This is so damned short, it can't really be called a story. I'm just getting my feet wet again. It's been too long... Another Amirinstory from a MonaChallenge (tm). 7. The Anti-Sentinel Challenge. Write a story in which either Tom or Chakotay (preferably Chakotay, only because *everything* happens to Tom) loses one of his senses on an Away mission, and the impact this loss has on their sex life - good, bad, or ugly. You got it, Box-mate... **************************************************** Disclaimer time once again! One-hundred-and-forty- eighth 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 involves a relationship between two men, aka: slash. 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. :) 'Insight' by Amirin **************************************************** More beautiful than any man has a right to be. Poetry in motion. Sexy as hell when sweaty and glowing when sated. Blue eyes a man could drown in. Body created for pleasure. Mouth made for kissing. Hands like an artist's. With all the comments I've tossed his way over the last few months, it's no wonder he thought I was hung up on his looks. He'll never know how many hours I spent just listening to him breathe while he slept, stroking sweat-slicked skin as it cooled and dried under my fingers. Those same fingers would play gently with his hair, enough to coax a sigh or two from kiss-bruised lips, but not enough for him to notice and waken... Reveling in the scent of him, hot and aroused during sex, clean and wet from the shower, warm and soft in sleep... Committing his taste to memory. Sweat, semen, and blood on the odd occasion when things got a little too rough... I thought I was doing a good thing, really. I knew his self-image was shaky at times, that he saw himself through others' eyes too often and felt he was lacking, somehow. But all he heard from me involved how he looked. I should have told him the rest; how his heart beating under my ear would lull me into sleep. How he felt in my arms. How he tasted on my tongue. The sounds of his moans filling my ears as my cock filled his body. I should have *told* him. I suppose I should take it as a sign from the Spirits, shouldn't I? Now that the one sense he thought I relied on the most has been stripped from me, leaving me in darkness. I should have told him... Maybe if I had, he'd still believe I love him. And therein lies the heart of it. He's been as distant as he can get away with being since the explosion on an alien world that robbed me of my sight. He can't believe I still want him, still love him, still need him with a fire that lights the darkness in which I find myself. Simply because I can no longer see him. His beauty exists nowhere for me but in my mind's eye, right now. And he understandably feels it's the only thing I cared about, in him, since it was the only thing I ever bothered to mention. Nothing could be further from the truth, but I can't make him see that. Ironic, isn't it? The blind seeing so clearly what the sighted cannot. Or will not, I'm not entirely certain which. How can I tell him how much I love him, and make him believe me? How can I get him to realize it's not because I'm afraid of being without him, which I am, but because it's the simple truth? I love him. For who and what he is and isn't. For everything. What can I do? How can a blind man make another see the truth? ~~~end