maybe the Commander had come up with this to discourage him, in 
future.  If so, he had to say it just might work.  Gods, anything to 
avoid having to do this again.

	Tom almost wished he was still wearing his uniform, but it was 
after hours, and he didn't live in the damned thing.  He'd deliberately 
set this up for as late as possible, not wanting to get trapped in the 
Commander's quarters, trying to make nice, for hours on end.

	Not many people were roaming about at 2100, so he wasn't 
getting any odd looks, standing in the corridor like a doofus.  He 
found himself wishing he'd told someone about this, Harry or 
somebody, in case he mysteriously disappeared before tomorrow 
morning.  The Commander had a really short fuse when it came to 
him.  They could start out with perfectly innocuous pleasantries, and 
be at each other's throats  twenty minutes later, for all he knew.

	Tom sighed.  Stalling wasn't going to get it over with any faster. 
Reaching out a tentative hand, he sounded the doorchime.  It 
opened almost immediately.  Thanks the gods, the Commander 
wasn't in uniform, either.  He arched an eyebrow as Chakotay 
motioned him to enter.

	"Come on in, Lieutenant," Chakotay said, in what he hoped was 
a welcoming tone of voice.  "Something to drink?" 

	Tom eyed the glass in the Commander's hand.  Knowing him, 
it probably wouldn't contain alcohol of any sort.  Safe enough. 

	"Whatever you're having is fine," Tom replied, casually, 
surreptitiously glancing around the room.  Warm, comfortable, 
austere.  So, why the hell was the man who lived here about as 
cuddly as a cactus? 

	"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be right with you," Chakotay 
said, heading to the replicator.  He'd noticed the quick look around 
Paris had taken, the slight smile, as if he approved, then the evident 
puzzlement on the man's face.  What was so perplexing about his 
quarters?  Not what he'd expected, maybe.  So, what *had* he been 
expecting?  And why was Chakotay wasting his time wondering 
about it? 

	Taking Tom's drink, and getting another for himself, he headed 
to the couch the man was sitting on.  Handing the glass to Tom, he 
waited for him to take a sip, feeling oddly pleased when it was 
obvious he'd liked it. 

	Not too bad, thought Tom, as he took another swallow.  Sweet, 
but not overly so, something was cutting it, giving it a bit of a bite. 

	"Good," he commented, before drinking some more.  "What's 
in it?" 

	"Papaya, mango, and a little cactus juice." 

	Tom just grinned into his glass, trying not to laugh.  Chakotay 
would never understand.  Cactus juice, gods, then the thought that 
maybe it explained a few things, went through Tom's head, but he 
just nodded.  And was thankful he hadn't choked on it. 

	Chakotay knew something was up, but didn't know what.  Tom 
features were almost *too* schooled, the look *too* innocent, but he 
sighed and sat down on the couch.  He obviously wasn't meant to 
know.

	Tom wondered why the hell the Commander had to join him on 
the couch, with three other pieces of furniture to choose from, then 
wondered why it mattered.  He sighed, taking another swallow of the 
drink.  It really *was* good. 

	"So," Chakotay started, beginning to regret this, already.  "Tell 
me what *really* happened, when Hawthorne and Banning were 
testing the gelpacks in the jefferies tube." 

	Tom picked up on the change in Chakotay's voice, wondering 
if the man thought he was laughing at *him*.  There just wasn't any 
way to explain what had been going through his mind without starting 
some conflict that he really didn't have the energy for.  He squared 
himself to the reason he was here, and told Chakotay all about how 
the two Ensigns had been dancing around each other for weeks, 
trying to avoid one another, but really wanting to do the exact 
opposite.  How B'Elanna had finally gotten fed up and started 
assigning them duty together, in hopes that maybe she'd get some 
work out of them, if they'd just get whatever it was out into the open, 
and out of their systems.  How they been testing the gelpacks as 
part of the Holodoc's 'preventative medicine' approach, until they had 
'found' one leaking.  And how they'd both been so covered in the 
ooze, they'd been unable to completely get their uniforms back *on*, 
before they were overrun with engineering staff.  The same staff that 
had been summoned when the pressure alarm had 'accidently' been 
set off, due to unknown occurrences, most likely a stray knee or 
elbow.  The same stray knee or elbow that had punctured the 
gelpack in the first place. 

	"So, there were Hawthorne and Banning, trying to act like the 
professionals they *usually* are, while half dressed *and* covered 
with gel, most of which was *inside* their uniforms," Tom paused to 
see Chakotay shaking.  If he didn't know better, he'd think the man 
was having a fit of hysterics.  Tom felt the inexplicable urge to help 
the Commander indulge, so he continued. 

	"Things were almost back to normal, until I commented that if 
they ever needed lubricant again, to just *ask*, for the love of the 
gods, and not use whatever happened to be handy." 

	Chakotay roared.  Oh, gods, he was going to have to kill Paris.  
He covered his face with his hands, laughing until tears were rolling 
down his cheeks, before he choked, wiped them away, then started 
all over again. 

	Tom sat there, stunned.  He'd never seen the man laugh so 
hard in his life.  Hell, he didn't think he'd seen *anyone* laugh so hard 
in his life.  He started grinning, it *was* kind of funny. 

	"You . . you just had to . . say it.  Didn't you?" Chakotay 
managed to get out before nearly falling on the floor, still cracking 
up, but remembering to breathe.

	"Someone had to," Tom replied airily, to which Chakotay 
started up again, turning his head aside, shoulders shaking slightly. 
 
	"Gods, Paris . . " Chakotay trailed off, trying to get his control 
back.  Deep breathing, and all that. 

	"Don't bother, Chakotay, you've just blown your rep to hell.  I'll 
never be fooled, again," Tom shot back, laughing when Chakotay 
snorted, trying not to laugh, and failing miserably. 

	"Oh, gods," Chakotay said, as he finally quieted, wiping his 
eyes, a chuckle still escaping now and then.  He met Tom's eyes, 
shaking his head, unable to keep the grin from his face.  "You tell a 
great tale, Tom, I'll give you that," he said, resting back against the 
cushions, exhausted. 

	Tom grinned.  "Why, thank you, Sir." 

	"I'll *never* be able to look those two in the eye, again," 
Chakotay sighed, grateful he didn't have much to do with the two 
Ensigns; they were B'Elanna's responsibility.  Drawing a deep 
breath, he got up and headed over to the replicator for a second 
drink. 

	"You want another?" he offered, quietly pleased when Tom 
nodded, not really noticing how the grin on the man's face had 
changed, when he took the glass from Chakotay. 

	"Just another quiet day in engineering," Tom mused, watching 
Chakotay's smile get larger out of the corner of his eye. 

	"Thank you for telling me, Tom.  I'd have hated to miss out on 
this one," he said, sipping his drink, smile still on his face. 

	"Oh, you'd have heard about it, I'm sure." 

	"Yes, but I doubt that I would have enjoyed another version as 
much as I enjoyed yours.  Do me a favor, please," he began, turning 
toward Tom, features becoming a little more serious. 

	"Let me know, in the future, if there's more to the story that I 
might want to hear.  The reports have to be done precisely," he held 
up a hand as Tom's eyes rolled.  "I know, it's dry and boring, but it 
has to be.  Save the good stuff, and come and tell me later, okay?" 
he asked, really hoping Tom would agree. 

	Tom nodded, grinning.  This wasn't turning out to be so bad, 
after all. 

	"Actually, there are a few other tales, from which the 'good 
stuff' might have been removed, by the time it got to you.  Did you 
hear the *real* reason Lt. Masterson keeps volunteering for duty in 
weapons maintenance . . .?"

	Over the next two hours, Tom proceeded to prove to Chakotay 
just how much he *had* been restraining himself when it came to 
filling out his reports.

	Chakotay was now sitting on the floor, drinking his sixth glass 
of juice, with Tom seated right next to him, crosslegged.  Gods, he 
hadn't enjoyed an evening so much in he didn't know *how* long.  
Paris, *Tom*, had stories, read that dirt, on about a third of the crew.  
And a way of telling them, damn, he was actually *sore* from 
laughing.  Tom was about to start in on another one, but Chakotay 
stopped him.

	"Enough, I don't think I can take anymore, Tom," Chakotay 
sighed, leaning back against the seat of the couch, letting his head 
fall back.  He was *so* tired.  He turned his head to look at Tom.  
He'd gotten awful damned used to that smile, in the last, oh, gods, 
two and a half *hours*?  Oh, hell, he needed sleep.

	"How can you not be exhausted?" he grumbled, good 
naturedly. 

	Tom just shrugged.  "I'm used to it.  Don't forget, I instigate 
most of it, myself," he said, with mock pride.

	"And a hell of a job you make of it, too," Chakotay replied, 
using the punchline from a earlier story, before snorting and 
laughing, again, pleased when Tom joined him.

	"Chakotay, with all due respect, you are punch-drunk," Tom 
observed, shaking his head in put upon sorrow.

	"I am not." 

	"Oh, hell, *yes*, you are.  I could say 'wristlight', right now, 
and have you on the floor." 

	Chakotay laughed.  "Tom, I already *am* on the floor."

	Tom snorted.  "Wristlight." 

	Chakotay tried not to laugh, and ended up falling over, straight 
into Tom, who caught him, smiling, before the smile grew serious.

	He met Chakotay's gaze thoughtfully, and watched the grin on 
the man's face change.   Trying to be calm about it, Tom took stock.  
Maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed.  Chakotay, flushed with 
laughter, in his arms, head resting comfortably on his shoulder, 
looking up at him with an indescribable look on his face, before that 
warm, brown gaze fixated on his mouth.  <Slow, even breathing, 
Tommy, don't phaser yourself in the foot, here.  It's not even 
remotely possible, and you know it.  You're wrong, it can't be what it 
looks like, you're only seeing what you want to see.  Right.  So, why 
am I seeing his hand moving slowly toward my face?  Why am I 
seeing his eyes closing?  Seeing what I want to see?  Am I only 
feeling want I want to feel, too?>

	<Is that why I feel his hand on my cheek, softly stroking it?  Is 
that why my eyes have closed?  Is that why . . I can feel . . his lips 
on mine?  Soft, warm, oh, so gentle.  Why would I have him bother 
with gentleness?  Only because I want to?  Then, why are my arms 
coming around him?  Why am I returning his kiss with one of my 
own?  Why are my fingers moving through his hair?  Am I only 
hearing what I want to hear, as well?>

	<You're gonna have to work to convince me of this one.  I hear 
his breathing coming faster.  Small sounds, pleasure?  Gods, I hope 
it's pleasure.  Low rumbling moan, deep in his chest.  I can feel his 
lips on my throat now.  Because I want to?  I can feel them moving 
down my throat, slowly down my chest.  Feel his hand, moving the 
shirt out of the way.  Why would I want his hands to be gentle?  They 
are, you know.  Slow and gentle, one coming around to hold the back 
of my head still, while those lips come back to caress mine.  So soft, 
and mine are answering in kind>

	<Why is this happening?  Why now?  Because I want it to?  
What does he want?  Me?  Why?  For how long?  I feel a cold 
memory caress my body; it makes me shiver.  This can't happen.  I 
can't allow it.  He can't want this, not really.  Curiosity, maybe, need, 
that's all it is.  Can't be anything more.  The coldness surrounds me; I 
have to move away from him, so he won't catch it from me.  Gods, 
the look in his eyes, as they come open.  He's puzzled, uncertain, 
needful.  Warm eyes, grown hot in the space of minutes.  I did that.  I 
have to undo it>

	Chakotay didn't understand why Tom was disengaging from 
him.  Well, maybe it *was* too soon.  <Gods, of *course* it was too 
soon.  You've probably scared the hell out of him> he thought, 
before seeing Tom smile gently at him.  <Not irrevocable, then.  
Good.  Maybe, in time.  Maybe>

	Tom spoke softly, belying the loud voice in his head.

	"You're tired.  I'm tired.  You should be in bed.  Come on."  
With that, he gracefully stood, helping Chakotay to his feet, before 
placing firm hands on both shoulders and propelling Chakotay 
towards the bedroom.  He met with little resistance, the man was 
dead on his feet, until they reached the bed, when Chakotay turned 
around, pinning him neatly with a look.

	"Tom," he said softly,  "I know how quickly things have 
changed.  Between us.  Tonight.  I don't regret any of it.  And I won't 
regret it tomorrow, either.  I just wanted you to know that."

	<Gods, that voice.  So soft, like his lips, like his hands>  Tom 
sighed, as one came to caress his cheek, again.  He closed his 
eyes, trying to ignore the voice telling him to get angry at the man, for 
tempting him with what he couldn't have, but it wasn't within him to be 
angry.  He brought his own hand up, covering Chakotay's,  holding it 
where it was, before turning his head to place a kiss on the palm.

	"I do, Chakotay," Tom said, so softly, Chakotay could barely 
hear him.  "I can't regret it, either.  I had a hell of a lot of fun, tonight, 
which I didn't expect.  And I *really* enjoyed your company, which I 
didn't expect, either.  If you're willing, I'd like to do it again, 
sometime." <All of it>

	Chakotay had to bite his tongue to keep from suggesting the 
next night.  Instead he nodded.  "I'd like that, Tom.  A lot."  Better, 
not so needy.

	Tom removed Chakotay's hand, and squeezed it gently, 
smiling at the return of it, before he turned and left, heading back to 
his own quarters.


******************************end

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